Chapter 78: Chapter 78

'The Pontiff is the leader of the black Priests.'

Ran swallowed the liquor from the horn cup. As a burning sensation ran down his throat, a fragrant floral scent spread in his mouth.

He felt intoxicated. He didn't even need to act drunk.

"Yeah, yeah. The Pontiff. He's a clever bastard."

"Cough, cough. Hey, ulfgar. What are you saying? The Pontiff is smart? Come on, whisper that to me before you shout it out loud without thinking."

Ran and Ube clinked glasses and downed another drink.

Sigurd, ragna, and Rev watched Ran with concern. Ran winked at them. It was impossible to tell whether he was truly drunk or just pretending.

Ran coughed and lowered his voice so only Ube could hear.

"? Shh, in my opinion, that Pontiff bastard definitely goes around calling Asriel the Mother God in public while spreading rumors that she's a harlot behind her back. Otherwise, how could our Northmen warriors be so easily swayed?"

Ube froze as if he were paralyzed. Only his eyes moved stiffly, following Ran.

"? Kah, kuh kuh kuh kuh—!!"

Then he slapped the table and burst into laughter.

Ran laughed loudly on purpose as well.

The two faced each other, opening their mouths wide as if they were competing to see who could laugh louder and longer.

Ube sneezed mid-laugh and wiped away tears.

"Khakhakhak! Ulfgar of the Frost Serpent! You really know how to be funny! I'll definitely remember you!"

The two toasted again. Now, Sigurd and Ragna were starting to frown subtly. They knew just how strong Northland liquor was.

Ran exhaled a hot breath and spoke.

"Then what about you? How do you think something like the gentle deity ever came to this brave land of Dakir?"

"Because we're tired."

"Kahkah, yeah. Honestly, we're worn out. We Northland people have fought until we're sick of it."

"That's our destiny, my friend."

Ran imitated Tascar's manner of speaking. Ube muttered, his voice growing slightly gloomy.

"There are more dead than living in this damned Northland. Add in the families of the dead and it goes without saying. The Pontiff must have targeted those people."

"The families of the dead?"

"Yeah. The ones who are tired. The ones exhausted from endless fighting."

Ube gently shook a piece of picked-clean bone.

"'Those weary of father Dakir's harshness, come. Mother Asriel awaits you.'"

"You're right, ulfgar. Fighting is our destiny. Everyone knows that. Right? Any Northman who listens to that weak nonsense isn't a true Northman."

The two clinked their horn cups again.

Ran downed the liquor in one go. The frustration he'd felt dissolved.

He now began to understand how the mysterious figure known as the Pontiff and the Snow Leopards tribe had managed to convert the deeply rooted Northmen.

'Dissatisfaction towards Dakir.'

A certain person came to Ran's mind.

He had fervently prayed to Asriel, believing her blessing and protection as an imperial deity could erase the curse of Dakir carved onto his body.

'? And in the end, he died denying both gods.'

A glimmer appeared in Ran's eyes. All the scattered links in his mind fell neatly into place.

The Snow Leopards tribe had presented a religion combining Dakir and Asriel as a strategic tool for Northland unification, and by tapping into the latent discontent in Northland, they had succeeded in gaining support from some.

As Ran organized his thoughts, ube gazed quietly at Ragna.

Ragna had been sneaking glances, and as their eyes met, he buried his nose in his plate in surprise. Content orıginally comes from novel⁂fire.net

"Kahkah. Harald, son of Tanatonga! It's a relief you're nothing like your father!"

"I get it. The Frost Serpents' tradition is to stay neutral, so even if you hate the Snow Leopards, you have to put up with it. Must make your blood boil, huh?"

Ube prodded at a morsel of meat stuck between his teeth.

With timing, Ran asked casually.

"Are the black Priests really that incredible?"

"I mean, if those guys are so terrifying that everyone's scared silent like you, just watching and not resisting, even though they insulted Dakir, shouldn't we be forming an alliance to fight back? Even Tanatonga himself might lend a hand if things are this bad."

It was a dangerous statement that could expose his false identity. Ran pretended to act natural while thinking of ways to explain himself if things got suspicious.

He sensed Ube's peculiar stare.

In the rowdy tavern, only their table was wrapped in a chilly, tense silence.

This time, ube's distinct laugh came out weakly.

He took a deep breath and forced out some words.

"Have you ever seen the black Priests who serve at the Pontiff's side, ulfgar?"

"Kahkah, that's why you can say things like that. The black Priests at the Pontiff's side are said to have received the Pontiff's stigmata. They say one of them can easily handle ten Northmen warriors alone."

"? The Pontiff's stigmata?"

"That's right. And most of the barbarians marked by Dakir have now joined Ortega's main Snow Leopards force."

Ran quickly glanced at Sigurd and Ragna's faces. At the mention of barbarians, both immediately froze up.

"Now the Northmen face two choices. Submit, or die resisting."

Ube let out a hollow laugh.

"Even if Great Chieftain Mukesh returned alive, there's nothing he could do."

"Anyway, since things are so tense, don't stay in Aburota longer than you have to. And make sure to always check what Lady Alcaya is eating, too."

The group stepped outside. Ube left them with this final piece of advice. He had taken a liking to Ran.

"Oof. I'm about to get indigestion, damn it. What were you even talking about with that barbarian? It was so hard not being able to understand a word."

Rev tapped his chest with his fist. Ran checked Sigurd. She was hugging her own body with both arms.

"Let's head back for now."

"What? Already? Sigurd should get a proper rest before—"

"The mood's bad. Let's talk it over again with Tascar—?"

Ran and Rev simultaneously turned their heads the other way.

Suddenly, a crowd had gathered at one end of the street. Amid cheers, the clang of metal echoed loudly.

Rev's voice trembled. In the midst of the people, an ox pulling a long cart slowly revealed itself. This ox was far larger than one from the Empire, and its thick, shaggy hide and different horn shape made it seem like another species.

The ox stopped in its tracks on the wide road.

Inside the long cart were people locked up in cages.

"Alright! Here it is—top quality slaves you've all been waiting for!"

Atop the ox, a Northman banged the bars with an iron rod.

Behind the rusted bars, three naked men and women flinched. They looked to be about Ran's age at most.

Ragna muttered. He recognized one of the slaves in the cage as someone familiar.

It didn't take long for suspicion to turn into certainty. He could never fail to recognize someone from his tribe he'd grown up with.

Ragna walked toward the cart as if under a spell.

Ran rushed forward and covered Ragna's mouth. Locking eyes seriously, he shook his head back and forth.

Someone nearby muttered those words. Suddenly, everyone's gazes were drawn in one direction. Ran's head, too, slowly turned that way.

Through the parted crowd, a man in clerical robes walked forward, escorted by two black Priests.

Ran's eyelashes trembled.

The way the man awkwardly imitated a priest's air was both cheeky and chilling.

He recognized the man at once.

'?? Follower of the Holy Church.'

Although young, the man's complexion was as pale as a sick person's. His black-brown hair, grown down to his waist, was unkempt and half-wild. His priest's cap, too big for his head and mashed up beyond recognition, was soiled and greasy.

He limped as he walked. One leg seemed crippled. Although he sank into the muddy ground with each step, he stubbornly strode directly in front of the slaves.

For a heartbeat, time seemed to stop. Only he kept exhaling ragged breaths.

Ran simply watched him.

The silence was broken by the slave dealer.

"P-pontiff. Please, enough. W-we have to make a living, too."

"If you keep doing this, we...?"

A black Priest had stepped up without a sound and pressed a blade against the slave dealer's throat.

The Pontiff lightly restrained him.

"Then, I will pay for them."

The Pontiff rummaged through his robe. He took out a handful of small metal pieces, like coins.

The slave dealer's pupils shook. His trembling eyes darted between the black Priest and the Pontiff.

In the end, the dealer accepted the metal pieces with both hands. There was no need to count; it was enough to buy ten slaves.

"Now, I will take them with me."

The Pontiff stepped closer to the dealer. He still wore that lethargic, weary expression.

He leaned in and whispered into the trader's ear.

"Kore, I told you last time—this savagery must stop now."

"I understand. As an outsider, I have no right to meddle in the longtime traditions of this land. And it's your livelihood, too. So, from now on, demand payment only from me. I will gladly receive them under the will of Mother Asriel and Father Dakir."

The Pontiff gently placed both hands on Kore's shoulders. Even the act of smiling seemed to require all his strength.

"? Thus, become not an inhuman merchant, but finally be reborn as a son of the Lord."

The two black Priests cried out.

The whole area grew solemn. No one could voice any criticism.

It wasn't the first time the Pontiff and his black Priest retinue had suddenly appeared .

Kore nodded, trembling. Yellow urine streamed down between his legs.

Ran watched everything unfold.

Old memories from the past overlapped with the scene before his eyes.

Back when he'd just crossed from Quersa to the mainland. He remembered seeing a mainland clergy member with far lesser experience than himself brazenly oppressing the people, using the title of High Priest.

'? Back then, I just had to quietly put up with it.'

He sobered up. His mind grew sharper.

And a wave of shame crashed over him.

His heart pounded. Unconsciously, his trembling hand went to Nachal's hilt.

A sharp yell erupted from a corner of the crowd. Ube charged at the Pontiff, wielding twin axes.

"Dakir watches over us—!!"

Ube leapt, soaring high despite the mud's drag.

Swinging both arms, pulled back behind his head, he struck.

The metal sound was short, the sound of flesh being cut long. Two black Priests blocked Ube's blows and instantly slashed his abdomen and neck.

Blood gushed out. Ube, collapsing, clutched at his wounds. The black Priests could have killed him instantly, but didn't.

The Pontiff slowly approached. There was not a trace of emotion on his face.

"I will pray for your salvation."

"? Kahkah! S-shut, shut up."

"May Mother Asriel personally guide you."

The two black Priests echoed, "Amen."

Ube let out a muddy groan.

"? Sh-shouldn't have drunk. Damn it."

Ube's arm fell limply.

A groan rang out from behind.

Sigurd had collapsed, clutching her stomach.

Ragna ran to hold her. Her face was growing paler by the second. Blood welled up on her lips, bitten to endure the pain.

Ran's face turned ashen too. This was an unexpected situation. Attention, once on Ube, gradually shifted to Sigurd.

Ran hurriedly put Sigurd on his back. When he looked up, the crowd, once packed in front, had split open on either side.

At the end of his gaze stood the Pontiff and the black Priests.

At a distance, Ran and the Pontiff locked eyes.

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