Chapter 214: Alexander (8)

The news that spread from Ithaca swept across the entire kingdom in an instant. Alexander’s brutal death, known as the report of the kingdom’s corruption.

And the message that flew in from the Ithaca Church, which judged him.

[Saint Alexander died begging for his life like a dog in the marketplace.

In the end, the fate of a corrupt person is no different from that of a condemned criminal, even if they bear the name of a saint.

It has been quite some time since they became intoxicated with the glory and false reputation of being heroes, turning a blind eye to their evil deeds.

While they were busy lining their own pockets rather than pursuing justice, the authority of religion fell to the ground,

and the nation’s finances are collapsing.

How long will you live like this? What did you live for?

We are not people who live for heroes.

We should always have been on the side of the poor and the good,

and we should have been warriors fighting against great evil.

Priests. Evil is falling, and a new wind is blowing.

Which side will you stand on? For whom will you live?]

Everything that followed was merely a continuation of the most natural events.

In a church in the western region, the head of the parish who had pledged loyalty to Alexander had his neck hung in front of the church. A man wielding a sword loudly proclaimed the name of the new church, and greedy paladins were shoved into prison, bound tightly.

The priest overseeing the southern region quickly learned of Alexander’s death and tried to flee to the capital. While fleeing with his face covered by a hood, he was recognized by a passing farmer and beaten to death.

A high-ranking priest who was building an Alexander faction within the Academy was found the very next day after Alexander’s murder. He was found hanged before the news of Alexander’s death even arrived. A suicide note was found, so the investigation concluded it was suicide, but how he knew about Alexander’s death in advance remained a mystery.

And in the capital, there was a man who could learn of Alexander’s death as quickly as a messenger sent from Ithaca.

“Ah……. Ahh……! Ahhhhh!”

A short note passed on from the Thieves Guild turned his face bright red. Tears streamed from his eyes, and his reason was paralyzed, unable to utter a coherent word. The old man from the Thieves Guild said, bowing his head deeply.

“I am truly sorry.”

“Uwaaaaaah! Ahhhhhhh!”

The hero Wolf tore the letter to shreds. The shredded pieces fluttered beautifully, like snowflakes. Wolf, still unable to quell his rage even after tearing the paper, flipped over the table he was sitting at.

“Uwaaaaaah!”

Then he grabbed a potted plant and threw it at the old man. Could he not have expected an attack directed at himself? The old man’s eyes widened as he looked at the flowerpot that had reached him in an instant, and his head exploded along with shards of pottery.

“Ahhhhhhhhh! Uwaaaaaaaaaah!”

The death of one person was no problem for Wolf. Nothing could control Wolf right now.

Alexander.

He wasn’t just a comrade. He was the best partner, always supporting and looking out for Wolf.

“Aaaaaaaaaah! Uwaaaaaaaaaah!”

Every time Wolf swung his hands, everything in the room turned to dust. A chair he carelessly threw crashed through the wall and tumbled into the palace courtyard. A servant who came to intervene was grabbed by the collar and thrown aside, becoming a pulp. The mirror on the wall shattered along with the wall, its fragments impossible to find.

“Uwaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!”

Wolf recalled when he first started traveling with Alexander. When they first set out on their journey for revenge, Wolf and Alexander weren’t close at all. Wolf had intended to part ways with Alexander again once the revenge was complete, and they both thought it would be a simple journey.

[Hey, Wolf. Are you going to act like a statue while we’re traveling together? Huh? Try this. This is really delicious meat.]

Alexander was truly a reliable friend who did everything. When he accidentally got injured, Alexander carried him to safety, and when Wolf was exhausted, he would volunteer to stand watch. Just as much as Wolf cherished Alexander, Alexander cherished Wolf too.

[It’s okay, Wolf. You’re always doing great.]

That’s the kind of friend he was. He was the best friend he met during his most unfortunate times, who guided him and helped him with his revenge. He was the kind of friend to whom he owed a debt that needed repaying, no matter what it took.

“Alexander…!”

Wolf glared, looking outside.

The church.

People were flooding into the church, which held the story of Alexander’s luxurious life. They were celebrating Alexander’s death and persecuting the priests guarding the church. The paladins blocking the entrance were swept away by the tide of people, and the priests huddled on the rooftop, shivering. The news of Alexander’s death triggered protests on an uncontrollable scale, like water pouring into a sinking ship. So many people were pounding on the church doors, filled with hatred, that even the protest leaders were surprised.

“I’ll… I’ll kill them all…!”

But to Wolf, the protesters’ demands were not justified. They were nothing but filthy traitors celebrating and justifying Alexander’s death.

“You sons of bitches! I’ll kill you all!”

Wolf drew his sword. And he started running towards the church.

“Aaaagh!”

Finally, the church doors were broken down. The priests were dragged out, being beaten mercilessly. Their bodies, already mangled by kitchen knives and crude spearheads, couldn’t even muster the will to heal themselves. They knew that even if they healed, they would just be beaten again, and even if they used holy power to escape, they would eventually be caught anyway. Every time their bruised faces were brought onto the platform, people threw stones and shards of glass, hurling insults.

“You sons of bitches! Do you know your sins!”

“While you were stuffing your bellies, my friend was branded a heretic and died! Were you that greedy for the farmer’s property!”

The priests couldn’t offer any excuses. If they opened their mouths, stones flew into them, and if they tried to turn their heads, clubs rained down on them. There was only one thing they could do: bury their heads on the ground and crawl like insects. And all they could do was take the stones to the crown of their heads and say this:

“We are sorry…! We have committed a crime worthy of death…!”

There was nothing more they could do. They felt the luxurious life they had enjoyed still shimmering before their eyes. Rather than reflecting on their sins, they wanted to resent Alexander, who had died before them.

“We are sorry…! Please spare us…!”

Blood flowed from their heads. One priest, battered and bruised, slumped his frail body and rolled down. His body was torn to shreds before it even hit the ground, becoming unrecognizable.

“You bastards!”

One priest, unable to contain his rage, shouted as he used his holy power to break free from the ropes. But before he could do anything with his holy power, a spear thrust through his chest silenced him. The priest’s eyes widened, his arms spread, and he collapsed downward once more. His corpse, too, was shattered into pieces before hitting the ground, creating a storm of blood.

Only then could the priests understand. That begging here wouldn’t save them. That even if they bowed their heads low here, or tried to escape, they would eventually fall down and become rags. The remaining priests exchanged glances. They were corrupt, and their holy power was weak. The only charges attached to their names were bribery and complicity in evil deeds, and there was no one to vouch for their good deeds. The priests gritted their teeth and squeezed their eyes shut. They could only pray that this death would not hurt.

The murmur of the crowd and the sound of beating clubs. Their bodies, no longer feeling sensation properly, were only being told they were hit by stones with dull thuds. Finally, another priest, having exhausted his strength, rolled onto the floor, and his body, just like the others, was torn apart as if beasts were fighting over prey.

They thought it was all over.

A priest, opening his eyes slightly, felt a white light approaching in the distance.

KABOOM!

Following the light that filled his vision, the ground cracked deeply. People were swept away by the blast wave, flying through the air, and the man who had been throwing stones at him turned to dust, leaving only his arms behind. A massive crack remained on the ground. Sharp scars, as if a giant had swung a sword, remained, dividing the two priests and the kingdom’s citizens. The ground was scorching hot, emitting heat haze, and there was no trace of the people who had been in the middle.

The movements of the people, who had been rushing forward as if to tear the priests to shreds, stopped.

“W-Wolf…!”

Someone called his name.

And, as if responding to that name, the hero Wolf shook his sword and said.

“I defeated the Demon King, and I am the master of this country! If you wish to resist, I will kill you all! I will kill every last one of you! And I will kill those arrogant bastards from Ithaca too!”