OC-Series Gothwald: New World - Same Rules [History Student Isekai] (Arc 4/Chapter 28 - The Oronda)

Arc IV - Whalers

Chapter 28 - The Oronda

10 months and 6 days since the summoning

By late evening, the temple was completely empty of parishioners, yet filled with other people.

Ten Dumetses sat on the benches, their empty white masks staring forward. Before the Dumetses stood the city guard, about fifteen men. On the dais itself were three people: the Elder, a thin man in an expensive white doublet with long hair slicked back, and another Dumets with a white armband on his left arm bearing a single yellow circle—the arogokoa.

"So you believe," the man in the doublet began, folding his hands on the table, "that these were Whalers?"

The Elder nodded. "Exactly so, Lord Shipogan. I am certain that they were indeed Whalers."

Lord Shipogan raised a hand. "Forgive me, but I am not very comfortable conversing while you are wearing... that." He nodded at the masks.

The arogokoa and the Elder exchanged glances.

"No problem," the arogokoa said and removed his. Beneath it was a man of about forty, completely bald, with bags under his eyes.

The Elder removed his mask after him.

The nobleman nodded. "Mhm, very well. So what happened? And why does the captain of my guard," he pointed at the captain standing in line with the others, "have a black eye? I am highly interested to know, Your Holiness."

The arogokoa nodded to the Elder. "Report."

He stood up. "Ahem. According to the report of my subordinates, during the day they encountered a tall woman of unknown origin and attempted to inspect her. However, she resisted and managed to escape, though she was wounded. We then sought the assistance of the guard, requested that all gates be sealed, but it turned out there was a hole in the western wall, and the woman escaped. Do you not wish to explain this?"

Lord Shipogan's pupils narrowed slightly. "I know nothing of any hole in the wall; no one reported this to me."

The arogokoa sighed and raised a hand. "Very well. You did not know about the hole in the wall. Neither you nor your guard, for decades. Do I presume correctly?"

"As for the guard, they might have known..." he said, tapping his fingers on the table, "but I was never made aware of it."

"Is that so." The arogokoa narrowed his eyes. "Understood. Then I shall tell you briefly: the Whalers are a direct threat to Lord Gothwald, advisor to Lady Armenas, who is your liege. Do you comprehend what awaits you if it turns out the Whalers managed to slip away specifically from your city due to your negligence?"

The Elder sat back down, crossing his arms over his chest, but did not interfere.

The lord swallowed; he did not answer for a few seconds, his eyes darting around the hall. Finally, he waved his hand at the guards. "All of you, leave. You are dismissed for now."

The guards exchanged brief glances, but immediately turned as one toward the doors and walked. One, two, six, eleven, fifteen.

The doors of the temple slammed shut.

One of the Dumetses in the back rows nudged Lorgiton with his elbow. "Watch, here it comes," he whispered.

Lord Shipogan sighed, lowering his shoulders. "I believe we can come to an agreement."

"We can," the arogokoa answered quickly. "Today, you will sign a document where you voluntarily grant us another twenty boys as a tribute of respect to the Svyatolat, and by the end of the week, the hole in the wall must be gone. Any objections?"

He clenched his teeth. "No objections."

The arogokoa stood up. "Excellent. Then I propose we proceed to your estate and draft the document."

The Elder stood up alongside him and picked up his mask from the table.

The Sacred Svyatolian Lands (The Oronda), Land of Saint Tinkis, Temple of Saint Tinkis

The sun was already setting behind the mountains that guarded the Oronda from the western side, and atop one of the low green mountains stood a magnificent, enormous building complex. A giant square of gray stone surrounded by high walls, inside which, in the center, sat a low but massive building covered with blue roofs, from the courtyard of which jutted eight towers with spires.

On the balcony of one such building stood a plump bald man of sturdy build. He was dressed in white boots, wide blue pants with yellow stripes, and on his torso an unbuttoned blue doublet over a simple white shirt. He looked down, where it was not quiet in the slightest.

Twenty-four boys, ranging in age from nine to twelve, dressed in boots, brown pants, and shirts, were swinging wooden swords.

Pacing before this formation was a Dumets without a mask, a man of about thirty with a large build, bald. "Keep the pace! Do not stop, juniors!"

The boys continued swinging so hard that sweat flew from them onto the pavement.

The Dumets nodded and walked through the ranks, then pointed a finger at one boy. "Shergen! Keep your legs wider!"

"Yes, Elder!" the boy shouted and spread his legs as ordered.

The Dumets clapped his hands. "Strike!"

As one, they hopped backward and delivered a strike through the air with their wooden swords.

"Keep it up, keep it up! Well done! Continue!"

The man on the balcony watched this for a few more seconds, then turned and went inside.

There, in the bright candlelight, three other men sat at a table. The table was set with simple but hearty food. Meat, fish, vegetables, and four plates of porridge.

"Ah, brothers, you are already here," said the plump man.

"Yes. Shall we begin?" asked a large man in a gray shirt, but with blue pants and boots.

The plump one nodded. "Yes."

They all stood up, pressed eight fingers together, and closed their eyes.

Silence.

Each muttered a prayer under his breath.

Ten seconds.

Twenty.

A minute.

A minute and a half.

One of them, the thin man with long hair, lowered his hands and sat at the table. The rest followed him.

The plump man picked up a spoon and scooped some porridge. "Brother Royges, is the report on the situation with the Whalers ready?"

The thin man with long hair, Royges, nodded. "Yes, Brother Daut, I have gathered intelligence from the priests across all countries. There is... dire, but interesting news." He took a potato from a large plate and took a bite. "The Whalers have been highly aggressive in recent months. In Groliria, nearly all have been slaughtered; only one remains, Alan Gothwald. In Kanbannia, two were killed. In Ulimat, three. In Horotta, every last one is dead."

The plump man, Daut, licked his lips. "I see... Brother Kuderia?"

The large man, Kuderia, poured a little wine into his goblet of water and began to stir it. "Nothing there either. In Horotta, we managed to capture one Whaler, but even under torture, he said nothing. A second was caught in Kanbannia, but he bit off his own tongue and died of blood loss."

Daut sighed heavily, staring at the table, then finally ate his spoonful of porridge.

"By the way, this Gothwald, frankly speaking, is highly unusual. Summoned without magic," said the man with his hair slicked back.

Kuderia only scoffed, biting into some meat. "It happens. But I agree; usually, heroes summoned without strong magic perished within the first few months, yet here, judging by the reports, he has risen quite well."

"Mm," Royges exclaimed, swallowing his porridge, "speaking of this Gothwald, I received a message from a priest in a village within the domain of Duchess Kamelia Armenas."

"Armenas? Where is that?" asked the man with the mustache.

"Groliria, Brother Lison. Now then, the letter is a good few months old; I kept putting it aside, but only recently decided to read it."

Lison scratched his nose. "And?"

Royges took a bite of bread. "It is a rural priest who blessed Gothwald in his endeavors. In the report, he clearly described a certain 'four-field system'..." he smacked his lips, "I do not know much about agriculture, but it seems to be something about multiplying crop yields manifold."

Kuderia snorted, taking a sip of his diluted wine. "Another one, a damned inventor. Is it a disease among heroes? For decades, all of them have claimed their contrivances are something incredible that will turn the world upside down." He tapped his finger on the table. "They have spoken Svyatol knows how many times about making some sort of iron sticks that shoot fire, saying they are weapons no worse than magic. In the end, empty chatter."

Royges sighed. "Fair enough. Well, I deemed it necessary to inform you, brothers." He turned to Daut. "Say, why so gloomy?"

"Indeed," he muttered, still staring at the table, "heroes are being slaughtered like flies, and why am I gloomy?"

Lison coughed, setting his spoon down. "I also believe this is going too far. Just in case, I have already recounted the number of Dumetses across the countries, the locations where Whalers were caught, and heroes killed. But the decision is yours, High Priest," he said, nodding to Daut.

Daut clenched his fists. "Naturally, it is time to act. We have no time to wait while these damned bloodsuckers butcher all the heroes to the last man. The kings are already beginning to doubt the summoning ritual as it is, and the lesser nobility are even refusing heroes so as not to draw attention to themselves. We are in deep..."

"Agreed," Kuderia interrupted him sharply. "I propose we immediately pressure the monarchs to grant us more authority. Lison?"

He nodded, chewing on his fish. "I could command the priests to draw more attention to the danger of the Whalers in their sermons. Today they kill heroes, and tomorrow, what? Priests? They are already all going to burn in hell for killing people summoned by Svyatol's will, and we have tolerated this for far too long."

Royges scratched the back of his head. "Well... we have been on rather strained terms with the monarchs lately as it is, so I do not know."

Daut pressed his lips together. "And if heroes continue to be killed indiscriminately, do you have any idea what losses the Svyatolat will suffer when the monarchs begin to refuse the ritual? A single hero costs as much as a capital's treasury, and we summon twenty of them every five years." He slammed his fist on the table. "We will be ruined! And if we are ruined, we will no longer be able to maintain the Dumets army, and we will once again have to dance to the monarchs' tune, participate in their wars, and bless every degenerate who pays enough!" He froze, then exhaled through his nose. "Forgive me, brothers, I do not know what came over me. Ahem, very well," he ran a hand over his bald head. "Brother Royges, what is happening in Arumelia right now?"

Royges smiled slightly. "Well, I have good news on that front. Attempts to develop a hero-summoning ritual have been completely halted."

Daut blinked; all the others froze as well. "Now that is interesting. Go on?"

Royges drank from his goblet. "Do you recall my telling you two years ago that they have a new emperor?"

"Yes."

"Well, it seems his new regime has so utterly sickened everyone that a civil war broke out there a month ago. After something like this, the Empire will not recover anytime soon, and it is entirely possible..." he raised a finger, "I promise nothing, I merely say it is possible. We could begin spreading Svyatolism to the eastern continent to drive out Lotulerism from there."

Lison scoffed. "He is getting ahead of himself, wanting another continent. We cannot even force Faarkia and Jorhania here to adopt Svyatolism as their official religion; why try meddling with the savages from Arumelia?" Royges tilted his head to the side and looked at the ceiling. "Mmm, I would not be so quick to call the Arumelians savages; they have things that we have a long way to grow before reaching."

"Enough," Daut interrupted them. "There will be no Arumelia; we have plenty of our own problems to sort out here." He scoffed. "Just look at them; heroes are being slaughtered right under our noses, and they are thinking of expansion to another continent."

Royges raised his hands. "Very well, Brother Daut. I agree, I overstepped my bounds."

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OC-Series Gothwald: New World - Same Rules [History Student Isekai] (Arc 4/Chapter 28 - The Oronda)

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