It was a massive earthquake, the likes of which had never been seen before by anyone. There were only ancient records of the old times telling the stories of ruinous earthquakes that created valleys instantly and easily devoured entire cities.
Rivers were created, and some were stopped. That was the power of nature, and nobody could do anything about it. A Supreme Wizard could, in theory, but why would they? Even the old and wise Supreme Wizards understand the repercussions of disturbing a process of nature.
If it's something good, it's inevitable. And if it's something destructive, it's inevitable too. One may be able to delay it, but the inevitable always happens.
The cries and screams of the scared and the injured spread around the Dying City. The rich, the powerful and the nobles who felt fulfilled in life not long ago were dying left and right. It was yet again a reminder that one's worldly possessions do not matter, for you can die at any time, and in the end, you are meant to become one with the very nature itself as your body burns on the pyre.
"This is disastrous. There were already so many refugees, and after this, I don't think there will be any monastery left to serve as a free kitchen or a house to shelter people. This might have destroyed even the refugee camps. Oh, Solis, have mercy on these poor souls," Archbishop Nelson prayed while looking at the sky.
The even worse part was that it was already night, so the rescue efforts needed a lot of time to begin, even if someone was interested in rescuing the people. At the moment, no powerful nobles were left in the Sorrow Kingdom. It was just swarming with the goons and soldiers from The Patch.
Sylvester glanced at Count Bradley. "My lord, this is the time to call in your troops if you truly want to help these people."
The Count nodded instantly and glanced at the Archbishop to ask for permission. "Your Grace, permit me to lead the rescue work. In such situations, the first three days are the most important; so many people can be stuck in rubble."
"No, you will cause bloodshed. Your bloodthirst will make you use your army at any inconvenience. You will start a major war instead of saving anyone." The Archbishop denied it instantly.
"I give you my word, your grace. I will keep my bloodlust in check. I will report to you bi-weekly. Let me use my soldiers for this noble task. This is what I wish for. This is what I require." The Count nearly pleaded with the old Archbishop.
There were not many options for any of them, and they needed manpower if they desired to help the people. They could not rely on The Patch's forces, for they were the transgressors.
Eventually, Archbishop Nelson had to relent and allow it. "How many soldiers do you have?"
"I can muster an army of five thousand in an instant. Just give me the word and the permission to fly the Holy Land's flag on my forces." The Count asked.
The Archbishop looked conflictingly at the prospect of someone as uncontrollable as the Count flying the flag of the Church. "You are not your men. You may be able to control yourself, but if they do something and make a mess, the name of the Holy Land will be tarnished. No, only you may fly the flag of the Church, but not your armies. If they commit any heresy, they shall be judged as heretics."
Thud!
The Count saluted stiffly. "Understood, your grace. I shall return to the county and gather the men. Please be safe until then."
In no time, the mean and strong-looking Count galloped away on his horse amidst the rubble lying here and there. The houses were still slowly falling apart, however, as the aftershocks were many and varied in strength.
Sylvester planned for a few things from his point of view as well. He was, after all, the most influential clergyman in the entire Sorrow Kingdom at the moment. Although nobody knew him, he knew a single signed letter from him could do a lot of change.
"Your grace, I, Priest Charles and Priest Leonardo, will try to rescue people still stuck in the rubble. We will bring them here and set up a field hospital." Sylvester told the old man in a way that seemed like a suggestion.
"Go, I'm too old to do something here actively. Instead, I will try to heal the wounded." The Archbishop quickly sent them away and returned to the most inflicted area.
Alone, Sylvester glanced at the two clergymen with a severe face. "I will go to some secluded place and write a few letters. I suspect the earthquake has ravaged the lands from here to far in the south. This is quite a tragedy, but at the same time, an opportunity. If we play the cards right, we can surely take over the entire Kingdom and kick out any influence of the Patch with one move. But first, I must contact his Holiness."
"You may go, Priest Johnathan. We will find you again in an hour." Sir Dolorem affirmed and left with Bishop Lazark.
Sylvester moved into a secluded district and found a house still standing. The house was empty since the residents had most likely run away, so he entered and sat by a table to write the two letters.
He dedicated the first letter to the top Inquisitor in the region, the Inquisitor General. The man was the commander of the Inquisitor forces that were still left in the region. Meanwhile, there was no remaining Holy Army anymore, as they had no work to do.
Sylvester stamped his seal on it and started to write. "This is Archbishop Sylvester Maximilian of the Holy Land, famously called the Bard of the Lord. I am the Special Judge for the Sorrow Kingdom and responsible for administering justice. I am giving a holy order to the Inquisition to spread around the Sorrow Kingdom and carry out relief work. In times of Emergency, we must ensure people get our help, so they remember to pray to the Lord.
"Keep your men in check. Ensure they refrain from doing something that would force me to judge them. If any issue arises, address the letter in my name and hand it to the Holy Land's special running men. May the Holy Light Enlighten us!"
Sylvester stamped the letter close with the wax seal and put it in another envelope. Then, he started writing another letter, but this one was in the name of the Pope.
[Letter]
Your Holiness, I am saddened and pained to inform you that the situation in the Sorrow Kingdom is beyond dire. The people live in misery, and the heathens of The Patch are killing, raping and pillaging to their heart's content. It's all happening under the supervision of one of the Grand Wizards of the Patch.
A strong earthquake has ravaged the lands here, worsening the situation. The people lost whatever was left; many dead still lay under the rubble. Be it children, the old or the youngsters; all have suffered immensely. So, in this state of Emergency, for the first time in history, I demand to use the Special Powers Act under the Emergency Powers of the Holy Land. With it, we shall have the entire Kingdom under the Holy Land's administration.
Once that happens, I will be legally allowed to kick out and kill all the heathens and the attackers from The Patch openly. They shall be unable to fight us, for our cause for initiating the Special Powers Act will be justified in the name of a natural calamity from an act of God.
I also suspect a plague is spreading in the Sorrow Kingdom, and it's magical in nature. It could be manmade or not. That is yet to be confirmed. However, I need wizard healers in numbers here, and at the same time, I hope that you shall ponder on the possibility of granting me the temporary rank of Cardinal Suprima of this entire Kingdom.
May the Holy Light Enlighten us.
Archbishop Sylvester Maximilian.
[Letter End]
Sylvester finished the letter and put a few plague samples in a small strong glass box in the package. He sealed everything and then handed it over to the special running men for the Holy Land.
Unfortunately, Sylvester knew that getting a reply would likely take nearly a month. So, he had no way but to make decisions on his own for the time being.
…
Sylvester and the rest travelled around the city and helped whoever they could. They healed anyone they found and helped the local soldiers to establish order. Sadly, sensing the opportunity, a gang of Widowmakers tried to enter the city, but Sylvester and the rest quickly killed them all.
The open-field hospital was full and focused on healing as many people as possible.
"Miraj, how much grain do you still have?" Sylvester asked his best cat friend on his shoulder.
Miraj thought about it for a long time. "Umm… I have big bags, many of them."
"How many?"
Miraj started to use his paw to count, but sadly his paw could only count to six. "Ummm… I have eight thousand bags!"
"..."
"Why did you count on the paw?"
Miraj shyly looked away. "I just tried to act like you. Isn't this how people count every time?"
Sylvester sighed and patted Chonky before moving to the field kitchen. Yes, he sometimes felt that Miraj lacked empathy towards humans, but when he thought about it, he understood that Miraj had no real reason to be empathetic toward a human. After all, he lived in isolation his whole life.
So with the plan ready, Sylvester dumped a thousand bags of grains and decided to make a water porridge and some bread for the townspeople. Since even more refugees kept coming from outside, the city soon had a population of twelve thousand, jumping from two thousand.
"Priest Charles, use this," Sylvester said, speaking with Sir Dolorem and handing over a bag of grains.
"Where did you bring all of that from?" The Archbishop asked in amazement.
Sylvester merely smiled and showed a tiny sample of his space ability. It was the best way to make his strange ability to make things appear legitimate. On top of that, the news was yet to spread that he could use space magic.
Thud!
Another sack of rice fell on the floor. "Like this, your grace. I can luckily use this sort of magic."
The Archbishop, with an agape jaw, looked at Sylvester's hands. "T-That's brilliant! This is God's gift! You ca—"
Boom!
Thud!
"Duck down! Fast! It's another earthquake!" Sylvester and the rest shouted instantly as the earth shook.
Woosh!
But, no more shaking of the ground came, and at the entry to the field hospital, a man appeared in black robes. His face was clear, white as the snow. His eyes were glowing red, and his nails were long, curving into a claw. His black hair was long, falling far back to his waist.
The man did not stop, no matter how much the guards tried to stop him. Every step he took oozed strength, absolute power and overwhelming pride.
"I'm back, Archbishop!"
Archbishop Nelson's face went pale and blue simultaneously as if he had forgotten how to breathe. "W-Why are you here? Haven't you already ruined this land enough? Have some mercy on them!"
The man in the black robes scoffed and spoke menacingly. "To show mercy is a sign of weakness. Strong eats the weak. That's the law of the world."
The Archbishop secretly winked at Sylvester and tried to announce the enemy's status.
"Then why have you come here, Vinland Markinson, Grand Wizard of The Patch?"
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