Chapter 182 - 021: Hero?

Chapter 182: 021: Hero?

Griss did not ask too many questions about why Lynch, an apprentice from the Shadow Tower, was tangled up with two people of obviously dubious backgrounds. After verifying their identities, he warmly welcomed Lynch and his companions into the Hawk Castle territory.

Not long after entering the territory, Grant asked Lynch for a mask to wear on his face.

Lynch was somewhat surprised.

Judging by his attitude earlier, Lynch thought he no longer cared about events from the past.

Soon, the group smoothly met the lord of the territory, Marshall.

He appeared to be around sixty years old, his full head of silver hair meticulously combed back. Although he only wore a set of simple casual clothes, he still stood tall and dignified, exuding an air of natural heroism.

“I am Marshall Miller, a pleasure to meet you all.”

After exchanging brief greetings, Marshall’s gaze unconsciously drifted toward Grant. He seemed puzzled and curious.

He asked, “Who might this be?”

From beneath the mask came a low voice: “An apprentice wizard’s servant, unworthy of a name.”

Marshall continued to look at him for a moment before slowly withdrawing his gaze.

He turned to Lynch and said, “Griss has already informed me of your purpose here. However, I’m currently tied up and cannot leave, so you’ll need to go to the Confession Tree on your own. I ask for your understanding.”

Lynch nodded: “No problem.”

From the moment he entered, Lynch noticed the worried expression on this knight Marshall’s face. Every person he saw in the castle seemed to be running around hurriedly. Evidently, something urgent was going on.

Marshall managed a small smile: “In that case, please rest in the castle for the night. There’s no need to rush until tomorrow.”

Lynch glanced outside. Dusk had already fallen, and the Confession Forest and the Confession Tree were some distance away. Thinking it over, Lynch decided to accept Marshall’s suggestion—there was no need for haste.

He nodded: “Then we’ll trouble you for your hospitality.”

Marshall responded, “It is an honor to host Transcendents.”

“It’s late. I’ve already instructed the servants to prepare a dinner for everyone. Let us eat and chat in the dining hall.”

The group prepared to head toward the dining hall; however, at that moment, noise unexpectedly erupted outside—a familiar voice.

“Let me in, I must see the Falcon Knight!”

“Ah!”

“Quick, stop him!”

Sounds of fighting followed, along with hurried footsteps. Soon, a young man broke through the soldiers’ blockade and burst into the hall.

Why did this scene feel so familiar?

Lynch looked at the young man’s face in puzzlement—and as expected, it was none other than Arthur Grant, whom they had previously encountered in the Tulip Domain.

Ordinary soldiers were no match for a knight, and in no time, Arthur had charged up to Marshall.

“Sir, this man…”

Marshall waved dismissively: “It’s fine, I understand. You may leave.”

With that, his gaze focused on Arthur.

Compared to the version of Arthur they had seen in Tulip Domain, the current Arthur appeared more haggard. His lips were chapped, his armor and cloak were covered in bloodstains and dirt, his eyes were sunken, and exhaustion clung to his every movement—evidently a result of hardship and exposure to the elements.

What had not changed, however, were his eyes—still as strikingly bright as they had been in the Tulip Domain.

Upon seeing Marshall, Arthur did not hesitate: “Sir Falcon Knight, my name is Arthur Grant, from the Gwodis Grant Knights…”

“Enough!”

Marshall interrupted him abruptly: “I know who you are. Your name is already circulating throughout the Seven Kingdoms; I understand why you’ve come. Spare me the unnecessary chatter.”

He paused, then bluntly asked: “Tell me, after traveling across the Seven Kingdoms, how many troops have you managed to gather?”

Arthur replied, “Several nobles said they’d consider…”

Marshall sneered coldly and cut him off without mercy: “That means none, doesn’t it?”

Arthur fell silent.

Marshall continued: “I’m asking you directly—how many troops do you have?”

Arthur replied, “We have two thousand trained soldiers, but the townsfolk are also willing to assist in battle. Everyone will fight with everything they have!”

Marshall replied: “Commoners are useless on the battlefield, which means the only dependable forces you have are a mere two thousand men.”

His gaze lingered on Arthur’s ragged leather armor and the visibly worn Cross Sword: “And even their gear is far from adequate.”

Marshall added: “Two thousand men—while the Necromancy Army outside has how many? Tens of thousands? Hundreds of thousands?”

He mocked: “You expect me to send troops to support you based on these numbers? Don’t you find that laughably absurd?”

Arthur fell silent once more.

Marshall nodded: “Alright, you’ve come a long way—you must be tired. I’ll have the servants prepare a room for you. Rest for tonight. As for your request… I’ll think about it and give you an answer tomorrow.”

With that, he no longer paid attention to Arthur and turned, leading Lynch and the others away.

“Falcon Knight!”

Yet Arthur chased after him once again.

He asked, “What about the oath?”

“Have you forgotten the significance of Lord Grant entrusting you with this territory? When Ramos Duchy faces disaster, when people are in harm’s way, your troops must return to the duchy without delay—to sweep away evil, to defend peace!”

He took a deep breath and made a desperate appeal: “This was the sacred oath you swore before Lord Grant. Are you going to betray that man?!”

As if struck by taboo, the previously tranquil hall instantly descended into chaos.

The soldiers erupted into outright anger, shouting furiously:

“Don’t bring up that scoundrel!”

“The duchy is in its current state entirely because of that piece of human trash!”

“Bastard! Bastard! Bastard!”

The soldiers were red-eyed, grinding their teeth in rage, looking as though they would rip someone to pieces—a hatred that seemed tied to a blood feud.

Lynch couldn’t help but glance at Grant. What had he done to elicit such hatred? Wasn’t he the hero everyone celebrated? Wasn’t it he who built this loyal order of knights? Why were they so venomous toward him?

“The oath?”

Marshall sneered, and his ensuing words answered Lynch’s question.

He looked pityingly at Arthur: “It seems you truly don’t know anything!”

Arthur was confused.

Marshall explained: “Back then, yes, that man did bring peace to this land. People truly believed in him, revered him as a hero, and crowned him lord. We all trusted that he’d safeguard this land, that he’d lead us against evil and maintain order.”

“But what did he do?”

Marshall’s eyes burned with rage: “Betrayal! Treachery!”

“He made a deal with those vile Black Wizards, using the power and status we entrusted him with. He sold this peaceful land, sold every single person here, to those damn Black Wizards. Yes, all of us were sold by him!”

Ah, so that was it…

Lynch now understood why Order Code’s sixth rule hadn’t triggered, and why the Shadow Swamp had been able to take over the territory without White Witch Council intervention.

Wizards had granted Great Knights wizard-equivalent status, and according to the Wizard World’s rules, Grant, as the land’s Guardian, had full sovereignty over it. If he willingly traded this territory with other wizards, it was indeed within the rules.

Yet…

Such a truth was undeniably harsh.

The color drained from Arthur’s face, and his entire body abruptly swayed violently.

The body that had endured being battered countless times by Jamie yet always scrambled upright now looked as though it could collapse any moment.

Marshall’s voice became like a nightmare—brutal and merciless.

“We didn’t betray Grant. He betrayed us!”

“Grant? A hero? Hah!”

“There was never any hero, never any Grant—that was just a selfish scoundrel. To appease his own desires, what did we ever matter to him? To him, we were merely goods to trade at his convenience!”

He cast a look of pity on Arthur: “To idolize someone like this—and even use his name as your surname.”

“How pathetic!”

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