Chapter 561: Hostility Part 1

"Everything seems to be in order, but I can't follow such a command without hearing it directly from Lord Cestor." Lith said while stepping forward.

The two guards crossed their lances in front of him, but he didn't stop.

"Even if the document is in order, I need to make sure it's not forged. Anyone could use the city Lord's seal." Lith was now just a few millimeters from the blades.

"The Count requested the army's help and we've not been able to contact him ever since. Before I can leave, I must speak with him. Stand down and let me pass, because the moment your weapons touch my body you'll be persecuted for treason against the Crown."

Lith's eyes flared up as he released a bit of killing intent. The mental pressure exerted by the mana filled with his violent emotions overwhelmed the guards, who turned pale but only took one step back.

Lith was surprised by their obstinacy. Without proper training or a mana core strong enough, killing intent was more than enough to send normal people running for their lives. Their fear had to be deep rooted to allow them to hold their ground.

"Fine." A wave of Lith's hand generated two streams of lightning bolts which nailed the guards against the city walls. Their bodies trembled in seizure before falling unconscious onto the ground.

Three more guards rushed to the gate after hearing the screams. They were about to unsheathe their weapons when they recognized the Ranger uniform.

"Arrest and detain those two, I want to interrogate them later." Lith said. The shocked soldiers kept moving their eyes from Lith to their companions, never removing their hands from the hilt of their blades.

Their lack of discipline annoyed Lith. He was used to being harassed by the inhabitants of small cities, but even there the local guards knew their place.

"Where is your Sergeant? I want to give him a piece of my mind about how he trains his soldiers." Lith said.

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"You just knocked him out, Sir." Replied one of the guards after snapping out of his reverie.

"What happened?"

Lith explained the reason of his coming and his need for meeting the Count Cestor.

"I understand, Sir. I apologize on behalf of the Sergeant. I can assure you he is a good man. It's just that these days we are all jumpy." The soldier replied. He was a young man in his early twenties, with light brown hair and blue eyes.

"My name is Firgon Heklas. Nice to meet you, Sir." He said while giving Lith a salute. The other two took care of the injured guards before cuffing and move them to the nearest jail.

"What reason could possibly lead your comrades to commit such blatant insubordination?"

Firgon led Lith to the city Lord's mansion while explaining to him the details about Zantia's recent events.

"Please, don't be too harsh on them. Their families are going through a tough time. Not only is this winter really harsh, but a lot of people are falling ill. Healers are powerless against the disease and many of the relatives of its victims have joined a shady cult that claims to be able to treat any illness." Firgon said.

"Are you saying there is a plague here in Zantia?"

"Not a plague." Firgon shook his head.

"Technically, it's not even a disease. Every person displays different symptoms, so we don't even know if they are all suffering from the same thing, and it never lasts long. The problem is that after some time people get sick again, like it never heals. We call it: 'the Griever'."

"What about your Healers?" Lith found the story ridiculous. Illnesses and even poisons acted all the same. Someone poisoning several different people each with a different substance was as cruel as it was idiotic.

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"They have confirmed it's not poisoning, but an affliction of the body. They can cure it, but it only makes things worse. Whenever the disease gets removed, it returns almost immediately stronger than before." Firgon replied.

"I can sympathize with them. One of my sisters has been ill for a long time, but that still doesn't explain your sergeant's odd behavior."

"I'm afraid it's because of the Church of the Six." Firgon sighed.

"Life in the north is harsh, so a lot of religions are born and die every year. They try to give people hope about the afterlife, but usually their absurd dogmas are just a cover to rob believers of their money.

"The Church of the Six is different for two reasons. First, they don't ask for 'donations' for everything, and second, whatever they do, it works. Or so they say. Some of them get rich, others get healed, and stuff like that.

"People whose relatives got the Griever became fanatics after word got out that the clerics can cure it for good. The bastards only treat the most loyal worshippers, though."

"I've traveled quite a lot and have never heard about either the Church of the Six or the Griever." Lith pondered.

"It's not a surprise. The Church was founded only last year and it would have already disappeared if not for the Griever."

"Let me guess, your Sergeant is a believer." Lith said.

"Yeah, a big one. He recently became a father, and there's nothing he wouldn't do to spare his son from all that suffering. His wife's hair is turning white from the fear."

"When did the Griever appeared?"

"Right after the winter lockdown started. The worst stuff always happens during that period. Bad luck loves company."

Lith nodded and decided to let the Sergeant off the hook. The man was already suffering enough.

'I doubt the Griever is a real illness. Most likely his son is terminally ill. If I accuse him of treason, he will lose his job, his life, and the little time they have left together.' Lith thought.

'Why don't you cure the baby? It shouldn't be difficult for you.' Solus thought.

'I sympathize with him, but that doesn't mean I care for him or his son. Especially after he pointed a blade at me. He made his choice when he preferred listening to a cleric rather than ask a Healer for help.'

After another few questions about the situation of Zantia, they reached Count Cestor's House. The city Lord was a short man in his mid fifties, around 1.62 meters (5'4") tall with white hair and thin mustaches.

The Count was sickly pale, far more than what passed for normal in the north, with bloodshot eyes and so many nervous tics that Lith suspected him of drug abuse.

"I'm really sorry to have wasted your time, Ranger Verhen, but as the guards told you at the city gates, our issues are already solved. I'm sure there are plenty of cities that need your help." His voice was firm, yet it sounded old and tired like he hadn't sleep in days.

"Why you didn't just cancel your request? We've tried to contact you for several days."

"Because I've seen the light, Ranger Verhen. Magic is the sad attempt of men to play god. Our arrogance has long since blinded us and angered the real gods. Only by relinquishing it can we pray to receive their mercy."

Lith was tempted to give the man a soapbox and a "the end is near" t-shirt as the Count looked at him with the ill-concealed contempt a self-righteous man usually reserved for a nonbeliever.

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