Lich for Hire

Chapter 275: Allen the Traitor

Everyone knew what Allen meant by "leave."

The paladin in command of the city fixed him with a hard stare and demanded, "Do you know what you're saying? Leave? Where do you think you're going?"

"I don't know." Allen looked up at the sky. "Perhaps I'll travel the continent."

"You'll bring shame upon your father!" the general snapped.

Allen smiled faintly. "General, I've served in the army for over five years. By law, I'm entitled to retire unconditionally. If it's permitted by law, how does it bring shame to my father? Or has Lyon stopped respecting its own laws?"

The general had no answer, because he knew Allen was playing dumb.

In Lyon, it wasn't easy to leave the military, despite the fact that Lyon's official regulations were among the most lenient of the nine kingdoms. On paper, any soldier who had served five years could retire unconditionally. Even those who hadn't fulfilled that requirement could usually obtain approval given a reasonable excuse.

But few ever chose to leave. For one, military pay in Lyon was exceptionally high. For another, the culture was deeply hostile toward voluntary retirement.

Anyone who left without being forced out by injury was branded a deserter and a coward.

Only veterans who had fought countless battles, earned great merit, and grown too old to continue could retire with honor.

As for the supposed valid reasons... "You want to go home and care for your parents? Do they know you're a coward?" Or perhaps, "You want to go home and marry your sweetheart? Does she know you're a deserter?"

No matter the excuse, voluntary retirement was seen as a stain of disgrace.

Allen had seen it for himself. When a young recruit, terrified by war, had wanted to go home, his own brother had nearly killed him on the spot, fearing the shame it would bring upon the family.

And now, Allen was choosing to become such a deserter.

The impact would shake all of Lyon. He was the youngest legendary paladin in the empire's history, newly crowned with glory. How could he suddenly walk away?

His fame would instantly become a blade turned against him. He would not merely be called a deserter, but a traitor to the kingdom.

"Allen," the general said after a long pause, "I'll pretend I didn't hear that. I'll give you one day. Think it over carefully. Come back to me when you've made up your mind."

Despite his dissatisfaction with Allen's recent behavior, the general still valued him deeply. Otherwise, he would never have allowed Allen to wander alone in such remote places.

With the Silvermoon Knight gone, the army needed a new symbol to steady morale.

Allen, trained by the Silvermoon Knight and already in possession of extraordinary achievements, was the perfect candidate. If he deserted, morale might collapse. The city itself might not hold.

Allen knew the general meant well, but he had made his decision long ago.

On the night the Silvermoon Knight died, he clearly felt that something within Lyon had changed. Beneath the fervent faith lay a rot that was hard to perceive, yet unmistakable.

He simply hadn't known where to go, so he had stayed to fight off wave after wave of orc counterattacks.

He had only just understood that he could not remain on the battlefield any longer. Even without a destination, he had to leave. Otherwise, he too would be consumed by that rot, trapped and unable to resist, just like the Silvermoon Knight himself.

Amidst a flurry of accusations, Allen packed his belongings. A few changes of clothes was all he had. His armor and sword had to be left behind; they were military property.

In the end, dressed in plain clothes, he left the camp like a wandering vagrant.

The news would soon spread across Lyon. He would become the enemy of the entire nation, hated by all. He didn't care. The only thing that troubled him slightly was the pressure his father would face.

But he believed his father would endure it, just as he had held to his principles even when his own son had been captured by a lich. At decisive moments, one had to follow one's faith.

By the time James Watson returned to the imperial capital, news of Allen's "defection" had already spread throughout the city. Standing before the young emperor, who wore a cold, mocking smile, James Watson spoke calmly. "Your Majesty, Allen has served more than five years. If he wishes to retire, what's wrong with that?"

The young emperor sneered. "Don't lecture me about laws. Is this really a matter of legality? Allen has betrayed the nation. And you still dare call yourself the High Inquisitor?"

James Watson chuckled. "Your Majesty, perhaps you misunderstand. The duty of the High Inquisitor is precisely to uphold Lyon's laws. Every action I take must strictly follow our laws. On the contrary, for lawful retirement to be met with such slander and abuse... I'm considering whether those responsible should be held accountable."

"You do have quite the silver tongue, High Inquisitor," the emperor said mockingly. "But do you think that will satisfy the people? Allen is already seen as a traitor. The entire nation will hunt your son of their own accord. Let's see how you carry out your duties then."

The young emperor was convinced James Watson was in serious trouble. For years, he had endured the High Inquisitor's constant criticism. Now, at last, he could savor a bit of revenge.

But James Watson seemed utterly unconcerned. "Your Majesty, my troubles are unimportant. Rather, we must make plans for the celebration of His Majesty Arthur Lyon's birthday in a few days' time. What sort of ceremony do you have in mind?"

Caught off guard, the emperor replied cautiously, "There's nothing to worry about. We'll do what we did last year."

James Watson shook his head. "This year is different. The Silvermoon Knight has just died, and the campaign in the orc mountains has stalled. Public morale remains low. On such a critical day, the people need reassurance. Your Majesty, I suggest that you unveil the Draconic Armaments and let the people witness the power of this national treasure. That should steady their hearts."

"The Draconic Armaments?"

The emperor hesitated. Of course he wanted to display it and to bask in its glory, but he couldn't.

The only reason he had ascended to the throne was that he had once made the Draconic Armaments emit a faint glow from over ten meters away.

But that glow had been no brighter than a firefly's. How could he possibly make a ceremony out of that? It would only invite ridicule, not reassurance.

The Draconic Armaments were locked deep within the palace. Even the emperor could only sense it from behind layers of barriers.

He had never even laid a hand on it.

"There's no need to consider that," the emperor said quickly. "The Draconic Armaments aren't suitable. We'll find another way."

But James Watson pressed on. "Why not? Your Majesty, I understand the traditions. The weak resonance between you and the Armaments—could it not simply be due to distance? If you were to wear it, perhaps the connection would be strengthened. Don't you wish to try?"

The emperor wavered. Who wouldn't want to experience the power of a divine artifact? He had been emperor for years and had never even touched the set of artifacts. This was the perfect excuse. If it didn't work, he could simply take it off, no harm done.

"...Very well. I'll consider it. You may leave."

The emperor dismissed him and eagerly hurried toward the depths of the palace.

After passing through multiple secret corridors, he entered a vast hall.

Thirteen elderly figures lay in slumber, clad in white-gold robes. Each had snow-white hair, deeply wrinkled faces, and an uncanny resemblance to one another.

They were all former emperors. Too old to continue ruling, they prolonged their lives through sleep—effectively hibernation.

In Lyon, life-extending potions were forbidden. This rule had endured for generations.

These thirteen elders were the true rulers of Lyon, overseeing nothing less than the imperial succession itself.

When the young emperor arrived, they did not awaken. Instead, attendants took his written message and, through a special ritual, transmitted its contents directly into the elders' minds.

If the matter was important, they would awaken and deliberate together.

If not, they would respond with a mere thought.

This had been the system for years.

Sometimes, the young emperor felt that these thirteen elders were the real rulers of Lyon, and he nothing but a puppet.

But this time, he was determined. If he couldn't even try on the Draconic Armaments, what was the point of being emperor?

Elsewhere in the capital, James Watson returned to the Tribunal.

The moment he appeared, everyone looked at him strangely. He ignored them and strode straight into his office.

His long-time deputy hurried over. "My lord, is what they're saying about Allen true? Has he really betrayed the empire?"

James Watson did not answer. Instead, he said, "Summon all department heads. I don't want to have to repeat myself."

Soon, every senior official of the Tribunal was gathered in his office and waiting anxiously.

Once they were all present, James Watson spoke. "I will say this only once. Allen has served more than five years in the military. Under imperial law, he is entitled to retire unconditionally. Therefore, I do not consider his actions to be treason. You may call him a coward, a wastrel—I do not care. But do not insult the law of the Empire. We administer justice in the name of a great god. Do not let personal emotions corrupt justice. That is my final statement. Anyone dissatisfied may resign. The Tribunal has no need for fools who disregard the law."

With that blunt declaration, James Watson thought that he had settled the matter. Yet in the end, a third of the Tribunal resigned, including several department heads he had valued highly.

Looking at the stack of resignation letters on his desk, James Watson murmured, "Lyon has truly fallen, without anyone even realizing it."