Garrett instinctively took a few steps back with the crowd, pressing his lips together as he looked at the triumphant army and the prisoners they escorted.
At the forefront of the prisoners was the archbishop. His gold-trimmed white robe was tattered, resembling either a fishing net or mop strings. With his head drooping, he was held up by two warriors, in a semi-conscious state.
Next was a knight in battered steel armor, his expression vacant, eyes wide open, head tilted, and drooling from the mouth. Garrett felt a pang of pity, wondering which spellcaster had cast a feeblemind spell on him.
Third... Fourth... Fifth...
Prisoners from the Radiant Church alternated with captives from various surrounding tribes. Garrett tried to gauge each prisoner's strength, curious about the indigenous sorting method:
"13... 13... This one seems to have only reached level 11... Another 13? Maybe he's too injured, causing his power to drop? Hmm... this person... looks familiar..."
With half-closed eyes, Garrett took a step forward, then another. He felt he had seen the prisoner before, but couldn't recall where.
The prisoner had a bloodied and mud-streaked face. Garrett felt he had never met this person, or at least, wouldn't recognize him under such disguise.
So why did he seem familiar?
Instinctively, Garrett walked closer. The guards escorting the prisoners raised their spears and shouted:
"Don't approach! Don't disrupt the procession!"
"This is the Son of the Divine!"
The White Eagle Warrior escorting Garrett hurriedly shouted back, trying to both refute the claim and prevent Garrett from breaking his trance. He swiftly moved half a step ahead, extending his arm to clear a path:
"This is the Plague Lord! Do not block his way!"
The guards were startled. Even if they knew nothing else about the battle, they knew a strong figure named Son of Thunder, allied with the Plague Lord and Golden Eagle Warriors, had killed the Plague Maiden.
This Son of Thunder had summoned powerful allies who fought alongside their deities, commanding mighty beasts above their capital.
These powerful beings casually summoned light, fireballs, thunder, and death, defeating 'White Ghost' and the warriors and shamans below effortlessly.
"Please, go ahead!" The guards lifted their spears and stepped back. Garrett, with half-closed eyes, walked forward. Step by step, the targeted prisoner shrank back, inching away.
"Don't come near me!" The prisoner, now lying on the ground, screamed with a choked voice:
"Why are you here! If I had known, I would have killed you years ago... It would have taken just one finger then..."
Huh? Who is this guy? He seems to recognize me and fought against me?
Garrett tried to recall but couldn't.
He raised his hand, casting a cleaning spell to remove the blood and mud from the prisoner's face, but still couldn't recognize him.
The cleaning spell removed dirt but couldn't heal bruises, making it difficult for Garrett to identify the prisoner. He frowned, deep in thought.
Should I cast a healing spell? But healing a prisoner seems too excessive...
"Garrett, what's wrong?"
A steady voice came from behind. Garrett turned abruptly to see his senior brother had silently appeared behind him, staring at the prisoners. Garrett scratched his head:
"This prisoner... looks familiar, but I can't remember... wait!"
His eyes lit up. He stepped closer, inhaled deeply, exhaled, and closed his eyes. Upon reopening them, a faint glow surrounded his pupils, locking onto the prisoner:
"I remember now! It's not that I've seen him—it's the Plague Maiden who has seen him!" Garrett spun around, grabbing Master Byerbo with one hand and pointing straight at the prisoner with the other:
"I saw him in the Plague Maiden's memories! He's the one who gave her the smallpox-infected blanket, starting this plague!"
"What!" Master Byerbo was shocked. He gestured and muttered a few words, quickly summoning Golden Eagle Warriors, snake women, and mages who descended rapidly.
Archmage Haines was the first to arrive, glaring at the prisoner:
"Is it him? This guy?"
The prisoner exuded a thick aura of death and resentment, visible even to the naked eye. To a necromancer like Haines, this man was a living treasure trove.
"Wait, let me take a closer look." A young mage in elegant attire, exuding a faint perfume even in the wilderness, stepped forward from behind Haines:
"I'll check his memories... see who he really is and how he came up with such a vile idea..."
He waved his hand, and a moonstone ring on his middle finger glowed, enveloping the prisoner. The prisoner, lying on the ground, widened his eyes before they shrank to pinpoints, then screamed hoarsely:
"It wasn't me! It wasn't me!—Governor Alfonso made me do it! He threatened to hand me over to the Church if I refused... I'm here alone, without subordinates or support..."
"It was my idea... The Plague Maiden... Such a powerful demon, she was just one step away from destroying the Eagle God's Kingdom..."
Garrett took a few steps back, hiding behind Master Byerbo. His senior brother, without turning, smiled through their mental link:
"See? Mind-control spellcasters... they're that strong... Even with mental protection artifacts, they can bypass them. If you don't want to be affected, build a solid mental barrier!"
Garrett nodded. The mind-control spellcaster, after listening for a while, twisted his ring, revealing an opal. Another round of dreamy light enveloped the prisoner, and he soon entered a trance.
"He confessed a lot." After a long time, the spellcaster opened his eyes, raising his hand to signal the surrounding mages. A glowing emerald ring on his little finger shone:
"I've recorded everything. I'll transfer it to the airship later."
The mages nodded, stepping back to make way for the natives.
Chivacoatl was the first to rush forward, his snake hair hissing, phosphorescent eyes flashing as if to bite the prisoner to death:
"Is it you?!"
Deputy Inquisitor Lucien slowly raised his head, looking around at the natives and mages, eyes filled with despair.
From the Radiant Holy City to the Kent Kingdom, from the Kent Kingdom to the New World, and from Walsingham on the New World’s east coast to the southeastern Eagle God's Kingdom—
He had traveled so far, escaping thousands of miles, yet still, Garrett Nordmark—his original target—recognized him?!
The mages coldly watched, arms crossed. Except for a pale, swollen mage staring at him with fanatical eyes, the rest seemed eager to see him dead;
The woman with long hair, each strand tipped with venomous fangs, looked ready to sic her snakes on him;
The warriors in golden armor clutched their weapons so tightly they creaked. With a single command, they would probably hack him to pieces with their obsidian blades...
"Offer him to the gods!"
"Yes, offer him to the gods!"
"Now, immediately!"
Deputy Inquisitor Lucien shuddered. He had witnessed an indigenous live sacrifice once, where they dragged a person to the top of a pyramid, cut open their chest, and removed their heart—
Using an obsidian dagger, the person screamed for a long time atop the pyramid!
He didn't want to die!
He didn't want to die!
Who could save him? Who could save him amidst this crowd of enemies?
Governor Alfonso couldn't, Archbishop Telamo couldn't, the natives couldn't, the mages... the mages... no one would save him, no one wanted to save him, except...
"Save me!" With a sudden burst of strength, he rolled and crawled toward Garrett. Though immediately stopped by two spears and pinned to the ground, he still stretched his hand toward Garrett:
"Please save me! I no longer dare to oppose you! I've already given up trying to kill you and fled so far! I’ll be your follower, your slave, I can sign a soul contract... I'm a level fourteen priest, I can be useful to you..."
The mages made way, revealing Garrett. Only Master Byerbo stood firm in front of Garrett, asking:
"Garrett, what do you say?"
"I don't want this guy!"
Garrett turned his head in disgust. How could such a vile creature think of clinging to him? Dream on!
Stay away from him!
Even if he signed a soul contract to be his slave, Garrett wouldn't want him, not even as a skeleton warrior!
He'd dirty his space bag!
Master Byerbo chuckled lightly. Yes, this was the Garrett he knew, kind and soft-hearted usually, but firm and principled in critical moments, not greedy. He glanced at the wretched figure on the ground:
"So, what should we do with him?"
"Hang him from the lamp post!"
Garrett blurted out, instantly regretting it. Lamp post? Where would they find a lamp post here? This wasn't Nevis—no, he didn't mean the street lamps of Nevis, the ones maintained by the city and lit every evening...
"You really know how to give me trouble." While Garrett racked his brains to find a way to correct himself, Master Byerbo sighed.
With a flick of his finger, the stones in the square's center, between two pyramids, began to flow, and soon, a Nevis-style stone lamp post rose from the ground. Another flick and the stone lampshade at the top shone brightly before dimming:
"This lamp post represents everything you've done for this
country, your contribution to protecting them from smallpox, and summoning reinforcements."
Master Byerbo's voice, amplified by magic, resonated through the square. After these words, he flicked his finger a third time:
"Go!"
A living rope materialized, wrapping around Deputy Inquisitor Lucien's neck, hoisting him up to dangle from the lamp post.
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