Chapter 8: What Are You Waiting For? Go Home

At this point, Priscilla had pretty much grasped that Sister Teresa had no desire to engage in dialogue with them. Her sole intention was to expel them, to prevent any possibility of their contact with Yang Hao.

An impulse arose within Priscilla to simply take Teresa into custody, but then she thought better of it. She knew that Yang Hao, now alone and isolated, must have come to rely on Sister Teresa. Any impulsive action might corner him into an even more extreme position.

Yet with neither the option to fight nor effectively communicate, Priscilla was in a dilemma about what to do.

With difficulty, Priscilla swallowed hard, momentarily unsure how to respond to Teresa’s remarks.

In that instant, it was the Imperial Knight Robert who took a step forward and, with a profoundly submissive bow, pleaded.

“Sister Teresa… you are right, we cannot assume whether the people in our country are content living under the conditions of drought. Everything you said is correct. But one thing we can be sure of is that the Roman Empire needs a Regent King. Only under his leadership can the Roman Empire remain united, and he is the only one who can achieve this. Currently, the Roman Empire is not just facing internal turmoil, even the formidable empires across the ocean view us with covetous eyes. This is not just for the common people but for the very survival and sanctuary of our empire. So, Sister Teresa… allow us to meet with Lord Yang Hao. Just one meeting is all we ask. We must speak with him. Grant us, at least, an opportunity to make our case clear to him. Otherwise, we will have no choice but to meet in conflict, and we will have to inconvenience you temporarily.”

Knight Robert had thought it out. If the reasoning of the common people’s welfare could not sway the nun acquainted with the witch to yield, then the argument for the well-being of the entire Roman Empire should at least earn them some leniency, shouldn’t it?

Furthermore, he understood that there were indeed individuals in the world who would never yield, no matter what was said.

In an impasse where neither side could retreat, as a knight seasoned on the harsh battlegrounds, he recognized this as the grim, yet unavoidable moment where blades must be drawn.

The nun standing before him seemed so fragile. Even the children of the barbarians were mightier than she.

Knight Robert was convinced in his assessment. If the conflict remained verbal, the nun would not recede even a fraction. However, with the introduction of a blade’s threat, she would surely yield.

Confronted with cold steel, anyone who had not experienced the horrors of war would innately succumb to fear.

This was all that they needed, merely an opportunity to speak with the Regent King in a state of peace.

Knight Robert stood up, his right hand already resting on the sheath of his sword, fingers tracing the scabbard before firmly clasping the hilt.

With a click, the sword nudged partially from its sheath. Contrary to expectations, although the nun grew deathly pale, barely allowing herself to breathe, she resolutely held her position. She did not recoil in terror, rather, she took a step forward, boldly positioning herself directly in front of Priscilla.

Slap!

And before the eyes of all, she delivered a stinging slap to the face of the Night Witch.

The Night Witch silently watched the nun, indignation flickering in her gaze, yet she did not possess the fortitude to confront the nun’s outraged eyes directly.

The witch had instinctively yielded, while the nun’s heart was indeed engulfed with the fear Knight Robert had anticipated. Nevertheless, that very fear cemented her resolve not to retreat. For if she did, then Yang Hao’s final sanctuary would vanish into nothingness.

‘Oh my god, what the hell am I doing?! Teresa, oh Teresa! If this little witch releases a berserk spell on you and just fucking kills you, who’s going to reason with her? And is that knight seriously considering getting physical? That sword would hurt if it hits, wouldn’t it? No way, I don’t want this, after all this talking, can’t you just fucking leave and deal with your own mess?’

“I should’ve known that you’re all just a bunch of bandits. Damn it, I should have fucking never forgotten that before its unification, the Roman Empire was nothing but a mishmash of human tribes governing their own territories. I shouldn’t have held any hope for you barbarians!”

Sister Teresa spoke defiantly, the fear in her heart rising to her throat as the knight’s sword slightly unsheathed in his grip, yet her words showed no sign of backing down.

‘What the hell am I doing again?! Teresa, oh Teresa! Have you completely lost your mind? Don’t you remember that to the current nobility and mages of the Roman Empire, ‘barbarian’ is the vilest of slurs? Don’t provoke them further, otherwise, if it comes down to a literal battle, we’ll be in deep trouble.’

Teresa could even sense the sudden, murderous intent erupting from Priscilla.

To this genius mage, the term ‘barbarian’ was an affront not just to her recent achievements but to her entire life’s work. 

But what else could Teresa say? She was merely stating the truth.

The Roman Empire’s beginnings were those of barbarian tribes consolidated into a nation by the guidance of a kingdom no larger than a small city and its Regent King, subsequently governed by a lineage of ingrates lost in their own delusions of grandeur.

Was she incorrect?

Absolutely not. She was simply voicing truths that were taken as slights against the Roman Empire. 

It was they who had no shame in ousting their Regent King, in their silence during his disgrace, in their opposition to everything he had tried to accomplish.

So now that the empire was in decline, they suddenly remembered the merits of another’s reign? Were they eagerly wishing for the Regent King’s swift return as if by a stroke of lightning? Since when did such blessings come without a price?

They had no shame, but could they at least pretend to have a bit of human decency?

‘Ah, how I long to live in the Elf Kingdom. Though the elves may be set in their ancient ways, strict with traditions, and stubbornly old-fashioned, they at least acknowledge Yang Hao’s contributions and the sacrifices he’s made, don’t they?

‘Life there wouldn’t be about luxury, but at least I could drop the pretense of conversion. He wouldn’t be confined, unable to even visit a town, and we could lead a normal life.

‘And you?

‘You’re a sorry lot of lowlifes, a bunch of harlots that not even stray dogs would lust after if you parade naked in the streets. You squander the legacy bequeathed by others, you’re the ones who exiled him, who brought him shame, who destroyed his achievements.

‘So what if I’m marked for death?

‘As long as I, Sister Teresa, draw breath, I swear you won’t advance one step closer to the monastery!’

Clack!

With a pallid face and a body shivering uncontrollably, Sister Teresa held herself standing with a mix of pride and contempt in her eyes. She scornfully watched Priscilla, who dared not meet her gaze, and the imperial knights, their pride wounded by the ‘barbarian’ moniker, and Sir Robert, who had impulsively unsheathed his sword.

Whether it was Robert or Priscilla, their murderous intent was palpably felt by Sister Teresa.

But what of it?

She was a human, not a beast. She hadn’t forgotten where she came from, nor would she ever forget everything that Yang Hao had done.

This was why she must stand her ground, why she wished to remain steadfast, to safeguard Yang Hao’s last refuge until her dying breath, or until he no longer needed her protection.

But until that moment arrived, none would pass her way.

They faced off against each other. As the tension escalated beyond salvage and before the empire resolved to barge in forcibly with long-eared archers concealed in the shadows, their presence disguised by the forest’s breath, bows drawn, poised to intervene with force.

Suddenly, the sound of kneeling broke the standoff.

Turning around, they spotted a man burdened with a basket brimming with firewood, a rusted axe for cutting timber in hand, his beard awkwardly half-trimmed revealing patches, his hair barely groomed, dressed in hemp clothes and nearly worn-out boots.

“Your Majesty the Regent King.”

With an unchanging expression, the man proceeded straight toward the monastery. Each empire knight along his path parted ways, then knelt devoutly, honoring him with the utmost reverence.

“Your Majesty the Regent King.”

Sir Robert paused, a momentary shock giving way to ecstatic reverence as he offered a half-kneel salute, then solemnly extended his weapon in both hands, a gesture of his fealty and benign intentions.

But the man spared him not even a glance. He strode directly toward the pair locked in confrontation.

A glint of joy sparkled in the witch Priscilla’s eyes, as she blurted out eagerly, “Yang Hao, please, I need to explain–”

“Why are you dallying? Let’s head back.”

“…”

‘Indeed, he hadn’t forsaken the Roman Empire, nor had he abandoned me,’ so Priscilla thought with joy, even subconsciously reaching out her hand, hoping for him to clasp it firmly as he once did.

But he brushed past Priscilla, who turned to follow his movements, her body rigid with shock and disbelief.

The weather-beaten Yang Hao went straight to embrace the nun’s shoulders, meticulously checking that the girl shivering in his embrace bore no injuries. Then, with a tenderness formerly reserved for Priscilla and the young empress, he repeated, “Why are you standing there? It’s cold outside, let’s return together.”

The knights’ act of veneration and the figure of a past lover faded into the background. For Teresa, who now stood within arm’s reach, it was clear that in his gaze, she alone occupied the space.