Questioning the Crime
Translator: Cinder Translations
...
"What happened?"
When Marquis Joe Foster arrived at the border outpost as the official reception for the papal envoy, the scene before him left him in shock.
A corpse—dressed like an ally militia—was hung upside down from the watchtower, swaying in the wind.
Several other militia members had also been killed and carelessly discarded beneath the tower.
Below the watchtower stood three church knights, all on high alert, their swords reflecting a cold light in the sunlight.
Upon seeing Marquis Foster arrive, one knight rode up to within ten meters of him.
Marquis Foster spoke first, "I am Joe Foster, a member of the council, and I need a reasonable explanation."
He furrowed his brows, his shoulders slightly trembling, clearly struggling to control his agitation.
Provocation! This was a serious provocation.
The papal envoy had come onto the territory of the Bay Alliance under the guise of negotiation and killed the Alliance's militia.
Such behavior was both deceitful and insulting.
"Marquis Foster!"
The knight nearest him spoke. Due to the visor of his helmet, Foster could not see his face.
"I have been ordered to remain in this vile place to inform you that the despicable actions of the Bay Alliance have thoroughly enraged the Bay Church and the papacy. We will consider this the gravest insult and provocation! You and your pathetic allies will face the church's most severe punishment."
What? This is outrageous!
In an instant, Marquis Foster felt it was absurd; they had come onto their land and killed people, yet they claimed it was the Alliance that provoked them.
But he held his patience and asked, "What provocation is this knight speaking of? Let me guess, you mean that our militia didn't obediently wait to die when faced with your blades but chose to resist? And in your eyes, that is provocation, isn't it?"
"Marquis Foster? Are you still pretending to be confused at this point?"
The knight asked, filled with righteous indignation.
"I'm pretending to be confused?" Marquis Foster sensed that the knight's indignation didn't seem feigned and began to have doubts.
The knight shouted, "Was it not the Bay Alliance that sent assassins to ambush and brutally kill the papal envoy, Lord Libate, here?"
"What did you say?"
Foster could hardly believe his ears—Libate... was killed?
And it was at the hands of his own side?
"If you didn't hear clearly, let me say it again: Lord Libate was brutally killed by assassins from the Bay Alliance, right in that small house."
The knight pointed with his whip at the small house where Libate had been resting.
"Of course, I suspect you know more about this than I do because this was your evil plan all along."
Things have gone terribly wrong!
Marquis Joe Foster felt as if he had fallen into a bottomless ice pit.
He wasn't afraid of the impending war; rather, it was the occurrence of such an event before war broke out. If the blame fell squarely on them, the Bay Alliance would find itself in a very unfavorable position morally.
Foster urgently said, "Where is Libate's body? I want to see it. There must be something wrong with this!"
The knight dismissed him, saying angrily, "How can Lord Libate's body be left here for you sinners to desecrate? He has already been taken to Collins."
Foster retorted, "There's something wrong here, Knight. I implore you to regain your sense as a knight of the faith. Consider this: what benefit would killing the papal envoy bring us in the current situation? If we want to negotiate, the severe consequences of killing the envoy are self-evident. And if we want to go to war, killing the envoy will not lead us to victory; rather, it will incite your people to unite against us. So, we have no motive to kill Libate."
"You are still quibbling!"
The knight's fury seemed almost to erupt through the visor of his helmet, as if flames would shoot out.
He tightly gripped the hilt of his sword, his body tense with the buildup of power, as if he would thrust the sword forward at any moment.
The marquis's guards noticed the knight's change and drew their swords in response, ready to defend their master from a possible attack.
Yet the knight did not act; instead, he said, "Our men witnessed your assassin stab that wicked poison dagger into the back of Lord Libate. The evidence is irrefutable. It must be that you despicable authorities deceived those who still wish to follow the path of true faith, fearing that Lord Libate would expose your lies, so you resorted to this vile assassination."
The knight had already convinced himself of his narrative.
Foster was about to defend his side, but the knight rudely waved his hand.
"Enough, Marquis Foster. I no longer have the patience to waste time arguing with you. The Almighty Father has long seen through your sins, and you will inevitably pay for your vile deeds. Brothers, let us return to report."
After saying this, the knight fiercely shook the reins, and his horse turned, galloping toward the distant trade road.
The other two knights followed suit, leaving only a trail of dust behind them.
...
Joe Foster's face turned ashen.
Who exactly orchestrated this assassination?
He had no doubt about the knight's words—that Lord Libate had indeed been killed.
Libate was a senior cleric in charge of diplomacy for the papacy. If the Bay Church or the papacy fabricated the killing of such a high-ranking figure to find a justification for war or gain a moral high ground, it would be laughable.
Thus, Libate had indeed been undeniably murdered.
But who was responsible?
The Bay Church? There was a strong possibility; it was full of fanatical lunatics.
Hardliners from the Alliance or allied nations? That was also a possibility; many had prepared for this war for a long time, waiting to seize a fortune amidst the chaos.
Those inland nations that supported the Bay Church? They were most likely the ones, as inlanders had always coveted coastal wealth and had long wished to pull the church's banner to plunder it.
Ah, now is not the time for speculation; I must immediately notify the council.
After all, war is about to break out.
With doubts filling his mind, Marquis Foster lashed his mount, causing the horse to whinny in pain and gallop away in the direction they came from.
The marquis's attendants closely followed.
Both parties departed.
Only the silent corpse of the militia remained, still hanging upside down from the tower, swaying in the wind.
(End of the Chapter)
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