"Where has Inham been during this time?"
"I'm not entirely sure. He only told me that he had some urgent personal matters to attend to before leaving," Bishop Adra lowered his head and replied.
The Pope glanced around the hall. The dozens of crystal spheres that once displayed the situation across the Wild Highlands had all gone dark. Without the mages' guidance, the puppet hawkeyes could not function for long.
"Urgent personal matters?" The Pope murmured, a hint of unease creeping into his heart, perhaps due to the turbulent times. He knew very well the kind of influence this half-subordinate, half-ally possessed. Though Inham seemed to be acting alone, without a large faction behind him, the things he was capable of doing far exceeded what any major force could achieve.
Especially now, when the relationship with this ally had become increasingly delicate. Cooperation with him was necessary, but so was caution—perhaps even to the point of excess. Yet, such precautions remained essential.
"Get him back as soon as possible."
"But Your Holiness, I don't even know where he is right now..."
"If you don't know, then find a way. I'm sure you can do that, can't you?" The Pope cast a sidelong glance at Bishop Adra, then turned his gaze back to the darkened crystal spheres and said calmly, "Remind him—Bishop Jarvis has been unwell lately, unable to eat, and we are at a loss. We may need him to take a look..."
"But Your Holiness… I truly have no idea…"
"Don't worry. Perhaps it won't be long before he finishes his urgent matters and returns. He should know that with Bishop Jarvis's condition, he likely won't last much longer," the Pope said coldly.
"It seems we won't have to wait too long," Inham said as he looked at the crystal sphere.
Inside the crystal sphere, the streets of Orford were filled with running orcs. Although no sound could be transmitted, just seeing the scene was enough to imagine the deafening, bloodthirsty howls echoing through the city. The commotion was overwhelming.
Large groups of heavily armed orcs and ogres were assembling. Their armor and massive weapons gleamed menacingly under the sunlight, each one a horrifying instrument of death capable of turning an ordinary person into minced flesh in an instant.
Half-orcs were seen driving massive wild bulls and riding wolves, while wyverns soared through the air. Even these beasts were agitated by the overwhelming scent of bloodlust and stench of sweat, howling wildly. The entire city of Orford was like a massive bomb on the verge of detonation—one spark away from total eruption.
In such an atmosphere, no one would pay attention to the few small birds hidden in the shadows beneath the eaves of the tall buildings. These tiny creatures remained motionless, as if lifeless, their dull, glassy eyes silently watching everything unfold outside.
"A shame… Mr. Theodorus' final wish will have to be postponed. At least for now, we can't let them know that the Hawkeye puppets are watching them… I apologize for making you break your long-held principles. But they'll figure it out soon enough."
"I've already broken enough principles," Grandma Ail said, gazing at the crystal sphere with the same calm demeanor as always. Yet, there was something different in her eyes—something that hadn't been there before.
"I once swore never to kill again. So you'd better pray that everything goes smoothly this time. Even I can feel that I'm starting to lose myself a little."
"I know you're not in the best mood, but in at most a day or two, our dear orc friends will set out… Just in time—that's about the limit for me as well. If I stay missing too long in this situation, Magnus certainly won't be pleased… But as long as Orford makes its move, there shouldn't be too many issues on Celeste's side. I'll ensure everything goes smoothly there. That just leaves the matter of the little sister."
"Give me a teleportation scroll to Celeste," Grandma Ail suddenly demanded.
"Sorry, I can't do that," Inham shook his head.
"I'm not negotiating with you." Grandma Ail's voice turned cold—before, it had merely been indifferent; now, it was as sharp and unyielding as a blade.
"Sorry, but everything right now falls within the scope of negotiation. This deal is too big—so big that it's already pulled all of us in," Inham shrugged, his smile unwavering.
"I don't like being led by the nose. And just so you know, my patience with you is nearing its limit..." Grandma Ail's gaze grew sharper as she stared at Bishop Inham, like a needle heated to a burning red. "Believe me, I have at least a hundred ways to make you wish for death."
"And you should believe that doing so benefits no one," Inham replied, meeting her gaze. His expression was not sharp, nor did it carry any intimidating force. Yet, no matter how overwhelming Grandma Ail's aura became, he remained like a bottomless abyss—absorbing everything without reaction.
The two locked eyes in silence for a long moment before Inham finally pulled a scroll from his robe. "I can't give you a teleportation scroll to Celeste. But I have another one here—perhaps just as useful to you. Don't say I'm trying to restrain you. The truth is, none of us are doing this for ourselves, but at the same time, none of us seem to care much about our own lives."
Glory Fortress.
"You've finally returned. So? Have you finished handling your personal matters?" The Pope glanced at the newly arrived Bishop Inham, exhaling slightly in relief.
"Thank you for your concern, Your Holiness. It's been taken care of." Inham bowed respectfully. "I can begin activating the Hawkeye puppets immediately—"
"Hmm. No need to rush for now. Bishop Jarvis's condition isn't looking good. Go check on him first. With your care, I trust he'll recover soon enough."
"Thank you, Your Holiness… However, there is one thing I would like to request of you."
"Oh?" The Pope raised an eyebrow, a bit surprised. Inham had never asked him for anything before—never set conditions or made demands.
"The remains of those two death knights… I hope Your Holiness will grant them to me."
"You want those? For what purpose?" The Pope was slightly taken aback. These two creatures, crafted through the most advanced necromantic magic, were indeed masterpieces of magical artistry. However, their significance in his own hands was vastly different from what they would mean in the hands of a necromancer. He had to consider this request carefully.
"A friend of mine is deeply interested in this field of magic. He promised that if I gave them to him, he would find a way to treat my son's injuries. While a full recovery isn't possible, at the very least, his condition could improve. So… please, Your Holiness, grant me these two death knights. I would be forever grateful for your immense kindness…"
"No need to say more. Take them." The Pope nodded. "I hope your friend truly has the ability to heal Bishop Jarvis. I would like nothing more than to see him stand again."
The fact that this man—whom the Pope had always kept an eye on—was now lowering himself to plead for something was unexpected. Yet, strangely, it also put him somewhat at ease. It seemed to confirm that Inham had truly accepted his place beneath the Pope's authority.
The most crucial point was that right now, he was indispensable. As long as they successfully navigated this critical period and the plan was carried out smoothly… such a dangerous individual would no longer need to remain alive. And with the plan's execution fast approaching, there was little time left—too little for him to cause any real trouble.
Jarvis's injuries had already been examined, and it was clear that no one in the world could truly heal wounds like his. Even if he couldn't be made to stand again, merely waking him halfway would already be a miracle.
The holy and grand Glory Fortress was immaculate—even its basement was clean, dry, and well-lit, resembling a modestly priced inn rather than a dark and damp dungeon. Jarvis lay on a soft bed in the basement, where he had remained for quite some time. Perhaps he would spend the rest of his life there.
Strictly speaking, his condition wasn't a simple injury. Instead, Sandru had used necromantic magic to twist and entangle every function, every trace of vitality, every tissue in his body into a tangled knot of death. His bones and muscles had fused into an indistinguishable mass, some parts of his body had completely reversed functions—his blood vessels and nerves had swapped roles, his liver had taken on a respiratory function, and his lungs had begun to digest food. And yet, this unnatural knot of death continued to circulate and sustain itself, never truly perishing. Even his consciousness and mental energy had been twisted and shredded into an unrecognizable mess by the dark magic.
That was what made the difference. The injuries were not just physical; they carried the essence of holy magic, something fundamentally opposed to the very existence of the undead.
Even though their bodies had been severed in half, it wasn't the physical damage that mattered. For true undead creatures, being cut in two was no more serious than a minor scratch on a living person. But the Execution Greatsword that had split them apart was not a mundane weapon—it was a blade of pure, solidified white magic, its divine essence burning into them, searing away the necrotic energies that bound their forms together.
No one could definitively say that Jarvis was dead, yet no one could truly claim he was still alive either.
"This is a gift to those he has wronged—and to those you have wronged."
That was the message Sandru had inscribed on Jarvis's back.
For once, the ever-present, charming smile that Inham wore vanished entirely. As he gazed at Jarvis's ruined form, there was no trace of amusement left—only sorrow and an unspoken sense of helplessness.
The Archangel that had struck down the two death knights was not merely a celestial being—it was the manifestation of countless beliefs, the spiritual energy of hundreds of elite white mages who had passed away, and the magic they had left behind within the Glory Fortress. The sheer presence of white magic in the air at that moment was powerful enough to restore life, akin to the most potent healing spells. And that was before considering the destructive power of the Execution Greatsword, a weapon forged from concentrated mental and magical energies, the ultimate tool of divine judgment.
No matter how brilliant Akibard's secret arts were, or how sophisticated Shante's necromantic magic could be, they were no match for this transcendental power. Under the strike of the Execution Greatsword, it wasn't just the bodies of the two death knights that were severed in two—it was their entire magical structure. The death magic that had once filled their bodies was completely purged by the overwhelming white magic embedded in that divine sword. These were no longer two death knights; they were now merely two intricately crafted, powerful corpses.
"Please, I beg of you, Master Stephen." Inham bowed deeply to the elderly man who had entered with him.