Corrupted Priest-Chapter 26

That was how long it took for the previous commander to succumb to a festering wound from a mission, and for Sagitta, at age twenty-nine, to become the new commander of the Red Bear Mercenary Corps.

Of course, part of the reason he became commander was because he was the strongest in the corps, but more precisely, it was because of the blood of the Forgon noble line that flowed through him.

In the mercenary world, having noble blood — especially being born of two full-blooded nobles — was a significant advantage.

Large mercenary groups like the Red Bear required expensive contracts to stay afloat, and those contracts often came from nobles. And nobles preferred to negotiate with fellow nobles rather than common-born mercenaries.

Naturally, in line with client preferences, leaders of large mercenary corps were usually of noble descent. Even when someone else held the real power, they'd still place someone with noble blood as the official commander for the sake of negotiation.

Sagitta Forgon became commander not because he had seized real power, but because there was simply no one else suitable to negotiate with nobles.

Thud!

Sagitta slammed his fist on the desk in frustration.

"Damn bastards."

He had sent them ahead a day early to scout — and yet they came back drunk, beaten, and captured. He was a mercenary too, but he was sick and tired of how undisciplined these other mercenaries had become. It hadn't been like this when the previous commander was alive.

He ground his teeth so hard a crunch could be heard.

This is all that bastard Felguin's fault!

When the former commander suddenly died, power naturally shifted to Felguin, the vice-commander. While Felguin might have been competent as second-in-command, he was far too indulgent, carefree, and greedy to lead.

Under Felguin's influence, the once-proud Red Bear Mercenary Corps had degenerated into little more than a gang of thugs.

Sagitta was confident in battle, but terrible at politics and managing an organization. He had devoted most of his time to training, so he hardly had any allies within the corps.

After finally cooling his temper, Sagitta slumped into a chair in the temporary command tent and recalled the current mission.

This winter had been strangely peaceful — which meant the corps' finances were rapidly deteriorating. Only he and the treasurer seemed to care.

He had brought it up to Felguin several times, but Felguin just brushed him off:

"Spring! When spring comes, everything will sort itself out — don't be such a nag like some woman. It's totally normal not to have contracts in winter, so why the fuss, huh?"

And with that, Felguin, as usual, grabbed his coin pouch and left to grope women.

By the time their finances were near collapse, a lucrative request came from Ilehre, an old acquaintance of the former commander.

The request was simple: kidnap a silver-haired, golden-eyed woman unharmed. Anyone could tell she was from the Irmel family, but Felguin accepted the contract without a second thought.

Sagitta tried to object, but recalling the corps' financial ruin, he swallowed the words that had risen to his throat.

The client provided a specific location for the woman and her companions — a place close to where they were stationed. That's probably why the job was offered to them.

So Sagitta picked a few quick-footed members for reconnaissance. But those idiots got drunk, got beaten up, and were arrested by the town watch.

Still, as if a god among the many had shown favor, one of the idiots, after being handed back by the watch through a show of force, swore he had clearly seen the woman who attacked them — and she had silver hair and golden eyes.

It was a stroke of luck. They now had both the target's confirmed location and a plausible excuse to approach her. And yet, despite how well things seemed to go, Sagitta felt uneasy.

"Haaah... I've got a bad feeling about this."

Ever since accepting the job, his sleep had been restless, his appetite gone — just like the day before his beloved commander had died.

One of the mercenaries entered the tent, lifting the flap.

"Sagitta! Only a priest showed up, no woman! I told Felguin, and he said to talk to you instead!"

Technically, Sagitta was the commander, but no one ever called him that. He was used to it. He grabbed his weapons and stood.

"Where's the priest? He's not causing trouble, is he? I've told you, that priest isn't just any ordinary priest..."

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"Aaagh! Let go! I said let go of me!!!"

A scream rang out, followed by the sound of swords being drawn in unison.

Damn it. These bastards doze off during the briefing and now they pull this? Sagitta rushed out of the tent, unease knotting in his gut.

The priest in white robes stood there, smiling gently — holding a mercenary up by the face with just one hand. But before he could marvel at the man's strength, Sagitta focused on calming the situation.

"Hey! Everyone, sheath your weapons! I said sheath them!"

Judging by that strength, this had to be the famed priest of Marnak, the one known for opposing the evil god. Even if only half the rumors were true, clashing with him head-on was sheer idiocy.

The mercenaries, too agitated to think clearly, hesitated. So Sagitta ran across the snowy field and leapt between the mercenaries and the priest.

"Put those swords away. Now!"

At Sagitta's snarling command, the mercenaries finally sheathed their blades. Now it was time to deal with the priest.

He spoke in the most diplomatic voice he could muster.

"Would your name happen to be Marnak?"

The priest smiled brightly.

"Yes."

Sagita cautiously spoke up as he watched the mercenary still struggling with his face firmly gripped.

"Priest Marnak. Could I trouble you to let that man go?"

Marnak glanced briefly at the mercenary he was still holding with smiling eyes and casually released him. The mercenary fell hard onto his backside, his face flushed red, and was about to shout something.

Smack!

Sagita kicked him straight in the jaw. The mercenary, struck without warning, lost consciousness.

"Someone get over here and take this guy away. Now!"

As the unconscious mercenary was dragged away, Sagita slowly studied Marnak.

Black hair, fairly common in the North, and a kind-looking face. But his eyes—so dark they were almost pitch black—were rare even in the North. As Marnak's eyes met Sagita's, he offered a gentle smile.

For a moment, Sagita thought he saw a dark green radiance glowing in Marnak's eyes. A chilling, ominous glint soaked in menace.

He was uneasy. Deeply uneasy.

After a brief silence, Marnak spoke first.

"I would like to meet the leader of this mercenary group."

Startled by his soft voice, Sagita quickly answered.

"I'm Sagita, the commander of the Red Bear Mercenary Corps."

Marnak smiled warmly.

"Ah, is that so? Excellent. I heard you had business with one of my companions, and I hoped we could talk. The man who greeted me earlier seemed to enjoy showing off his strength, so I had to use a little of mine. But it's a relief to meet someone like you, Commander Sagita—you seem much more reasonable."

A little of his strength? Lifting a grown man by the head like a toy? Sagita swallowed hard and hurriedly spoke.

"Let's talk further in my tent. It's right over there. Please head in and wait—I'll bring something to entertain you."

Politeness, usually reserved for noble clients, spilled out naturally. Marnak nodded lightly and walked toward Sagita's tent. As Marnak's back turned, Sagita quickly called over a nearby mercenary and whispered,

"Have the archers ready in position."

There were about twenty skilled archers still in the Red Bear Mercenary Corps, remnants of the group's glory days.

No matter how strong that priest is, if he's still human, twenty arrows should be enough to bring him down.

Sagita was doing what a commander should—but honestly, he just wanted to abandon the mission and leave.

"What the hell is Felguin doing right now?"

The mercenary shrugged.

"He got up briefly, then went back to sleep. He drank pretty heavily last night."

Sagita barely suppressed a curse and muttered in a low voice,

"Wake him up. Tell him everything. Got it?"

"Do we really need to wake him? You can handle this, Sagita. It's just one guy—why are you so scared?"

"Shut up and do what I said."

The growl in his voice made the mercenary flinch and nod.

"Alright, alright. Damn, stop biting my head off. What's your problem today, huh?"

Sagita shot him a glare and walked off without another word to gather some drinks and snacks. He was going to try resolving things with Priest Marnak peacefully.

When he entered the tent with drinks and snacks, Marnak greeted him calmly.

"You're here."

"Yes."

Sagita set everything on the table and poured Marnak a drink first, handing it over. Marnak looked at the full cup briefly and gently set it back down.

"I don't much enjoy drinking, but I appreciate the gesture."

"Is that so?"

Is he being cautious, thinking I might've spiked it? Sagita quickly poured himself a drink and downed it in one go, not leaving a single drop. He hoped it proved the drink was clean.

He glanced at Marnak's untouched glass, but the priest just continued to look at him with a pleasant expression. Sagita gave up using the alcohol to ease the conversation. Marnak slowly opened his mouth.

"I heard you wanted to meet us because of a small conflict that occurred yesterday."

"Well..."

What now? Do I get straight to the point? Or ease into it and mention the silver-haired, golden-eyed woman subtly? I really don't want to fight this guy.

Shit!

Sagita was never good at this kind of thing—he was more used to cracking heads than negotiating. Felguin usually handled people like this. But today, even knowing they'd likely show up, the bastard had drunk himself into a stupor.

While Sagita was hesitating and fumbling with his words, the tent flap opened and a burly, bearded man entered. It was Felguin.

"Ugh, my stomach. I need something strong. Hey, priest. Your name's Marnak, right?"

Marnak nodded.

"Yes."

"Do you have a silver-haired, golden-eyed woman in your group?"

"That is also correct."

"Well, that's perfect. Listen, priest. If you want to live to see tomorrow, just hand her over nice and easy. Unless you feel like dying right—"

"Son of a—"

Before Sagita could stop him, a chilling metallic sound echoed in the tent, followed by the sickening noise of flesh being sliced.

"Aaaaaaagh!!!"

Felguin's thick arm rolled across the floor. Sagita broke into a cold sweat. Could they win this? That priest had cut off a man's arm without a hint of hesitation—like he'd done it a thousand times before.

Marnak, still smiling with his eyes, turned to Sagita.

"It really was strange. I don't recall giving my name, yet both you and this man called me by it. Almost as if you already knew I was in this village."

Mercenaries, alerted by Felguin's screams, began to move.

"Felguin's arm's been cut off! Everyone gear up and get to Sagita's tent now! We're taking that arrogant priest down! I'm going first!"

A mercenary burst into the tent with a loud cry—only for his head to roll across the floor. Marnak, having casually decapitated the man, glanced at the stunned Sagita. He stepped on the groaning Felguin's head, pressed a blade of froststeel to his neck, and asked,

"Who is it? Who sent you to follow us?"

Felguin screamed in desperation.

"Help me, Sagita!"

At the plea, Sagita reflexively drew his spear and shield. But as his eyes met Marnak's pitch-black ones, his body froze—like a frog before a snake.

Caught in a situation with no good choice, Sagita tightly shut his eyes and muttered from the depths of his soul:

"...Fuck."