Chapter 61: Oath to the Holy Light

Through a mix of intimidation and enticement, Starfall extracted three hundred militiamen from several minor lords, the Porcupine Knight included.

They did not go willingly, but they had no choice.

If those ten paladins truly lost their restraint, they could butcher every one of them and leave unhurriedly afterward.

Starfall was a black knight. Their moral code was notoriously flexible; otherwise, how could the Lyon Empire have conquered so vast a territory relying only on paladins who lived like ascetics and saints?

The Porcupine Knight sent off eighty men, wincing. Starfall paid generously, but coin alone could not keep a fief running. People mattered more. A major war had already claimed many lives; losing dozens more able-bodied men now meant that he would have to start worrying about next year's harvest.

He told himself to treat them as already dead. They were being sent to face that terrifying lich, after all. At best, they would serve as fodder to drain his magic.

On this continent, individual might almost always outweighed collective strength.

Heroic epics, after all, were told of lone heroes rather than large hordes uniting to seize victory.

In many high-level wars, common soldiers mattered little. At best, they served to set the mood before powerhouses unleashed their true strength.

The last campaign against the lich had already proven this beyond doubt.

Yet the Lyon Empire was different.

Thanks to the traditions left by its founding emperor, human interests were elevated almost to the level of faith itself. With a population numbering in the hundreds of millions, the empire could not rely on a handful of elites to protect so many mortals.

How to make ordinary humans matter was a question that generations of the Lyon elite had grappled with.

Different cultures bred different civilizations. While others obsessed over empowering individuals, the Lyon Empire had already developed methods by which commoners could threaten the mighty.

Mounted on his celestial steed, Starfall faced the crowd of sallow, half-starved militiamen.

Though young, they were clearly the weakest each lord could spare. Some were even serfs thrown in just to meet a quota.

Starfall did not mind. To him, the difference between the lords' trained militia and starving serfs was negligible.

He expanded his aura of vitality, granting these suffering souls a rare moment of comfort.

Circling the crowd at a measured pace, Starfall spoke as he rode, "You already know why I purchased you from your lords. We are going to face that lich. Yes, that same dreadful undead you encountered before, the one who crushed you utterly."

At the memory of that hopeless slaughter, many felt their legs give way. Without the aura's support, they would have collapsed to their knees.

"Good. That saves me the trouble of explaining how terrifying the undead are. But tell me, what is there for you to fear? Whether you die sooner or later, what difference does it make? Crushing labor, endless hunger, the same pain repeated day after day. You have lived no differently from beasts.

"You have never lived as true humans. Your lives have had no meaning. To this continent, you are worth less than a single ox. It can plow fields far more efficiently than you can, after all."

His words carried a strange hypnotism. The men had, by and large, grown numb to blows and curses. Yet his words alone ignited fury in hearts long since numb.

Still, they kept their mouths shut, heads bowed, daring not to meet his gaze.

"Hold on to that anger, my kin," Starfall continued softly. "Humans should not live like this. And today, I offer you a chance to become human once more. If you survive this war, you will become citizens of the Lyon Empire. I swear by the Holy Light that you will receive land of your own, a home of your own, and a life that belongs to you."

Every head snapped up, eyes fixed on the paladin bathed in radiance.

If any other noble had promised land and houses, the men would have dismissed it as a lie. But this paladin had made an oath to the Holy Light itself.

The simplest way to tell if a black knight was lying was to ask, "Do you dare swear it by the Holy Light?"

Of course, those black knights might very well reply with a Sacred Slash to the face.

Starfall, however, had sworn his oath clearly. His words... might be the truth.

Seeing the light kindle in their eyes, Starfall finally smiled. He had achieved his goal. Once hope took root, it could be transmuted into strength.

And he hadn't lied. A paladin who swore by the Holy Light could not utter falsehoods out of fear of divine punishment.

If these people truly survived the coming war, he would bring them back to the Lyon Empire and grant them the promised land.

Starfall spoke again. "Now, all of you will enter the city with me. You'll eat your fill and rest well."

From the crowd, a thin, frail boy stood up, excitement causing his voice to tremble. "Rest? Honored paladin, shouldn't we begin training right away? If we go to war like this, won't we just be a burden?"

Starfall looked at him in surprise. Though the crowd's emotions had already been shaped by his words, this boy still dared to voice dissent. That took courage.

"What is your name?" Starfall asked.

"Geronimo."

The name was awkward on the tongue. It wasn't the sort that was in vogue at present.

Starfall frowned, trawling through his memories. "A name from the age of dragons... Can you trace your lineage back to the past era?"

Before the Lyon Empire was founded, the continent had been ruled by brutal, tyrannical dragons. The first Lyon emperor had slain the dragon patriarch, driven off all dragonkind, and freed the races from draconic rule.

The dragon's corpse itself had been forged into the empire's first divine artifact.

Society and culture under draconic rule differed utterly from the Nine Kingdoms of the present. That period of history had been an era-defining shift.

Though humanity suffered terribly then, a few scattered branches of humanity still clung to the past, preserving draconic worship, rituals, and even fragments of the draconic language.

The boy's name bore the common draconic cadence. A learned paladin like Starfall recognized it at once.

Perhaps because the Lyon Empire had emerged victorious, it had always taken an inclusive stance toward such remnants. The dragons were gone; all humans under their rule were kin destined to be assimilated sooner or later.

Over the past millennium, their numbers had dwindled greatly. Starfall had not expected to meet one of their descendants here.

Yet when he questioned Geronimo further, he found that the boy knew nothing of dragons at all. His parents had left him only the name, teaching him nothing of its origins.

With regards to the boy's concern, Starfall explained calmly, "The first words I learned were ‘Praise the Holy Light.' I began rigorous training at seven. Only after twenty years did I truly become a paladin. You cannot be remade in a few short days, but do not worry. I will not use you as cannon fodder. Obey my commands, and I will ensure you serve a purpose on the battlefield."

With a gentle motion, Starfall lifted Geronimo onto his mount. Together with the boy—and a crowd of newly hopeful peasants—he rode toward Alkhemia.

In the distance, a mass of heavy clouds drifted by, their shadow prompting Starfall to look up.

The skies had been thick with dark clouds for days, filling him with an unease he could not quite name.

It was precisely this foreboding that drove him to ever greater caution and preparation.

Still, today's gains were enough. These three hundred militiamen would become his strongest trump card.