The Demon King is unfathomable

Chapter 471 The Farmer and the King

Thunder City, Andes Manor.

As summer drew to a close, the cool morning air, carrying the fragrance of marigolds, drifted into the study through the half-open window.

Archduke Edward Campbell read his sister's handwritten letter again, his handsome brows now furrowed with seriousness.

In the letter, Eileen described in detail the brutality of the Battle of Twilight City, the terror of the Chaos God's descent, and the final judgment that descended from the sky.

Of course, she also mentioned the arrival of the King's chief steward, Sclair, and the Papal Inquisition after the war, and the resulting tensions.

The Campbells made a great sacrifice to save their people in the Twilight Province, and they deserve the King's reward!

However, the king's lackeys deliberately blurred the concepts of ownership and usage rights, slandering the Duchy of Campbell as wanting to usurp the king's title, and claiming that this act of turning black into white was creating a breeding ground for chaos, even bringing up the "prophecy" of the great sage.

Ah!
Edward sneered.

These guys really dare to say anything!

Could it be that Chaos was invited by Campbell's reinforcements?
Edward didn't really care about these meaningless accusations. He wasn't surprised at all that the king would send people to "steal the apples"; it was just a matter of who led the charge.

The only thing that troubled him was the arrival of the court.

Edward tapped his index finger lightly on the white oak table, his gaze falling on the huge map of the Kingdom of Ryan on the wall.

The Papacy does not usually interfere in the internal conflicts of secular kingdoms; their swords are only aimed at heresy and chaos.

However, the title of "Grand Judge" carries too much weight. In the past, the Kingdom of Ryan rarely even saw a baron from an empire, but this time, a favorite of the Pope had actually come.

Jiménez's arrival subtly changed the rules of this game. What was originally a contest based on strength now had an added factor called "legal principle".

and--

The courtroom is not necessarily simple either.

Perhaps only serfs who have never seen a pastor more than a few times in their lives would think that a ruthless devil who kills without hesitation becomes a saint just because he has a copy of the Book of the Word.

There were priests in the Dusk Province before, so it can't be that the Campbellians were too greedy and that's why the Ryan people there went hungry, right?

“…My lord.” A weary messenger knocked respectfully on the door and stood at the study doorway awaiting a response.

"Come in."

Edward snapped out of his thoughts, picked up the letter he had already prepared from the table, sealed it with sealing wax, and handed it to the messenger who entered the study.

"Tell Eileen to be cautious and prioritize her own safety above all else. No matter what happens, the Duchy of Campbell will always be her strongest support."

He paused, then suppressed his anger and added a sentence.

"And me... No one can slander my sister and then act like nothing happened. Not even the King's chief steward!"

"Yes, Your Majesty... Grand Duke."

Sensing the anger in those eyes, the messenger's heart skipped a beat. He took the burning letter with both hands, bowed, and quickly withdrew.

After seeing the messenger off, Edward's gaze fell on another secret report on his desk, compiled and delivered by his trusted confidant.

This intelligence report mainly mentions the current basic situation of various earls, barons, towns, and villages in the Twilight Province.

This includes the approximate population range of each plot, the extent to which it has been affected by war, whether the soil is suitable for cultivation, and where the lord has gone, etc.

Theodore wanted to renege on his debt in the name of holiness, but Edward was no pushover either.

He always liked to have a backup plan.

If the king doesn't cooperate, go to the earl; if the earl doesn't cooperate, go to the baron; if the main family doesn't cooperate, go to the collateral branches. Whoever cooperates with the Campbell family is the one with the right to rule!

Wasn't that old man pretending to be asleep trying to use the chaos of war to take back the land held by the nobles?
Don't even think about it!

The sword of the Duchy of Campbell will defend the sacred and unquestionable laws of the lords of the Twilight Province!
Although the Campbell family were rivals with the traditional feudal nobility in their own duchy, they could certainly take a different stance in their neighbor's country.

With a blank expression, Edward finished reading the intelligence report. The blueprint for the entire plan was already complete in his mind, just like when he planned the future of Thunder City.

But to be honest, he was actually getting a little annoyed.

Why is it always the Duchy of Campbell that has to clean up the messes for the Devallo family?

They expanded the territory of the Kingdom of Ryan, suppressed the labyrinth of Thunder County for nearly a thousand years, and guarded the southern sea outlet for the Kingdom of Ryan. However, the king never thanked them and even regarded the "Light of Praise" as a nuisance.

He had never thought this way before, but recently he has increasingly felt that the Devalo family is not worthy of such a vast land, and that they themselves are the greatest disgrace to the kingdom!

Perhaps the Andes are right—

To resolve the current troubles of the Duchy of Campbell once and for all, the Twilight Province must be completely transformed into the Duchy of Twilight.

As for the troubles that will follow...

We'll have to wait and see.

Just then, Edward's gaze fell on the last line of the last page of the intelligence report in his hand, and remained there.

His confidant, when mentioning the whereabouts of Earl Theron Gard, specifically noted that the man had returned to his castle and apparently made some kind of deal with the Salvation Army.

They had originally planned to speak with Earl Cyron, but when they arrived at his mansion in Twilight City, he had vanished without a trace, having reportedly brought his family back to the castle.

Edward had heard of the Salvation Army, including the so-called "Saintess," and that they had the help of the dwarves, and even the Sword Saint from Brass Pass was by their side.

What he hadn't expected was that even though the chaos had ended, these guys still had influence in the Twilight Province.

Do they think that just because they fought Chaos, the Holy See has to invite them back to the Holy City to receive a reward?
Putting everything else aside, the name itself is outrageous enough.

"Savior...Saintess...Heh heh."

As he murmured those two names, a barely perceptible hint of disdain crept onto Edward's lips.

A motley crew of rebels and starving people dared to claim to be "saviors"—it was utterly ridiculous.

Their own refugees are starving and begging in Thunder City, yet they still want to save the world?
You'd better save yourself first!

Edward despised the group of lunatics.

However, when his gaze swept over the so-called "New Testament" attached to the secret report, the contempt in his eyes disappeared, replaced by a glint of interest.

Strictly speaking, his confidants did not actually see the book of doctrine; everything about the New Testament was hidden in the oral traditions of the local people.

Therefore, there is also a theory that the so-called New Testament is not a visible book, but an oracle that Saint Karen received from Saint Sis.

Karen always tells everyone that she is just an ordinary nun, born in an inconspicuous village, who was saved by God by chance and awakened the ability to "communicate with the gods." Before that, she was just an ordinary country girl.

According to this logic, anyone could claim to have heard a divine oracle, and the court would go crazy if it knew!
His confidants selected a few so-called divine pronouncements and wrote them in a secret letter. They dared not write more than that, only selecting some praises of Saint Sith and the promises that the "Son of God" had made to the world.

Ordinary fools would only compare which god's promise is bigger, but Edward is a smart man who sees through the appearance to the essence at a glance.

“Everyone’s a priest, huh…” Edward chuckled, a rare hint of admiration flashing in his interested eyes. “That’s something.”

This is something that a group of starving peasants could never come up with. Would an ordinary person think of seizing the "right to interpret scriptures"?

They must have a mastermind guiding them!

Every ruler knows that what is written in the Book of the Word is not important; what matters is who holds the power to interpret it.

For thousands of years, the Papacy has held this power firmly in its hands and used it to establish the order of the Second Age!

And now, a village girl actually wants to snatch the "right to interpret scriptures" from the Vatican?
This isn't just audacious; it's downright selling one's soul to the devil!
However, these people were clever; instead of flying the banner of hell, they raised the banner of Saint Sith.

Edward couldn't help but begin to reassess this so-called "Salvation Army".

Regardless of who stands behind them, as long as they have no connection to Chaos, they are not enemies, and in fact—

It can become a useful tool.

At the very least, they can't be so easily killed by the tribunal like a bug; the saintess must continue to live.

Just as he was deep in thought, a respectful knock on the door interrupted his thoughts.

After receiving permission, his servant pushed open the door and came in, standing behind him respectfully.

“Your Highness, Prince Colin has returned… He heard that you were in Thunder City and came here immediately to apologize for leaving without saying goodbye.”

The good news arrived like a spring breeze, instantly dispelling all the gloom in Edward's heart. A look of joy appeared on his face, and he pushed back his chair and stood up.

It’s like giving you a pillow when you feel sleepy!
The king had an extra card in his hand, and someone immediately handed him two more cards. Sure enough, Saint Sis knew in his heart who was truly devout!
The Principality of Colin may become an ally of the Principality of Campbell.

Do not--

It's safe to say it definitely will.

He had heard that after learning that Eileen was at the front lines, His Highness hadn't hesitated for a moment before rushing there on horseback!
If this isn't love, then he'll never believe in love again!
“Quickly, invite him to the reception room,” Edward ordered immediately, a hint of undisguised pleasure in his voice. “I’ll be there shortly—”

Before he could finish speaking, he shook his head and called to the servant who was about to turn and leave.

"No need, that's fine. How can we let our distinguished guest wait at the door? Take me there, I'll greet him personally!"

Looking at the spirited Grand Duke, the servant showed a surprised expression, then nodded respectfully.

"As ordered."

……

The gods always favor devout children, even if the favor shown to them is not necessarily divine light.

After the Campbell family, who had been devoutly steadfast for a thousand years, finally defeated the evil king, they finally received the New Testament and the favor of the prince.

Meanwhile, the farmers of Twilight Province finally saw the sun after the rain.

They truly believed in Saint Sis, just as sheep believed that the shepherd's staff was meant to guide them to fertile pastures.

They were truly devout, unlike some king who "saw through appearances to the essence"...

Several days have passed since the "angel's arrival," and everything seems to have returned to calm. The chaos that once tormented this land is as if it never existed.

Although the governor's mansion in Twilight City remained turbulent, the dark cloud only loomed over its head.

Ordinary people can't even feel its presence.

For example, Burton, who lived in Griffin Cliff, was one of them. He neither saw nor cared, since his village would be just as poor no matter who was the lord.

The happiest moment of his life was when he was twenty years old and found a piece of fine timber that no one wanted in the forest, which he used to replace the dilapidated roof beam in his house.

He still remembers the way his wife and son looked at him then, as if they were looking at a great hero.

Because that memory was so vivid, he even remembered the last thing that happened.

He was resting on the doorstep, his wife was hanging laundry in the yard, and his five-year-old son was chasing a butterfly all over the place.

The sun was shining warmly, and the air was filled with the fragrance of grass and earth.

He then fell asleep until his son woke him up with a giggle, saying that Uncle Ross, the blacksmith next door, was looking for him and that a shipment needed to be delivered to the castle.

He was neither a knight nor a nobleman, but just a coachman hauling goods. His life's pursuit was simply such an ordinary and warm afternoon.

Unfortunately--

The peace he longed for vanished suddenly, without him even knowing when it began. Even now, with signs of a resurgence of that past beauty, he can no longer sit leisurely on the doorstep and rest as he used to.

Because once he closes his eyes, that moment of tranquility will be shattered by a blood-red nightmare.

Shouts of battle filled the air, and women and children cried out in despair. Behind the thick smoke of gunpowder, there was also the twisted, smiling face of the "executioner," Aka, in the firelight.

That madman said he wanted to kill all the followers of Saint Seis, but he didn't just kill priests and nuns; he tortured everyone who wasn't with him in his madness.

At the time, Burton was delivering goods to the lord when he and his goods were forcibly taken away by Akka's troops, turning him from the lord's groom into a groom for the Green Forest Army.

That's considered lucky.

After all, riding a horse is a skill, as is feeding a horse. The Green Forest Army still needed him, so they didn't kill him with a single blow.

Those soldiers suffered terribly. They were just like him, forced to work by the lord, but they were chopped up and stuffed into the bloody altar... One of the men was even from his hometown.

Not only are they cruel to their enemies, these Chaos Apostles are even more ruthless to their own people!

He witnessed Aka's men hanging three Green Turbans who were trying to escape from a tree, chatting and laughing as they discussed tortures he had never heard of before, such as inserting tree bark into their fingernails and roasting lamb legs over a low fire... These were things that no human could even imagine!
Every day in the army, Burton lived in fear, only daring to keep his head down and feed the horses, for fear of being targeted by those madmen.

Finally, one day, a man carrying a greatsword stepped forward, followed by a group of people waving another flag.

Seeing his once invincible army utterly routed, Burton didn't even have time to savor the joy of victory before fleeing in the chaos.

He threw away his headscarf and everything else that might reveal his identity, carrying only the supplies he had picked up in the chaos.

He scurried about like a frightened mouse in the ravaged land of the Earl's territory until everything settled down before daring to return to his village.

When he appeared at his doorstep in tattered clothes, his wife barely recognized him.

It wasn't until he called her name in a hoarse voice that the woman, who was as thin as a reed, burst into a heart-wrenching cry and rushed over to hug him tightly.

He remembered that she only said one sentence.

"It's good to be alive."

That afternoon when the family embraced and wept was the second most precious moment in Burton's life.

From then on, he would tell everyone he met that he had encountered bandits on his way to deliver goods to the lord and had almost lost his life.

Thanks to Saint Sis’s protection, he ran up the mountain and hid there until recently when he dared to return home.

Burton dared not admit that he too had worn that damned turban; the memory was like a dirty brand stuck on his backside, even though he was forced to endure it.

The villagers accepted his explanation, since they all knew this honest and simple man and had never considered that possibility.

Everything seemed to have returned to normal, and apart from Burton himself occasionally being awakened by nightmares, no one bothered him.

However, the peaceful days did not last long.

Terrifying rumors began to circulate in the village that an army clad in black robes had marched into Griffin Cliff Territory.

Those warriors in black robes were silent and efficient, showing no mercy, like machines that didn't emit steam.

They claim to be the "Court of Inquiry" from the Holy City, reporting directly to the Pope, and are arresting remnants of the "Green Turbans" everywhere.

The invasion of chaos has ended, and only then have these battle-hardened creatures emerged.

Burton swallowed hard, instinctively wanting to avoid the topic, but feeling it was related to him, he couldn't help but lean in.

"...These guys call themselves the Tribunal, but they never try anyone, they just kill people."

The carpenter, returning from town, lowered his voice, his face filled with terror, as if he had seen a ghost.

"The blacksmith from the next village was hanged from a tree at the village entrance just because he repaired a few knives for those green-headed girls!"

"When did this happen?!"

"You mean the knife repair thing? It was about a year or two ago... Back then, those guys weren't so crazy; they'd even pay for things."

Even a farmer couldn't help but shrink his neck and whisper in a trembling voice.

"...I suspect that guy was just pulled in to make up the numbers. I think I heard someone say that there are more people in the next village, so we need to kill more to make up the numbers."

"How much...would that be enough?"

"I don't know, but I've heard there's a number."

"What nonsense! Killing people on the king's land, are they crazy?!" Burton couldn't help but interject, not noticing that he was trembling so badly that he almost bit his lip.

The group exchanged glances, and finally a young man spoke up hesitantly, whispering.

“I heard that the King’s army is also there, and with them… They are here to avenge Earl Weaver.”

The news was like a bucket of ice water poured over Burton's head and down to his feet, nearly extinguishing his soul.

He returned home and became paranoid, afraid to go out all day, not even daring to look at the sunlight, as if the light would burn him.

His wife didn't understand his overreaction and thought he was being haunted by a ghost. Unfortunately, there was no priest in the village, nor in the next town, so they didn't know who to ask for prayers.

The nightmares are getting more and more frequent.

At first, it was when he was dozing off during the day, but later Burton was awakened by nightmares night after night.

He kept telling himself that he was just a stable boy, that he had never killed anyone, let alone stolen anything...

Ok.

He did not rob anyone, but he did help those bandits move things, even if he was forced to.

Burton can swear that he was not like those bloodthirsty madmen who clapped and cheered at the sight of blood splattering everywhere, completely disregarding whether someone deserved to die.

Perhaps Saint Sis heard his confession.

But she did not forgive him.

On a sunny afternoon, Burton was teaching his nine-year-old son how to repair the roof beams, and as they talked, he started talking about his experience raising horses.

He spoke in a disorganized manner, and his son listened with a confused look on his face, his mind already wandering to his friends outside the window.

Burton himself was also anxious, and he felt he should address things one by one, as raising children is like raising horses, both require patience.

However, he always felt a sense of urgency, as if a voice from the depths of his being was reminding him that if he didn't teach these things now, it would be too late.

This house doesn't need any heroes, but it does need a roof beam.

His family needs it too.

Just as he was talking about which uncle to contact when his pot broke, the half-open wooden door was kicked open with a bang.

Burton was startled and before he could shout "It wasn't me," he was splattered in the face by flying sawdust and fell onto his son.

Or perhaps it wasn't that he shielded him, but rather that it was a father's instinct to protect his child.

Several judges dressed in black robes stood at the door like the Grim Reaper, accompanied by several armored soldiers. The dazzling sunlight cast long shadows of them.

The leader held a rough sheet of pulp paper with a long list of neatly written names on it. Perhaps even the owners of these names were seeing their names spelled that way for the first time.

Their names were first recorded in writing on the court's list. How those names were put on the list was not important to the person who wrote them.

Their methods of torture were not as primitive and barbaric as those of the Green Forest Army, but their methods were no less numerous, and every tool they used was made of steel.

Burton?

The head referee spoke coldly, his voice like two pieces of iron rubbing together.

Burton was speechless, only focusing on tightly covering his son's eyes, ignoring the latter's panicked struggles, his face filled with despair.

“No! You’ve got the wrong person! He’s a good man!” Burton’s wife screamed as she rushed forward, clinging tightly to a soldier’s leg, crying out to the men in black robes, “He’s just an honest, hardworking groom! Our family has worked for Earl Weaver our whole lives, we’ve done nothing wrong!”

The soldiers remained unmoved.

Two reed sticks were no match for the tall and strong men; with just one kick, they sent the woman in the way flying into a corner.

"Get lost! This is none of your business." The soldier shouted menacingly, his fists clenching his sword hilts cracking.

It would be fine if we didn't mention Earl Weaver.

The thought of that general whose entire family were loyal and brave made him want to kill all those guys who had sold their souls to Chaos!
The referee didn't speak, but simply stared indifferently at the family in the house, who were about to move on to the next one.

If this cancer is not thoroughly eradicated, tragedies will only repeat themselves. This is not only for the peace of the holy city, but also for the people living in this remote border region.

Burton felt ice-cold all over, as if his blood had frozen instantly.

The explanations he had rehearsed countless times in his mind now felt like they were blocked by a stone, stuck in his throat, and he couldn't squeeze out a single word.

In the face of absolute violence, language has lost its meaning.

His hands were roughly tied behind his back, and cold shackles locked his wrists. He was dragged out of the door like an animal.

He didn't struggle or scream; in that extreme fear, his whole body was stiff as wood.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his son's terrified face and the emaciated woman in the corner. Her lips moved as if in silent wailing, and her lifeless eyes had lost their light.

Perhaps he should say goodbye.

The twilight sunlight seemed even more dazzling than the afternoon sun, staining the overgrown land blood red, or perhaps it was blood to begin with.

Fortunately, the judge also felt he was of little value, or perhaps the number of people present was already sufficient.

The soldiers who carried out the execution did not torture him as the bandits tortured their own people; a single gunshot ended his sins and humiliations, whether real or not.

The village remained quiet all night until the court officials left, at which point they dared to collect the bodies.

The so-called "collecting the bodies" was nothing more than loading the pile of corpses into a truck and dumping them in a nearby ditch.

Some people wept while clinging to their loved ones, while others whispered something—

"Those pastors were really kind; they even performed a ritual to help their souls find peace."

Normally, dead farmers don't receive this treatment. Occasionally, priests will pass by with caravans, but only a very few will be able to attract the Holy Light.

Even if one can summon holy light, not every priest will pray for the dead for free like Karen did.

The villagers, pushing their carts back, whispered among themselves.

Some people were relieved to have escaped a calamity, while others began to thank the Holy Light for not letting a single bad person go unpunished. It was as if the pigs in the pigsty were exchanging weight loss tips, proud that they were upright and had nothing to fear. Only those who sold their souls to Chaos would fear the Holy Light.

Some people felt they had killed the wrong person, but fearing the court hearing would be held in their homes the next day, they kept quiet.

The goal of deterrence has been achieved.

However, no one noticed that a child waiting at the door for his father to come home was not crying; instead, a burning light of hatred was emanating from his young eyes.

Poor little Burton never learned how to choose mules and repair roof beams, but he remembered those faces.

And their clothes.

He swore—

If one day he could become the hero wielding the greatsword that his father spoke of, he would definitely kill all the guys who stormed into his house!
(End of this chapter)