A few days later, Havenlight's church hall lay completely empty.
"Another band of rebels has vanished. From the traces we found, they may have entered the Magic Beast Mountains as well and joined the Black Nightmare Army." The bishop hurried in, stopped in the middle of the corridor, and quietly reported the information he had just gathered.
Grant was the only one in the hall. Sitting in one of the front-row seats, he turned his head at those words.
"The Black Nightmare Army... Have you found their exact camp location?"
"We have." The bishop hurried over, bent down, and carefully handed Grant a slip of paper. At the same time, he said, "According to informed sources, they have already assembled an army of several tens of thousands in the mountains. Your Holiness, we had better proceed cautiously."
"You don't need to tell me what to do."
Grant accepted the note and threw those words back without expression, making the bishop's face stiffen.
He hurriedly lowered his head, retreated several steps, and stood silently to one side, not daring to say anything more.
After reading the contents of the note, Grant pondered for a moment. Then he suddenly spoke, his tone changing as he asked somewhat abruptly, "Outside... are there a lot of people speaking ill of me now?"
The bishop froze for a moment, then hurriedly shook his head with all his might.
"Y-Your Holiness, you are overthinking it!"
At this, Grant gave an unreadable snort. Wrapped deeply in his magnificent golden papal robes, he narrowed his eyes. For some reason, to the bishop, he seemed to have lost his usual sharp edge and instead looked somewhat weary.
Why...
A flicker of doubt rose in the bishop's heart.
"I killed many people," Grant said again, gazing at his outstretched palm.