Allocation and Backing

The faint scent of holy incense rose from the brazier. Smoke curled through the air but refused to disperse.

Bishop Castian sat in the broad, high-backed chair at the head of the table.

The Holy Silver Scepter rested across his knees, his spotted fingers tapping lightly along its cold, patterned shaft.

"Tap, tap, tap."

The monotonous sound was the only clear noise in the tent. Each tap drove into the taut nerves of the lords seated below him like a nail.

Apart from that, only a few breaths, desperately muffled, could be heard.

Castian's cold, sharp eyes settled on Eric and Thomas.

"Before the Holy City Army's knights moved in, the two of you rolled around in the mud like maggots fighting over rotten meat." The bishop did not raise his voice, but his words chilled them to the bone.

"You threw the dignity granted by the Sacred Flame into the filth and treated its glory like a rag for polishing boots. If the defensive line weren't short of men, you would have joined Roland in that pile of ash."

Eric's and Thomas's legs nearly gave way. The color drained from their faces, and cold sweat ran down their cheeks.

The bishop gave a cold snort and looked away.

The suffocating pressure of his stare eased slightly as it shifted to Kevin.

"As for you, Kevin, at least you remembered you were a noble and didn't fall apart on the spot like they did." Castian's tone remained cool. "But that is nowhere near enough."

Kevin lowered his head and clenched his fists, not daring to answer.

"That little bit of cleverness might serve you well somewhere like the Royal Capital." Mockery was plain in the bishop's voice.

"But at the Eternal Night Wall, your schemes will do no more than help you choose where your bones are buried."

The air in the tent seemed to grow colder.

Only when the bishop's gaze reached Shien did his ice-carved face soften, if only a little.

"Shien Greenwood." Castian nodded faintly.

"You held the line, kept the chaos in camp from hindering you, and didn't lose a single person. Last night, you were the only one in this camp who acted like a true Long Night Lord."

It was the only thing he said that could be called praise.

Castian then announced what would become of Roland's estate.

"The Augustine Lineage left behind more than two hundred knights. They have all been entered into the Criminal Register. As for their supplies, provisions, and wagons..."

The bishop raised a hand and pointed at Shien.

"Shien, you choose first. You may take half." His tone was casual. "Kevin may choose half of what remains."

Castian did not even glance at Eric or Thomas.

"You two can divide whatever is left."

Those few words stripped the last of their dignity away.

Eric's and Thomas's faces shifted between ashen gray and deathly pale.

Venom nearly spilled from their eyes, but fear sealed their throats. Both men kept even their breathing faint, terrified of making a sound.

Standing to one side, Kevin stared at Shien's back. It felt as if a hammer had struck his chest.

His instincts as a noble told him at once what this allocation really meant: Bishop Castian was publicly backing Shien.

He intended to make this illegitimate son the true leader of their force.

Kevin knew that once Shien took command of those men, his strength would far surpass that of the other three.

Bishop Castian looked over the faces below him, each wearing a different expression. His thin lips slowly curved into a smile devoid of warmth.

"The Augustine Lineage's residences in the Royal Capital, its underground vaults, and its private soldiers and serfs scattered across the provinces were all transferred to the Holy War Council just now."

The bishop's aged fingers tapped lightly on the head of his scepter.

"Every one of those people will receive a Sinner Brand. That vast worldly fortune will be converted into Holy Silver, provisions, and arms.

"I will distribute those resources among you gradually, according to how you perform from here on."

With those words, the mood in the tent changed at once.

Eric and Thomas, who moments ago had been trapped in the shadow of Roland's gruesome death, straightened sharply.

On this wasteland, where Aberrants could tear them apart at any moment, another mouthful of food or another steel sword meant another chance to stay alive.

"Don't celebrate yet."

Castian's cold voice cut through their quickening breaths.

"Since you've accepted the Sacred Flame's gifts, the families behind you must show the proper sincerity in return." The bishop leaned forward slightly, his shadow falling across the entire table.

"Return to your tents and write to your families at once. Tell your fathers and brothers to send at least twice as many veteran knights, blacksmiths, and laborers to the Graymist Defense Zone before spring."

The lords understood what he meant almost at the same time, and they were overjoyed. The bishop would have the Church pressure their families into sending more troops and support.

The burden would fall on their distant families. Those here would receive only reinforcements and supplies.

Would anyone back home object? The Church did not care.

No one dared refuse. In this world, the Church was supreme, and nobles were merely slightly larger ants.

The suffocating atmosphere left by Roland's grisly death slowly dissipated in the face of this naked exchange of interests.

Eric swallowed, his eyes already turning red.

If he could secure those supplies, he might expand the number of Third Tier knights under him straight to two hundred. Then the men he had lost yesterday would hardly matter.

Thud.

The bishop tapped his scepter lightly against the floor. The dull sound cut Eric's daydream short.

Castian leaned back in his chair, his voice cold and merciless once more. "Eric, Thomas, stop trembling. The one thing the Eternal Night Wall has no shortage of is useless men who do nothing but wail."

He seemed about to say more, but finally shook his head. "Forget it. You may leave. Shien, stay."

The two men rose as if pardoned, almost scrambling to their feet before stumbling out of the tent. Neither dared linger.

Only Kevin paused before crossing the threshold.

He looked back at Shien, who still stood where he was.

Kevin's own troops had suffered heavy losses, while Shien's had emerged almost unscathed.

And then there was the bishop's undisguised favoritism...

At just fourteen years old, the boy had already risen firmly above them all.

Kevin swallowed his bitter, tangled feelings and gave Shien a slight nod.

Then he turned and walked into the cold morning mist outside.

The heavy curtain fell, shutting out every sound from beyond the tent. In the spacious interior, only the occasional faint crackle of a spark in the incense burner remained.