Chapter 9: You said it was 1,000 people Part 1

In the abandoned temple at the northern border of the Skadi Empire.

In a room filled with profane symbols and defaced statues, seven people stood in silence, all dressed in crimson robes.

“You must have heard the news by now.”

Among those seated around the round table in the center of the room, an elderly man spoke up.

He slowly leaned forward, pointing at a map placed in the middle of the table.

“The pilgrimage group, including the Saint, has finally reached the Crossroads Kingdom.”

Everyone turned their heads to follow the old man’s finger.

Just below the words “Crossroads Kingdom,” the symbol of the Holy Order was drawn.

“Once they cross this point, they will reach the north—right where we are.”

He moved his finger to point at a corner of the northern Skadi Empire.

“According to reports, their numbers are close to three thousand.”

“Th-three thousand?”

An uneasy murmur filled the room.

“That’s impossible. It’s an unprecedented speed. Crossing half the continent with three thousand people in just two weeks…”

“And many of them are likely to be Holy Knights.”

“As long as the Saint is with them, their numbers could increase even more.”

Fear and anxiety slowly seeped into their conversation.

Someone raised his voice.

“What is their purpose?”

The old man turned to the man next to him.

“What else could it be? This time, they intend to wipe us out completely.”

There was no need to ask, “Why?”

There was only one reason why the Holy Order would bring such a large force to the north.

The Cult of the Dark God.

The eternal adversary of the Holy Order—those who worship chaos.

Dealing primarily in human sacrifice and curses, they had already been marked as a blight that needed to be erased from the world.

The crimson robes, in stark contrast to the sky-blue and gold of the Holy Order, glimmered ominously in the candlelight.

“Damn them. Why can’t they just stay in the south, worshipping their fake god…”

“If the Saint herself is involved, it means they’re serious this time.”

At that moment, a thin, gaunt man stood up and spoke.

“Now’s not the time to hesitate. It’s not too late—we must assassinate the Saint!”

“Assassinate?”

“They’ve gathered because of that woman, the symbol of the Holy Order. If we kill her, the pilgrimage group will collapse.”

A few nodded in agreement.

“Haktas, do you have a plan?”

At the elder’s question, Haktas revealed his yellowed teeth in a grin.

“Just give me a few people. I’ll place a self-destruct curse on them and sneak them into the pilgrimage group. Once they’re inside, I’ll blow them up.”

“But the pilgrimage group won’t accept people without suspicion.”

“If they’re children, it will be more effective. Those fools always stop to protect kids whenever they see them.”

He raised four fingers.

“Four eight-year-old kids are enough to blow up this entire room. If we stuff their bellies with rusty nails and iron balls, even better.”

Haktas chuckled as he fondled his grotesquely deformed hand, twisted by curses and dark magic.

His forearm, peeking out from his sleeve, was covered with blasphemous inscriptions.

***

Haktas, the Torturer.

An infamous figure within the Cult of the Dark God, known for his brutal torture methods.

During the last war, he placed self-destruct curses on prisoners, allowing them to escape on purpose.

When the prisoners made contact with the Holy Order, the curse detonated, causing widespread casualties—a story still talked about to this day.

“Street orphans are plentiful, so it’s a reliable method.”

“Hmm, it’s a good plan, but…”

The elders and officers of the Dark God’s Cult exchanged glances, whispering among themselves.

“Alternatively, we could use virgins as sacrifices to spread a plague. A disease that makes pure maidens cough up blood and die—”

As Haktas was about to spew more grotesque ideas, a sharp voice cut through the room.

“If you kill the Saint now, that’s exactly what they want.”

All eyes turned to the left of the elder.

A slender woman raised her hand, her face hidden by the robe.

The elder asked, “What do you mean by that?”

“Killing the Saint won’t stop them. The Holy Order will use her death as a justification to eradicate us.”

“As a martyr,” she added with a click of her tongue.

“They will cry out for revenge and become even more ruthless. They won’t stop until we’re wiped from the world.”

Silence fell once more.

The reasoning made sense.

There is no better way to strengthen internal unity than to face an external attack.

If the symbol of the Holy Order were killed by the enemy, it would naturally drive them mad with rage.

Martyrdom.

Nothing stirred fanatics more than that word.

And there was no way to quell the fury that would follow.

Even the man who had proposed the assassination fell silent, returning to his seat.

“Damn it. Then do you have a better plan?”

The elder grimaced, prompting the woman to pause in thought.

Then, she made a proposal that no one had anticipated.

“Let’s kidnap the Saint.”

“K-Kidnap? Are you saying we should bring her here?”

People, startled by the plan that was even harder than assassination, muttered among themselves.

However, she remained unperturbed and continued.

“The goal is not to kill the Saint. Such a prostitute can be replaced at any time. What we truly need to target is…”

She slowly raised her hand and pulled back her robe.

A cascade of silk-like black hair flowed down like a waterfall.

“…The downfall of the Holy Church.”

In the dim light of the flickering candle, her blood-red eyes gleamed.

“We must make those who believe in the false god see the truth.”

The voice of the Saint of the Evil God, Hartensila, echoed through the corrupted temple.

“The first step is to drag down that false god’s prostitute, Ergena Celaph, to the lowest depths.”

She smirked bitterly.

“We will defile the Saint, again and again, until she becomes more wretched than a street pig. When the whole world sees the once beautiful and noble woman stripped bare and discarded, what will they think? Will they still see her as a Saint?”

“And when the pilgrimage reaches us, we will offer their symbol as a sacrifice to summon the demon. Once that happens, there will be no holiness left in this world.”

The corruption of the Saint.

Dragging down the woman favored by the god.

Nothing could insult the Holy Church more or prove the power of their own cult better.

To corrupt the god’s voice and finally offer it as a sacrifice.

The sheer audacity of the plan made everyone swallow unconsciously.

It was so perfect and so unimaginable.

“B-But isn’t it too late to make such a plan now?”

One of the elders finally came to his senses and voiced his concern.

“The pilgrimage has already reached the Kingdom of the Crossroads, and it’s only a matter of time before they come north.”

“Oh dear, Elder.”

Hartensila let out a seductive laugh.

“I’ve already sent the most suitable person. Someone who can approach the Saint without arousing any suspicion.”

“Who is it?”

“A mercenary we’ve invested a great deal of money in. A person who can become anything.”

With that, she took her seat again.

“As soon as they get the entry permit to the Kingdom of the Crossroads, they’ll begin their work.”

With a meaningful smile, she pulled her robe back on.

“Soon… we will hear good news.”

***

Exactly two days later, in the afternoon, just as the auditory official predicted, guests arrived.

“Three thousand one hundred twenty-nine people.”

I doubted my ears at the number given by the delegation.

“…Could you repeat that?”

“Ah, my apologies. That was yesterday’s data. Including those who joined early this morning, the total is three thousand three hundred seventy-four. Here’s the list. Everything is recorded without any omissions.”

-Thud.

A pile of documents as tall as me appeared with a heavy sound.

The sensory official nearly got buried under it.

“And here are the freight manifests and records. We brought them just in case they would be useful.”

-Thud.

Another stack, this time as tall as the olfactory official.

“We will formally meet you shortly. Please take care.”

With that, the delegates disappeared like the wind.

What remained were two mountains of documents and the number 3,374 imprinted in everyone’s minds.

Though the meeting lasted less than five minutes, its impact was profound.

***

A heavy silence filled the immigration office.

No one dared to speak—not me, not the sensory officials, not the attendants.

Instead, we slowly turned our heads to look at the field beyond the border.

Blue skies, green fields, and a swarm of what must be people moving like ants.

‘Had our border plains ever been so crowded?’

The flags bearing the rose emblem fluttered proudly in the wind—dozens of them, unmistakably the banners of the Holy Church.

I savored the looming disaster for a moment before quietly speaking.

“…We’re screwed.”