Chapter 583: This Guy Is Completely Out of His Mind

The Church of Plenty honored the Seven Martyrs, passing down their names through generations.

One of those names belonged to Myl—the apostle who oversaw the distribution of the Church’s wine, jams, and potions.

Myl patted his swollen belly.

It was a habit of his, something he did whenever he heard something he didn’t like—it always made his stomach feel queasy.

Of course, his plump gut didn’t really match the name of a martyr.

The original martyr Myl had starved to death, having cut flesh from his own legs to feed the hungry.

So yes, quite the contrast.

But was that a problem? Not at all.

What mattered was carrying on the martyr’s will—not one's body shape.

That was one of Myl’s favorite sayings.

Even if the original martyr were to rise from the grave and see him, Myl believed he was a man of great character.

And now, that “man of character” was scowling deeply.

Because someone had dared to assault one of the Church’s monasteries.

“This guy is completely out of his fucking mind,”

Myl muttered.

A sincere reaction.

From his perspective, no sane person would’ve done such a thing.

It was a grand receiving hall, furnished with eight sturdy chairs and a long, wide table fit for someone of his stature.

A place for both meals and meetings.

In the vast space, only Myl and three men in clerical robes were present.

The three stood at the left side of the table, hands clasped before them, all within Myl’s view.

The man standing at the front stepped forward and spoke.

His posture and tone were perfectly polite.

“Monastery Head Noah has declared that they have found their own path. He says they will now separate from the sect and study independently.”

In this context, “sect” referred to a specific branch within the broader group of those who believed in the God of Plenty.

While the term “Church” could technically be a sub-category of a sect, in today’s context, “Church” referred to the entire religious organization, while sects were subdivisions based on different scriptural interpretations.

So when someone mentioned a “sect,” it meant a slightly different belief system—

Though from a secular point of view, it was more like a faction within a political power structure.

That was the reality.

No matter how nicely you dressed it up, they had banded together to hold onto power, not faith.

These divisions were born more from power struggles than from belief.

Of course, no one ever said that out loud.

Myl snorted at the bishop’s report.

Was he only responsible for the Church’s product distribution?

Hardly.

The Church of Plenty had three major sects.

One was the Traditionalists, who insisted on preserving old doctrine.

Another pushed for progress and adaptation.

And then there was the Centrist group, claiming to stand in between.

Naturally, those who didn’t belong to any sect were often dismissed as irrelevant.

And now, some no-name monk in charge of a mere monastery had declared they’d just live on their own?

Did he forget whose support had kept him fed all this time?

“We’ll cut off all support to that monastery.

If he changes his mind, tell him to bring back a slice of the head monk’s leg.”

That was the punishment.

Well-deserved, in Myl’s opinion.

“Yes, we’ll do as you say.”

But that wasn’t the end of it.

Wasn’t there also a bastard who challenged the God of Plenty directly?

A Knight of Iron Walls? A Mad Knight Order? Laughable.

If they dared stand against the Church, they’d learn what that meant.

Did they really think they could act without consequences?

On the surface, this looked like a rebellion by Monastery Head Noah—

But in truth, it was Enkrid’s rampage that had caused all this.

Myl was furious at the man who had dared to move against them without even gauging the situation.

Sure, if that man stood right in front of him with sword in hand, Myl might bow and beg for his life—

But his sword couldn’t reach Myl right now.

And until it did, Myl could make him suffer in every possible way.

“This Border Guard... Cut off all trade with them. And withdraw any Church personnel stationed there.”

Myl pulled his hand away from his belly as he gave the order.

He wasn’t completely over his irritation, but this would be enough to make everyone understand who was in the wrong.

He immediately summoned all priests operating within Naurillia to return.

They’d been stationed there to suppress heresy.

Now, by pulling them out, he was practically inviting heretics to rise.

Sure, they’d failed before when he gave them a green light to stir up trouble, but if the Church was gone, they’d finally have the chance to make some real chaos.

Let’s see then if they still won’t admit their fault.

That was Myl’s line of thought.

Of course, he also sent a formal letter of protest, a warning that this would not be forgotten or forgiven.

He would force them to admit their wrongdoing.

Knights? Even if they were disasters incarnate, they only had two hands.

Вut the believers of God? They numbered in the hundreds, the thousands.

“He’ll regret this,”

Myl muttered under his breath.

He was probably already regretting it.

He must’ve acted in a moment of fury.

So, give him a little scolding now and claim proper compensation later.

“I’ll write to the king as well.”

As the thought came to him, Myl spoke again.

The King of Naurillia would also have to make considerable concessions to the Holy Nation over this matter.

And all of it happened while Enkrid was on his way back to the Border Guard.

***

“I swear, I’m going to lose my mind.”

Kraiss groaned.

Enkrid didn’t offer any excuses.

There was nothing to explain—it didn’t need justification.

If there was any saving grace, it was that the monastery had taken an open stance.

If Noah hadn’t stepped forward to say, “This is our path now,”

the Church would’ve taken far more aggressive measures.

Not that they weren’t already being aggressive. If the Church were a person, it’d be called shameless.

Still, this was more of a warning than anything.

“Why are you meddling in our business?”

That was the level of the message.

By Church standards, this response was unusually mild. If they’d gone by their usual policy, fists would’ve come first.

But that wasn’t so easy anymore.

This side had become the brightest rising power on the continent—like a sun devouring every force around it.

At the center of it all were Enkrid and the Mad Knights. Their power was the foundation of the Border Guard.

So any half-hearted display of force would only backfire.

There were still some who weren’t sure. But anyone with a brain—or an understanding of the continent’s politics—no longer doubted Enkrid’s strength.

What went on inside his head? That was still anyone’s guess. But that was true for Abnaier as well.

Who would dare interfere with a sacred ceremony like that?

He’s really gone mad.

Was Azpen really so weak that they had to be dragged around by the Church? Even if their overall strength lagged behind, they could’ve easily erased the Church’s influence within their borders.

Azpen had that much power.

But they didn’t do it. Why?

Because of the cost of cutting off the Church.

Trade would be the first to suffer.

Wine, soap, jam—those had traditionally been monastery goods. Some private merchants made them now too, but monasteries still held the bulk of the supply.

Even if the kingdom’s own merchant guilds found a way to manage trade, what about the consequences afterward?

What of the nations that would shun them under pressure from the Holy Nation?

Even the southern empires and trade nations would rush to side with the Holy Nation.

They would all obstruct everything, at every turn—it was as predictable as night falling.

Wasn’t this basically the same as charging a ghoul in the middle of the night?

Ghouls had no reason, no thought—they didn’t care whether their opponent was human, Frokk, or giant. They just attacked.

“There’s already a mountain of problems to deal with, and now this? This is idiocy.”

This didn’t help resolve anything—it only stirred up more problems.

Immediate fallout?

Abnaier already knew the influence wielded by the Apostles of Plenty across the continent.

He could easily guess what they’d do.

Back in Azpen’s heyday, they had considered time and again what would happen if they simply purged all the corrupt priests and clergy.

The pressure through trade routes—that would come first.

Countless merchants depended on the Church’s trade channels.

One of the Church’s greatest assets was its network of monasteries.

They weren’t cities, but they still managed to repel monsters and beasts on their own.

Merchant guilds often used them as safe waypoints.

And if that was manageable, what about the next issue?

Among all the problems, one loomed largest.

“They’ll recall the priesthood.”

The priesthood that suppressed heretical cults operated under the Church’s direct command.

Both the Justice Enforcement Priests and the Cult Eradication Priests.

The latter even included Holy Knights affiliated with the Church.

These two priestly orders hunted cultists across borders.

They were masters of tracking and assassination, widely recognized across the continent as elite anti-cult forces.

Even the cults themselves shuddered at the mention of either order.

They weren’t many, but every one of them had dedicated their life to hunting down cultists.

If they pulled out?

That would disrupt the delicate balance of power.

As long as the priesthood was active, the cults couldn’t act freely.

They couldn’t be wiped out entirely, but the balance at least kept them in check.

It was one of the Church’s rare achievements since the Salamander Summoning madness of the Demon Sanctuary Cult.

Even when Naurillia looked like ripe fruit to neighboring nations, cults were already active within the kingdom.

They’d only managed it because the priesthood stationed there had been distracted elsewhere.

Now, the Church would do whatever it took to pull them out for good.

And the cults would rampage like fish finally returned to water.

“Wait, she’s the Saintess?”

“Hi, I’m Seiki.”

When Kraiss saw the girl Enkrid had brought back, he couldn’t help but ask.

Seiki answered directly.

No one knew why, but the Saintess had dark circles under her eyes and looked utterly exhausted.

Her legs seemed shaky.

And yet, her voice was bright.

“And you brought her back?”

Abnaier had to stop himself from slapping his own forehead.

Why bring that girl here?

Saving the Saintess was already problematic.

Attacking the monastery made it worse.

And now they’d brought the centerpiece of the entire mess straight into their camp?

The Church of Plenty’s core business was potion production.

And now, Enkrid had simply walked off with their most valuable resource?

A madman.

That title wasn’t just for show.

Abnaier now understood that completely.

Even so, the emotion he felt wasn’t simple disbelief.

What Enkrid had done was outrageous.

It was foolish—unthinkably stupid.

And yet...

Emotions can’t always be explained by logic.

That was exactly what Abnaier felt right now.

“Yeah. I need a new set of armor. Something easier to move in. Find someone who’s good at that. Aitri said he was a weapon specialist, and apparently blacksmiths all have different specialties. He’s busy with other things right now, so find someone else. We’re not short on anything at Aitri’s forge, right?”

Enkrid rambled casually.

Kraiss responded immediately.

“Gods, I’m going insane. What, should I scold the old man for not doing your work now? And since when do knights toss out their armor after one fight? The commander always wants a new set after every battle.”

“Really?”

“The Church... haah... What are we going to do? Their letter demanding the return of the Saintess arrived before you did.”

“Ignore it.”

“...Yes, sir.”

“Problem?”

Problems? Plenty.

At least in Abnaier’s view.

But Kraiss’s answer was a spectacle in itself.

His words said one thing, but his tone was relaxed, indifferent.

“Lots. I’ll call a meeting. This time, stay for it, will you?”

“Sure, let’s do that.”

Enkrid nodded.

Kraiss let out another sigh.

There was no sense of panic, no grim weight of looming death.

Was it because the seriousness of the situation hadn’t sunk in yet?

No way.

Kraiss was a genius.

He had a terrifying mind for strategy.

If anything, he had a better sense of crisis than anyone else here.

Maybe that’s why—

Abnaier didn’t know.

But something about the casual tone of their conversation sent a chill down his spine.

Goosebumps rose along his arms.

The Church’s corruption?

It was real.

Everyone knew it.

Priests rotten to the core, shielded by divine authority?

Who hadn’t heard of such things?

Even simple farmers would grit their teeth at the mention of the Church or heresy.

And yet, no one ever acted.

People thought about it.

But no one did anything.

There was nothing to gain from stepping forward.

But that man—Enkrid—

He said this was normal.

That it should be done.

He just stepped in, acted, moved forward without hesitation.

Abnaier felt that ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) same electric thrill race down his body once more.

It was satisfaction.

A sense of catharsis that made him laugh.

“Ha... hahahaha...”

Back in Azpen, he’d dreamed of ruining the Church’s ceremonies.

There had been more than one time when he’d wanted to tear everything to pieces.

And yet, even he had never imagined this.

Kidnapping the Saintess? Attacking a monastery?

Whatever had happened there, Enkrid clearly didn’t care about the Church at all.

Abnaier kept laughing.

Enkrid glanced at him briefly, then leaned over to whisper something to Kraiss.

Abnaier couldn’t hear it.

But he understood why the word “hero” seemed to fit that man so well.

What was difficult and terrifying for others, he treated as a given.

What others only dreamed of doing, he actually did.

And now, for those who followed him, that behavior was becoming the norm.

“Let’s talk for a moment.”

Kraiss walked over to Abnaier, who finally stifled his laughter and nodded.

He was ready to listen—to whatever was coming next.