Chapter 87: Regin Nibelungen

An old priest in ecclesiastical robes, surrounded by church knights, slowly stepped up to Phield. He casually dipped his fingers into the holy water inside a golden cup and flicked a few drops onto Phield. "Lost lamb, may the Holy Light protect you."

"Many thanks." Phield smiled and nodded, already guessing their purpose. "Hello. May I ask what brings you here?"

"Heretics are trampling upon the sacred land of the Goddess of Holy Light. The Church must assemble a Divine Punishment Army to defend the people and their freedom. We need your strength—provide gold, food, soldiers, or Divine Chosen to join the war against the Heretics."

"Hiss... just as I thought."

He had barely received his money, and already someone had their eyes on it.

"Sorry, but I require the Empress’s order before I can supply military resources." Phield shrugged with a helpless expression.

The old priest declared righteously, "We are fighting for all humanity! The Empress will agree—the decree simply has not been issued yet."

If Phield hadn’t studied continental history, he might have been fooled by that righteous façade. The Church did assemble Divine Punishment Armies—seven times already—but they only provided the "name," never real military strength, especially not high-tier power.

Each time, they gathered only three or four thousand troops, mostly veteran thugs and criminals, who burned and looted their way to the front lines, then fled at the first sight of the enemy.

It was nothing more than organized plunder. As for the donations everyone made, they turned into pretty boys, villas, and gold bricks for the Church of Holy Light to enjoy.

The real battles against the Heretics were carried out almost entirely by dukes, marquises, counts, knight orders, and the regular armies of various nations. Though they too enjoyed pillage, they actually fought hard when it mattered.

The last Divine Punishment Army included the Silver Wings—known as the Spear of Holy Light—and the Polly Federation Empire. Even the newly crowned emperor died in battle, leaving the imperial bloodline extinct and the empire forced into the awkward situation of parliamentary rule.

Phield laughed heartily. "Very well. I shall pray every day and hope the Goddess brings miracles to the warriors."

As for giving money? Forget it.

The old priest nearly choked with anger—weren’t those the exact words they used to fool others?

"Do not make short-sighted decisions. If the Heretics march upon the Sacred Griffin Empire, you may regret it deeply." The old priest’s tone carried a hint of threat, his eyes sharp.

Phield replied, "Then I will personally lead my troops into a direct battle against the invaders."

Instead of handing wealth to unrelated people to fund their lavish lives—but he left that part unsaid.

"Pfft—hahaha."

Several people burst into laughter.

"Just a rural baron who doesn’t understand how terrifying the Heretics are."

"Arrogant and self-important—he’ll suffer for it."

"Foolish."

Looking at those who mocked him, Phield felt a flash of anger and was about to speak—

"Baron Phield is absolutely right. A knight should fight invaders, not hide behind the lines throwing money around to avoid trouble. And above all, loyalty matters. Before the Empress makes a decision, we should not act rashly."

The Sacred Griffin Empire was on the verge of breaking with the Papal State—something the nobles were well aware of.

Of course, it wasn’t because of that incident about the Empress bathing on Holy Day.

"Hm?" Phield turned his head and saw a stern-looking middle-aged man in noble robes. The clothing itself wasn’t what caught attention—it was the family crest on his chest: a blue dragon holding a sword in its jaws.

"The Nibelungen family?"

A formidable figure from Morning Breeze Province, one of the Empress’s true blades—an authority who possessed a blue dragon and a sixth-tier Divine Chosen.

"My name is Regin Nibelungen," the man said with a smile. "I’ve heard of you, Phield—the kindest noble, always willing to aid the poor."

Phield offered a noble’s salute. "Greetings, honored sir. I do consider myself a kind man."

"It’s quite a coincidence meeting you. We were just about to visit Baron Simon. His economic and grain support is crucial for our suppression campaign." Regin Nibelungen did not mind revealing the information. "There are more Heretics than we imagined—they’ve completely brainwashed the entire population of a viscount’s territory."

"Then our Ross family..." Phield hesitated deliberately. "Should also contribute to the Empire."

Regin looked puzzled. "Of course. The governor’s handwritten letter was sent immediately—didn’t you know? Wind Orchid City lies right next to that viscounty. Your younger brother is already mobilizing forces."

Knowing now wasn’t too late.

Phield suppressed his excitement. "I’ve been stuck in the dark northern province. I only came out a couple of days ago."

"Oh? So it’s true that you’ve taken charge of Nightfall Domain. Poor child—how could your father bear to send someone barely of age to such a dreadful place? I will mention this to Her Majesty. You should receive aid from the Empress—it’s a frontier expansion for the nation. You are a hero."

That was beyond Phield’s expectations. Not only did Regin refrain from asking for donations or support—he was even offering him benefits.

Whether polite words or not, Phield’s impression of the man improved instantly.

"Thank you very much. But I hope to participate in the suppression campaign—not by donating money, but by sending troops."

"Pfft—" The familiar mocking laughter sounded again.

"This isn’t a picnic," said a flamboyantly dressed young man, one hand on his hip and chest puffed out. "Do you even have soldiers? You look completely alone—not even a single attendant. Doesn’t seem like someone capable of earning military merit."

Phield looked at the young man, somewhat speechless.

Who the hell are you? You’ve been mocking me since earlier.

Regin frowned and scolded, "Farid, restrain your frivolous behavior. Anyone who serves the Empire deserves respect."

The man called Farid simply crossed his arms, clearly unconcerned, a teasing smile on his face.

Phield couldn’t even be bothered to respond. He said seriously to Regin, "I will bring troops and support the suppression campaign."

"Excellent! That is the spirit of an imperial knight." The man nodded in satisfaction and took out a letter from his robes. "Open this in private after you return. It contains the exact location and time of the assembly. Every bit of strength is indispensable."

So secretive.

Phield rubbed his chin, tempted to open it immediately.

"Ignore that dandy. This battle might even earn you a fief."

"Do your best—perhaps we’ll charge into battle together."

"Glad to meet you, Sir Phield."

Several minor nobles traveling with Regin stepped forward, nodding to Phield in a friendly manner and introducing themselves.

Many nobles possessed no land—some held only honorary titles. They longed to earn military merit and finally live true noble lives. Because of that, they felt a natural affinity toward Phield, who seemed just as "unfortunate."

After a few final words, Regin departed with the group of nobles.