The Necromancer's Servant

When he hit the ground, the impact left Asa utterly dazed. Hilton and Jessica were dragging him by his feet, running as fast as they could, while his head kept bumping against the ground's uneven protrusions, sending sharp waves of pain through him.

Although Asa had seen necromancers use Paralysis spells before, and had even used scrolls imbued with the spell himself, this was the first time he experienced its full power firsthand. The holy magic's energy was as gentle and pure as ever, yet it somehow fused with the life force flowing through his body in an unnervingly peculiar way. It thickened the vibrant energy within him—normally like a surging river—into a coagulated, viscous mass, freezing it in place like congealed glue.

Only now did he understand why a creature as powerful as a Behemoth could be briefly paralyzed by the effects of such a scroll. At such close range, with a cardinal personally casting the spell, and with him caught off guard and failing to evade or defend, even a Behemoth would be paralyzed for several seconds. Creatures like wyverns or aurochs might be immobilized for even longer. As for a human, relying solely on their own life force to break through this restraint would take at least half a day.

But in this situation, half a day was a luxury Asa did not have. Even half a minute could mean the difference between life and death. Asa immediately focused his mind and entered a meditative state. The life force that had been congealed by the holy magic was no longer a unified mass, and he began to sense the intricate magical waves entwined with his flesh and blood.

The only part of his body where some vitality and fighting spirit still flowed was in his lower abdomen. It was like trying to catch an earthworm in a waterlogged field—painstakingly difficult. Asa slowly seized control of this faint, almost imperceptible trace of energy. Guiding it from his abdomen, he maneuvered it along the magical channels and traces he could sense, forcing it to spread throughout his body in reverse. The process was excruciatingly slow at first, but as more restraints broke, the amount of energy and vitality he could control grew exponentially, allowing the process to accelerate.

Finally, he shattered all the magical restraints. Asa flipped over and broke free from the hands that held him, leaping to his feet.

"You're awake, boss! Quick, run! We can't beat those guys!" Hilton, who was running ahead, looked back at Asa with a mix of relief and panic. Despite his joy, his fear hadn't lessened one bit, and his legs kept moving at full speed. Ahead of him, the druid had already transformed into a werewolf, carrying old Bill on his shoulder as he sprinted desperately.

Although Asa felt like he'd been trapped for quite some time, in reality, only a few breaths had passed since he'd been paralyzed and fallen from the tree. The group hadn't even managed to get far. The temple knights, who had just begun their pursuit, paused briefly in surprise. The knight commander, seeing the figure that had leapt up from the ground, let out a faintly intrigued "Oh."

The fleeing group was already running at breakneck speed, their movements swifter than galloping horses. Now, with their lives on the line, they had pushed their limits even further. Yet, the three figures glowing with white light behind them continued to close the distance. The temple knights appeared to be merely striding forward, yet their speed far outpaced the panicked sprinting of the escapees.

The chase didn't last long before the group found themselves in the heart of the elven city.

Towering trees surrounded them on all sides, their massive trunks carved into intricate buildings. Some were over twenty or thirty meters tall, while others were as wide as giant wooden stakes magnified a thousandfold. The layout was natural and harmonious, exuding an organic elegance. Despite its grandeur and splendor—surpassing the elven settlements in the Whispering Forest by a hundredfold—there was no trace of human craftsmanship or artificial construction to be seen. The only exception was a massive teleportation magic circle situated atop a stone platform nestled between three central trees, adding a slight human touch to the otherwise natural setting.

"There's no point in running anymore. We can't escape," Asa said, suddenly stopping near the teleportation magic circle.

The others stopped as well. Hilton collapsed to the ground, frothing at the mouth. In truth, even if Asa hadn't told him to stop, he probably wouldn't have been able to go much farther. He was the slowest of the group, having pushed himself to the limit just to keep up with the others. This desperate sprint had long since drained him completely.

Old Bill had been trying to persuade the druid carrying him not to stick with Asa the entire way, but whether it was due to the rushing wind muffling his voice or sheer stubbornness, the druid kept running alongside the others. Now that Asa had stopped, he followed suit.

The three temple knights were now less than twenty meters behind them. Even if they had tried to flee, they wouldn't have gotten far. Seeing their targets suddenly halt, the knights also came to an abrupt stop. Their glowing white figures ceased all motion in an instant. The ease with which they transitioned between full-speed pursuit and a complete halt was a testament to the vast gulf in skill.

Lancelote stood in the center, flanked by the other two knights. One wielded a two-handed greatsword, smaller than the oversized blade Hilika had used, but its flowing silver light and razor-sharp edge suggested it was far deadlier. The other knight held a black lance, its surface emanating a brilliance like black diamonds rendered into tangible form. The three calmly observed the five targets before them, their composed and self-assured demeanor resembling that of lions surveying prey already within their grasp.

Elves began to appear all around them, watching from both the ground and the high tree houses above. Their expressions were cautious and curious, though they maintained a considerable distance, perhaps out of instinct.

"To break through Bishop Adra's spell in such a short time… It seems your abilities exceed my expectations," Lancelote said quietly, fixing his gaze on Asa. His brown eyes didn't radiate an intense or blinding light, yet Asa felt a silent, invisible force of penetration emanating from them. With just that gaze, Asa felt as though he had been stripped bare and thrown before a wise and powerful beast.

Despite the calmness in their demeanor, the vast disparity in strength, and the undeniable confidence emanating from their very bones, none of the three knights showed the slightest hint of carelessness. They remained poised, ready to react at a moment's notice.

In stark contrast, the five standing opposite them were a disorganized mess. Aside from Asa and Jessica, who maintained some semblance of composure, the others were completely disheveled and vulnerable. Hilton was sprawled on the ground, barely clinging to consciousness, which was an impressive feat in itself. Old Bill was still perched on the druid's back, seemingly reluctant to come down, while the druid shuffled nervously, his feet fidgeting restlessly.

The werewolf swayed back and forth for a moment before suddenly staggering toward the three temple knights. Asa and the others were stunned, wide-eyed and slack-jawed. Before they could react, the werewolf druid was already standing in front of Lancelote.

"I surrender." The one speaking wasn't Anderson, but the old man, Bill, on his back. The old man had his hands pressed on the werewolf's head, whose eyes were filled with a mixture of confusion and struggle. As Bill spoke, he slowly tilted his mouse-like head, his rat-like face a mix of obsequiousness and feigned piety. "This werewolf is a druid, the filthiest and most wicked of heretics. I've already used a soul shackle to control him. Now I wish to devote myself to the Light of the Divine. I only ask for forgiveness for my past…"

As his head tilted more and more, Bill's voice grew increasingly strange. Then, suddenly, his voice stopped entirely—because his mouse-like head had tilted so far it fell clean off his neck. At first, he didn't even seem to realize what had happened, his mouth still opening and closing, his face now frozen in surprise as his perspective abruptly changed.

"Heretics are not filthy." Lancelote looked down at the dismembered head still blinking on the ground and said calmly, "The only filth lies in selfish souls."

It wasn't until this moment that blood spurted low and weakly from the body that still clung to the werewolf's back. Bill's frail, hunched, rat-like body didn't hold much vitality before it finally slumped to the ground. The werewolf druid abruptly snapped out of his daze. Seeing the temple knights so close, he recoiled in horror, leaping backward to escape.

The three temple knights did not move. At least in the eyes of the surrounding elves and the fallen Hilton, it seemed they hadn't moved a muscle since they first stopped and stood still. The old man's head had seemingly fallen off on its own. This elicited gasps from everyone around.

But Asa's eyelid twitched—he was the only one who had actually seen what happened. Lancelote had indeed not moved a finger. It was the temple knight standing beside him, the one wielding a two-handed greatsword, who had turned slightly. In a flash, that silvery greatsword had transformed into a streak of light and swept across Bill's neck, so quick and clean that even Bill himself hadn't realized that his head and body had already parted ways. The blade was incredibly thin, and the slash had been executed with such speed and precision that it left no trace of the act itself.

"You don't accept surrenders?" Asa frowned. Both Hilton and the druid's expressions shifted slightly at the question.

"No," Lancelote replied. "Knights never slaughter the weak or those unwilling to fight. Even heretics may have a chance at redemption. But selfishly betraying one's comrades is a sign of a filthy soul—far worse than any magic or faith. That speaks volumes."

"Hmm… earlier, you said, 'Heretics are not filthy,'" Asa glanced toward the magic circle before turning back to face the three knights. "That doesn't seem to align much with what a temple knight would say. At least, not like what that female temple knight believes."

"The Divine says that tolerance is the greatest form of Light, and that anyone not yet confirmed to be evil should be given a chance at redemption. True righteousness is a natural, internal force—not a set of dogmatic rules hanging over one's head to manipulate behavior. Talice is still young and naive; she doesn't yet understand this distinction," Lancelote said evenly. His demeanor wasn't particularly awe-inspiring or commanding. Words like "righteousness" and "light," which often sounded grandiose and overused, came from his mouth in the most casual, unembellished tone—like someone talking about their daily habits. Yet, this lack of pretense made his words more moving than any declaration or sermon. They carried a living vitality, a belief radiating from his character and soul. He looked at Asa and continued, "Did you stop just now because you intend to surrender?"

Asa thought for a moment, then nodded. "Probably. I know I don't stand much of a chance. But before surrendering, I'd like to ask a few questions. Would that be alright?"

"Go ahead," Lancelote replied.

"How… why… why is it you?" Asa organized his thoughts. The question in his mind couldn't be asked directly. If he outright stated that there were necromancers in the church manipulating events behind the scenes, and that he had deliberately lured them here instead of the temple knights, it would never be believed or accepted by this holy knight. "Why have so many of you come? If this is just to eliminate a band of thieves, it hardly seems necessary to send knights like you."

"I wouldn't know," Lancelote said after a pause. "I simply followed the Pope's orders: to bring back the man who calls himself Sandru. Honestly, I didn't expect the infamous wanted criminal to be you. But the moment I saw you, I figured it out. The 'Sandru' Talice spoke of must have been you all along."

"The… Pope… It was the Pope's order?" Asa's brows furrowed deeper, his eyes narrowing in thought.

The only people in the church who could not possibly have ties to necromancers were undoubtedly the Pope and this holy knight. Yet the name "Sandru," originally intended as bait for necromancers, hadn't drawn them out—it had brought these two instead. According to Asa's plan, the necromancers, desperate to capture him, wouldn't want him falling into the church's hands. They would've intervened personally to prevent it. But things had gone completely differently. Could it be the necromancers weren't around? Or had they just missed the clues he planted?

Still, the Pope would never dispatch half of Celeste's elite forces just to take down a group of thieves. The only explanation was that "Sandru" wasn't just a name familiar to the necromancers; even the Pope knew who he was.

"That Talice knight you mentioned… the message she brought back—are its contents only known to you and the Pope?" Asa asked again.

Lancelote frowned slightly, confused by the peculiar nature of Asa's questions and expressions. After a moment's hesitation, he answered, "No, many people likely know. I heard that Lord Aescher strongly recommended me to handle this matter."

"Aescher… it's him…" Asa muttered, furrowing his brows further. If the necromancers knew it was him, why didn't they come? Weren't they worried he'd be killed during his capture by the church? That would sever their leads on the World Tree's leaves. Weren't they afraid he might expose some of their secrets? Asa felt as if countless flies and bees were buzzing and colliding in his mind, yet no clear answer emerged.

Smack. Asa suddenly slapped himself hard across the face, the sound crisp and loud. A red handprint instantly appeared.

Everyone froze. Hilton and the others thought he had gone mad from despair at facing the three unbeatable temple knights.

"I was wrong," Asa sighed heavily.

Lancelote smiled faintly. It wasn't a mocking smile but one of understanding. "The confusion and chaos in your eyes are gone. Have you figured out what was troubling you?"

"I haven't. But I realize now that I was wrong," Asa said with a weary nod. "I've never been good at scheming, and I don't have the mind for plots and conspiracies. Yet I tried to act clever, playing mind games and setting traps. My failure was my own doing. I was wrong."

"Well said," Lancelote replied with another smile, this one carrying a hint of approval. "Recognizing one's mistakes and acknowledging one's weaknesses is a chance to grow."

Looking at the holy knight's expression, which didn't seem to regard him as an enemy, Asa found it strange. "You know I'm the infamous wanted criminal. Why don't you seem to hate me that much?"

"A wanted criminal is a wanted criminal. But an honest person deserves recognition, especially someone honest with themselves. Besides…" Lancelote paused, his tone becoming somewhat odd. "As for your so-called crimes… I'm not entirely clear on the details."

Asa's heart skipped a beat. The assassination of Bishop Ronis and Duke Murak were notorious across the continent, crimes synonymous with his wanted status. It was impossible for the holy knight not to "know." Yet he said he wasn't "clear" about it. This...

As Asa stood there, lost in thought, Lancelote's expression grew stern. "Enough. You've asked your questions. But the people you're waiting for still haven't shown up. So, what will it be? Surrender and come with us, or shall we take you down ourselves?"

Asa sighed. He understood that his stance, his gaze, and even his attempts to stall with questions couldn't fool masters like the temple knights. Their calmness stemmed from absolute confidence. Casting a final glance at the motionless teleportation circle, he turned back to Lancelote, taking a deep breath before saying firmly, "I'm sorry, but I won't surrender."

Meanwhile, on the Wild Highlands thousands of miles away from the Turaleone Forest, a brief but brutal battle was nearing its conclusion.

A few days ago, without any prior warning or declaration of war, a force of 4,000 advanced from the Alrasia border toward Orford. This force wasn't part of Alrasia's regular army; it was almost entirely composed of the Alrasia Church's armed forces. Despite being a mixed unit, their personnel and combat strength were in no way inferior to regular troops. Among them were numerous mages and priests, as well as ten griffins serving as scouts and countering wyverns.

This force wandered near Orford, ignoring any ultimatums issued by the city and presenting an ever-threatening posture of being ready to attack. However, whenever the orcs mobilized a large force in response, this group would immediately retreat without engaging.

But today, they weren't able to retreat in time—or perhaps they simply failed to notice the impending attack—because the assaulting force was small, operating with utmost stealth. It consisted of no more than ten beastmen and two humans.