Chapter 2: War
The next day, before the morning star had set, Sir Borien arrived at the church with a group of panting men carrying wooden spears, their bodies wrapped only in scraps of cloth.
They were thin, with sunken cheeks, and visible whip marks on their bodies.
Rather than conscripted militiamen, they seemed more like people who could still move.
“Good afternoon, Sir Borien,” Corleon said with great propriety.
“Good afternoon, Priest Corleon,” Borien replied with a courteous nod, while the young man behind him looked timidly at their formal exchange.
Corleon noticed him.
“Oh, Lain, step forward, boy, be brave.” Borien forcefully pulled the young man named Lain forward.
Lain looked quite young, around sixteen, with a sturdy build, wearing a half-leather cuirass and a short sword at his waist.
He was markedly different from the other conscripted militiamen.
“This is my nephew and also my squire. I’m going to visit the lord shortly, so he’ll take charge of these militiamen for now.” As he spoke, Borien leaned in.
Corleon lowered his head and complied.
He could smell a strange odor.
“This boy was well cared for by his mother, so he hasn’t seen much of the world. He’ll need your supervision, Priest Corleon,” Borien said quietly.
“No problem,” Corleon nodded.
“So, Lain will stay in contact with Priest Corleon. You’re to follow his arrangements. I’ll be back before the morning star rises tomorrow.”
“The Blessing will be held when the morning star rises. At that time, Sir Borien can also receive the Blessing,” Corleon said.
“I’ll pass. These lads need it more.” Borien smiled, patted Lain firmly on the shoulder, mounted his horse, and departed for York Town.
He didn’t even drink a cup of water.
“…Priest Corleon.” After Borien left, the already timid Lain straightened his back a bit.
“Mister Lain,” Corleon nodded slightly and spoke.
Being called “Mister” made Lain instinctively puff out his chest.
“Mister Lain, please bring them over here to have some hot gruel,” Corleon said, pretending not to notice anything.
“Yes, Priest.” Lain then turned around, straightened his posture, and loudly ordered the militiamen, most of whom looked older than him.
The hot gruel was just a paste made by boiling wild vegetables with wheat flour.
It tasted extremely bad, but for these militiamen who had been hungry most of the day, it was still delicious.
Sir Borien had only recently been knighted and hadn’t yet assembled a full staff. Even his squire was a blood relative.
Because of that, with his head full of glory, Sir Borien didn’t bother with the food and drink of these conscripted men, making them bring their own supplies for the journey.
But what possessions could conscripted militiamen possibly have?
Usually, even veteran knights would only share a bit of black bread with them to keep them from starving.
Only before or during battle would they be given a proper meal.
Soon, the large pot of gruel was emptied, and the militiamen, bellies full, looked quite content.
After they finished eating, Corleon said to Lain, who still had vegetable leaves at the corner of his mouth, “The church’s main hall isn’t very large, but it can shield against the night’s chill. Everyone can rest there tonight, though it will be a bit cramped.”
“Understood, Priest. Thank you for your generosity,” Lain said.
“Is there anything we can do for you?”
“If possible, please help level the land here and clear it up,” Corleon said, pointing to a patch of ground outside the church’s wooden fence.
“Tomorrow, when the morning star disperses the darkness, I will perform the Blessing here for all of you.”
“Yes, Priest.”
The militiamen got busy.
No one slacked off.
The short sword on Lain’s waist wasn’t just for show.
As Sir Borien’s squire, he had the authority to execute any of the militiamen.
Moreover, being conscripted by a newly appointed knight meant they were likely the weakest and most honest folk in the fiefdom.
While they worked, they curiously watched Corleon’s movements.
They knew about the church, but in their memory, it only appeared when someone died, when a Priest would come to perform the laying to rest.
As for Blessings, in their recollection, it belonged to the realm of legends.
The elders who had experienced the Blessing spoke of it with a sarcastic expression.
They said the Priest would utter some strange sounds from his mouth, then slap their foreheads hard, making their heads buzz, and then the Priest would loudly proclaim “Glory above all,” and that would be the end of the Blessing.
However, these conscripted militiamen did not revere glory.
But they also said that as long as one shouted “Glory above all” at the end of the Blessing, the knight lord would be satisfied and wouldn't further torment the conscripted men.
Because of this, they regarded the upcoming Blessing as a mere formality.
Yet, this young Priest who looked so elegant did not seem as perfunctory as the elders had described.
He even prepared food in advance for these conscripted militiamen.
So, a Priest different from their impression made them somewhat curious.
Corleon could feel the gazes behind him.
This was also intentional on his part.
People had a special sensitivity toward ritual.
A series of seemingly meaningless actions, once performed ceremoniously, would subconsciously make people feel that their efforts held value.
The specifics were hard to articulate.
Therefore, Corleon needed to make these militiamen, who had been rolling in the mud, feel the presence of ritual.
He picked up a palm-sized round wooden block and carefully began carving.
This was the badge he had prepared.
If the sense of ritual did not manifest into something tangible, it would be easily forgotten by people.
Thus, he intended to use these badges as a vessel for the ritual.
However, his carving skills were limited, and he could only just barely manage to engrave a pair of crossed swords on the small round wooden blocks.
He named the badge “Myriad Army.”
…
That night, the militiamen managed to finish leveling the ground in front of the church just before nightfall.
After tidying up, they crowded into the church.
Including Corleon, there were fourteen people squeezed into that narrow space.
The church had a back room—Corleon's own quarters—which, although cramped, was far more tolerable than being packed shoulder to shoulder and catching the body odor of others.
However, Corleon endured it.
He stood at the very front, before the holy seat.
Originally, it had enshrined a peculiar stone.
In this world, churches did not typically enshrine deities, but rather mysterious objects.
That stone had been enshrined because of its strange appearance.
But after Corleon inherited the church, he removed the stone and replaced it with a wooden cross.
As for the object of worship, he called it simply: the Lord.