Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king - Chapter 464

Chapter 464: Religious fervor(2) Chapter 464: Religious fervor(2) The temple was silent.

The air felt heavy, as if the walls themselves were holding their breath, waiting.

The flickering candlelight cast long shadows, stretching across the stone floor like silent witnesses to what was unfolding.

And in that silence, Elios felt the weight of a single, unbroken stare.

Robert’s eyes bore into him, demanding an answer, a reason-something that could justify the storm that was about to be unleashed.

Elios finally spoke, his voice calm but burdened with something deeper, something old.

“I have been on the road for a long time,” he said, his gaze distant, as if seeing past the walls of the temple, past the present, into memories that had long since hardened into truths.

“Everywhere I went, I saw the same thing.

Poverty.

Misery.” He let out a slow breath, as if exhaling the weight of it all.

“I preached, I prayed, I gave what little I could, but it was never enough.

I watched children starve, watched men break their backs only to die in debt.

I watched mothers weep over empty cradles.” His voice faltered, just for a moment.

“And I lost my faith.” Robert’s brow furrowed, but he remained silent as Elios continued.

“I wondered-how could the gods allow this?

How could they watch their flocks suffer and do nothing?

And the more I thought about it, the more I realized there were only two possible answers.” He turned his gaze to Robert, sharp, unwavering.

“Either mankind was made to live in pain, or mankind causes its own suffering.” A bitter smile flickered across his lips.

“And in the end, perhaps out of self-preservation for the little reason I had in my life, I chose to believe the latter.” His voice grew stronger now, steadier.

“The problem was not the starving child or the dying mother.

It was not the beggar in the street or the farmer who tilled the land until his hands bled.” His fingers curled into a fist.

“The problem was those above them.

The ones who ruled over them.

The nobles.

The lords.

” His eyes burned with conviction now, no longer distant but locked onto Robert’s.

“They are the architects of suffering.

And so long as they sit in their palaces, nothing will ever change.” Elios exhaled, his fingers briefly tightening at his sides before he spoke again.

His voice was steady, measured-but beneath it lay something deeper, something that had simmered for years before finally boiling over.

“I came to believe that the source of most-if not all-pain in this world was them,” he said, his eyes dark and unwavering.

“Taxes that drive men to starvation, injustices that crush the weak beneath the boots of the strong, wars that spill blood for reasons they will never explain to the ones who must fight them… Do they not all come from them?” His lips curled, not in a smile, but in something colder.

“The first nobles, perhaps, were not like that.

Perhaps, in the beginning, there was honor, there was duty.” He let out a quiet chuckle, though there was no humor in it.

“But power is a poison.

They deteriorated.

They lost their light.” He glanced at the flickering flames of the temple’s candles, the golden glow reflecting in his eyes.

“But where I saw misery, I also saw something else,” he continued.

“I saw temples.

I saw faith.

I saw men and women of the cloth, tending to the sick, feeding the hungry, giving shelter to those cast aside by the lords who claimed to rule over them.” He turned back to Robert, his expression unreadable.

“And that is when I came to understand,” he said softly.

“If things were to change, then perhaps it was time to change who sat in power.” The air in the temple felt charged, heavy with the weight of his words.

“And in the end,” Elios murmured, his voice almost reverent, “I realized that we-those closest to the gods, those who dedicate their lives to their will-should be the ones to rule over the common flock.” A long silence followed.

Elios let his eyes drift over the temple, over the carved stone walls and the flickering candles.

“The last twenty years of my life,” he said, “have been spent for this reason.

Every sermon, every lesson, every step I have taken was toward this goal.” He looked back at Robert, and this time, he did smile-a small, knowing smile, filled with quiet triumph.

“And now,” he whispered, “I have come so very close.

Look around you, Robert.

These lands, these people… My temples are the only ones that rule over them now.” Elios exhaled slowly, his gaze distant, as if looking beyond the walls of the temple-beyond the present, beyond the man before him, toward the future he envisioned.

“But even now, we are still bound,” he admitted, his voice softer but no less resolute.

“The temple governs these lands, yet we remain tethered to a higher authority-one that still casts its shadow over us, dictating the limits of what we may become.” His fingers curled into a fist at his side.

“That must change.

We cannot claim to rule while still bending the knee to another.

I will see to it that we sever that chain, that we become truly free-a state governed not by greed and corruption, but by faith, by righteousness.

Only then will we be able to shape the world as it should be.” Robert’s eyes lowered, sorrow weighing on him like heavy chains.

He had hoped-truly hoped-that Elios, the man he had followed, the man whose words had once given him solace, had remained the same.

But now, staring at him, listening to the conviction in his voice, he understood the truth.

Slowly, he lifted his gaze once more, meeting Elios’ eyes with a sadness deeper than words could express.

“Perhaps,” he said, voice hoarse, “it was for the better that His Grace had already passed.” Elios’ expression flickered, but Robert did not stop.

“Because now, for the first time, I truly understand what he would have felt-“what he would have suffered”-had he lived to see the depths of my betrayal.” Robert exhaled sharply, his jaw tightening.

He scanned Elios’ face, looking for even the slightest crack in his conviction, but there was none.

Only certainty-dangerous, unwavering certainty.

“Whatever you think will come of this war,” Robert finally said, his voice measured but laced with an edge of warning, “you are mistaken.

You are not the first man to believe he has the perfect hand to play against the Low-Prince, only to realize too late that his opponent was playing an entirely different game.” Elios remained silent, watching him with the patient calm of a man who had already accepted whatever may come.

Robert continued, his tone sharpening.

“Before you, there was the Prince of Oizen.

He fell.” Robert took a step closer, voice unwavering.

“Then there was Lord Ormund-wealthy, powerful, He fell.

And then Herculia, who held two men for each one of the court.He too had been defeated and his entire domain is now on the brink of collapse” He held Elios’ gaze.

“You are marching down the same path, and you don’t even see it.

You believe yourself victorious before the battle has even begun.

That is the first sign of a man who is walking toward his own grave.” Elios listened in silence, his expression unreadable.

Then, after a long pause, he tilted his head slightly, the candlelight casting long shadows across his sharp features.

“Tell me, Robert,” he said, voice smooth and deliberate.

“Do you admire the consort of Her Grace?” Robert let out a short, humorless laugh.

“Admiration?” he repeated, shaking his head.

“No, I do not admire him.

But I acknowledge him.

I acknowledge that he is dangerous, that he does not lose, and that underestimating him is a fool’s mistake.” His eyes darkened.

“And that is exactly what you are doing.” Elios gave a slow nod, as if Robert had confirmed something he already suspected.

“Then we agree on one thing,” he said, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

“The Prince consort is formidable.

He has turned back greater threats than mine.

But you are mistaken in believing I intend to fight him.” Robert frowned.

“What are you talking about?” Elios’ eyes gleamed with something unreadable, something deeper than mere ambition.

“My war against the crown is not waged alone,” he said.

“after all the temple will be behind me” Robert’s breath hitched slightly.

“The temples?” Elios’ smile remained, though there was no humor in it.

“Do you not see?

The killing of a priest is a sacred wound, a crime that no temple will ignore.

They will demand justice, and justice in their eyes will be condemnation.

And unless the Low-Prince places the blame upon the heretics-which we both know he will not-he will find himself at war not just with me, not just with my followers, but with the entire caste of the gods’ servants.

Every temple in the land will unite against him, against his rule.

And once the temples rise, what force do you believe can stop them?” Robert could feel his pulse in his ears, but Elios was not finished.

He stepped forward, lowering his voice like a whisper laced with poison.

“Not even Vrivius the Red, in all his glory, in all his legend, would be able to win such a war.” The temple was silent.

The candlelight flickered.

Elios watched Robert carefully, his expression unreadable, his calm demeanor unshaken.

Then, in a measured voice, he asked, “Now that you know the truth, what will you do?” Robert exhaled through his nose, his jaw tightening.

He already knew the answer, had known it the moment the conversation began, but now that it was time to voice it, the weight of his choice settled on his shoulders.

“I will do the only thing I can,” he said, his voice firm, steady.

“I will fight.” Elios gave a slow nod, but Robert wasn’t finished.

His eyes burned, not with devotion, not with anger, but with something else-something personal, something resolute.

“Not for you,” Robert continued, his tone carrying a quiet finality.

“Not for the man who turned out to be something I did not expect.

Not for the cause that I once believed in but now see for what it truly is.” He took a deep breath, letting the words settle in the still air of the temple.

“I will fight for this place, for the small peace that I have found here.

For the mornings I wake without regret.

For the faces that have come to mean something to me.

I will swing my sword to protect this-but not for you.” For a moment, Elios said nothing.

His gaze remained locked onto Robert’s, unreadable, thoughtful.

And then, to Robert’s surprise, a faint smile touched his lips-not one of triumph, not one of amusement, but something deeper.

Something almost proud.

“You have no idea,” Elios murmured, “how much that means to me.” Robert frowned slightly, but Elios continued.

“Had you told me you would fight because of love for me, or because of some lingering loyalty, I would have felt nothing ” He took a step closer, his voice quiet but filled with conviction.

“But this?

This tells me more than you realize.

It tells me that what we have built here-what I have spent my life building-is real.” His eyes gleamed with something beyond faith, beyond ambition-something that, for the first time, made Robert wonder if the man before him was truly as deluded as he had believed.

“You are the proof,” Elios said, “that this place is good.”