The Holy Church Begins with Bestowal of Blessings

Chapter 392 : Wolf’s Two Regrets

To Hode, the principle of battle had always been to use whatever was most effective. And so, he was currently swinging Olivia by the leg, mercilessly slamming her into the ground, leaving crater after crater.Originally, he had only intended for a simple ‘duel’, not something this ‘efficient’.

But Olivia had seen through him, and so she’d issued a small provocation:

‘After having their brains devoured by trolls, have even the muscles of Northern barbarians been drained dry by women?’

Hode wasn’t angry.

He simply went all out and unleashed the Frost Storm, activating his Dragon Soul mode.

This was his form of respect—toward a fellow knight.

Of course, he also unleashed the Frost Storm to drown out the voices of those old geezers berating this Northern barbarian for treating a beautiful young lady so roughly.

There were very few people in the Hall of Heroes at present. Hode was the only one from the North. As for the people of Greenwood, they were mostly the old scholars from the Monastery.

Olivia could be said to have grown up under their watchful eyes.

In the Hall of Heroes, aside from these glorified heroes and sages, there was also one individual whose reputation was far from flattering.

Knight Wolf.

Though the Hall had no true shadows or blind spots, it carried an air of unreality, and precisely because of this, the scholars felt deeply uncomfortable—research they had pursued in life could no longer continue here.

And so, rallying together to curse the Northern brute Hode had become one of the rare shared pastimes of these Greenwood scholars.

Yet even in a place without shadows, there were still some inconspicuous corners.

Knight Wolf stayed in one such place.

Compared to the lofty ones around him, he—a man who had known only slaughter—felt out of place.

From Nyx, he had already learned of the current state of the York Territory—or rather, the current Kingdom of Lundex.

It was a nation of great beauty. And yet, someone like him who had slaughtered wantonly had largely been condemned, held up as a cautionary tale.

Nyx had consoled him, saying that such portrayals came from the senators and gentry. They needed a scapegoat, a political target to solidify their positions and stances.

But Knight Wolf paid this no mind.

A radiant kingdom naturally needed an evil figure for contrast, and he was willing to play that part.

Still, it pained him that he could not lay eyes upon this beautiful Kingdom of Lundex—not even once.

That, he felt, was one of his regrets.

But he never regretted his final decision.

Even if, in hindsight, his death seemed utterly meaningless.

Of course, the old scholars who came later told him stories—stories newly spun by the bards—that made him wish he could grab Erebus and kill every last one of those storytellers.

By the time he died, he had already grown old, and yet those bastards claimed he’d committed slaughter to silence dissenters, to steal women, to propagate his bloodline across the York Territory, and finally, to seize power in Pegira’s absence—vying for nobility!

How could he tolerate such insults?

And yet, he was already dead. He could not wield Erebus to show those bards the real details of his killings—nor could he let them feel it for themselves.

So, he had always longed for a bard to someday enter the Hall of Heroes. If that day came, he would make sure to share his ‘story’ in vivid detail.

Now, however, he saw a living person appear in the Hall.

A flicker of hope stirred within him—perhaps, as a dead man, he could return to Greenwood, to finally see the kingdom so often praised in tales.

Corleon silently appeared beside him. “Long time no see, Knight Wolf.”

Knight Wolf froze, then looked at Corleon in mild surprise.

He hesitated, then said, “Corleon… Priest? No, wait, I heard from Nyx that you’re now the Pope.”

He looked Corleon up and down. “Even the Pope…”

Before he could finish, he shook his head vigorously. “No, there’s no way you could’ve died so soon…”

Finally, his gaze shifted to Olivia, who was being flung like a ragdoll inside the Frost Storm. His expression turned hesitant.

Some matters were considered tacit secrets by the scholars.

And scholars who had spent most of their lives in the Old Testament Era were extraordinarily good at keeping secrets.

Perhaps Scholar Nyx could deduce a few things from tiny clues—but not Wolf. As a man of brute force, subtlety was not his strength.

Still, with Corleon appearing here, even he could guess a few things.

Following Wolf’s gaze, Corleon looked toward Olivia and said, “She’s been obedient these past years, so I gave her a brief reward—and took the opportunity to visit you.”

“Though there’s controversy about you in the outside world, the Church has faithfully recorded your life.”

Knight Wolf said with some complexity, “Those bards—they lied.”

Corleon replied, “They’re not men of the Church. And lies are their weapon. So while they have indeed committed the sin of falsehood, it doesn’t reach the level of Church punishment—at least not yet. If they’re ever exposed, the first to judge them will be the kingdom’s law.”

“As I’ve always said, the Church is the Lord’s servant—it conveys His teachings and guides faith.”

“If ever the Church does step in to punish them, it would be because their sins are truly grave. It would mean they had used lies to blaspheme the Lord.”

Knight Wolf fell silent, then said, “Rather than being known as the ‘Bloodthirsty Knight’ they now speak of, I would have preferred being remembered as the ‘Mad Dog Knight’.”

Corleon responded, “Perhaps one day, someone will uncover your true story and clear your name. But the Church has its own Hall of Heroes. Its bishops and priests will only recite the names of heroes and sages acknowledged within it.”

Wolf shook his head with a sigh. “Seems even my own family has abandoned me.”

Corleon said, “Claudy is your child. He still remembers you. He often prays for you.”

Wolf answered, “Even when I was being slandered, he remained silent due to his holy duties. Perhaps those prayers are just him repenting his guilt and unease.”

Corleon said, “He’s grown up.”

Wolf said, “Still as stupid as ever.”

Corleon replied, “I think he’d be happy to hear how you still think of him.”

Wolf asked, “Would you tell him?”

Corleon said, “Perhaps he’ll hear it in a dream—from your own mouth.”

Wolf muttered, “That would be a nightmare for him.”

Corleon smiled. “Or a joyful dream.”

Wolf fell silent again.

After a while, he let out a small laugh—then it faded, replaced by a sigh.

He said, “In this life, I have only two regrets.”

“One was choosing my family over Sir Helvin.”

“The other was choosing Sir Pegira in the end, and abandoning my family.”

“But during my time here in the Hall of Heroes, in this place devoid of noise, I’ve reflected for a long, long time. In the end, I realized—I always chose only myself.”

“As the Scriptures say, I committed the sin of greed. When Sir Pegira marched against Sir Helvin, I greedily sought to preserve my family. I convinced myself that Helvin couldn’t possibly win, and used that as an excuse to offer my sword to Pegira.”

“After I was sure Pegira wouldn’t destroy my family, I began to crave the acclaim of a knight. I grew jealous of Knight Zorn being hailed as the model of York’s knighthood, and angry when the prospective knights berated me as a disgrace.”

“And so, I died under the weight of my own greed.”

“Even here, in this hall that symbolizes the highest honor, I still longed for my name to be celebrated in glory.”

Corleon said, “You simply made the choices that were yours to make. At the very least, your choices have now been vindicated.”

“And as for your posthumous reputation, you can witness it from here. History is not fixed. The judgments on those who lived it are never final.”

Knight Wolf shook his head. “Before you came, I still cared somewhat. But now—I don’t anymore. I only hope that someday, a bard steps into this Hall of Heroes. Perhaps that Academy Dean Oscar, who’s known for his embellishments—he’s trained quite a few of those bards.”

“I’ll tell him in great detail how I really slaughtered people. Maybe after he feels it firsthand, he’ll stop making things up.”

As he spoke, Erebus silently appeared in his hand, wreathed in faint red blood mist.

Corleon chuckled. “You might never get that chance.”

Wolf blinked. “He’s a dean of the Monastery.”

Corleon said, “The Hall of Heroes doesn’t accept people based on status alone.”

Wolf fell silent. He didn’t pursue the topic further, instead asking, “Aren’t you worried that little girl’s going to be beaten to death?”

Corleon replied, “This is the Hall of Heroes. There’s no death here. She’ll feel pain—but she seeks that pain in battle. It gives her a sense that she truly exists.”

“She carries Pegira’s bloodline. Pegira spent his whole life proving that existence has meaning. She has inherited part of that.”

Wolf’s expression grew grave. “She’s our lord’s bloodline!?”

Corleon nodded. “Yes. She is Pegira’s chosen successor. The future King of Lundex.”

At that, fury overtook Wolf’s face. He roared, “How dare that Northern brute humiliate my lord!”

Then he charged into the Frost Storm.

In life, Wolf had only reached Tier Five through the power of a Holy Relic. The tales sung about him were largely exaggerated and shaped by special circumstances. How could he possibly match Hode?

Even passing through the Frost Storm was difficult enough. So when he faced Hode, he was promptly swatted away—slammed aside by Olivia, still being used as a blunt weapon.

But Wolf was now an honored spirit. He could feel pain, but the worst he faced was brief dissolution. Infused by legend, he would quickly regenerate. Steadying himself, he charged again.

And once Wolf made a move, the Greenwood scholars—though still unsure what was happening—could no longer restrain themselves. Nyx, too, couldn’t help but use the power granted by his own legend to bless Wolf.

In his legend, it was said he could recite the Lord’s Words to inspire others, pushing them past their limits for a short time.

He told himself—he was just helping a friend.

With Wolf in action, the scholars who had been itching to experiment on their newfound powers joined the fray.

This power was fascinating. Moments ago, Olivia was off-limits—alive, and forbidding interference. But Wolf? He was dead. They felt no such restraint.

Besides, seeing that Knight Wolf was clearly no match for that Northern brute, he likely wouldn’t refuse their help.

So some scholars lent him support, while others directly attacked Hode.

Taken by surprise, Hode was caught off guard at first.

But in the end, the tier gap remained. Once he stabilized, cloaked in Dragon Soul’s Will, not even standing still could be breached.

Still, his expression turned increasingly disgruntled.

He saw it as an affront by the people of Greenwood against the North. And he was the only Northerner here in the Hall of Heroes.

As for Olivia, who was now unconscious but wore a look of satisfied bliss—she was quietly carried away by Corleon, who had finished what he came to do.