Chapter 21: Pillar of the Nation

  The next day dawned bright and clear—sunlight flooded the land from early morning, matching the villagers’ high spirits. Today, they would finally return home and resume their old lives, free from worry.

  The night before, they had used up all their stored grain to hold a celebration feast. Brother Bumb had even brought out a barrel of wine he had been hiding away for a long time. Everyone had danced and sung around the campfire. Though Ethan had not joined in, he could still feel their simple, unadorned joy and their love for their homeland.

  At daybreak, the villagers gathered their children and the elderly, packed all their belongings, and headed east toward the meadow—ready to receive their pardon and the exemption from taxes. The Imperial Envoy had said he needed to see each person in person to grant the pardon, so no one could stay behind.

  They trekked through the woods for hours. As noon approached, Ethan and the villagers emerged from the forest where they had been hiding and stepped onto the meadow the Imperial Envoy had specified.

  The moment he entered the meadow, Ethan saw the Lost Forest the old man had mentioned on the opposite side. With just one glance, he was certain: this was the place he had been looking for.

  It was indeed an unusual forest. The trees were tall and ancient, as if the surrounding woodland had deliberately retreated to leave a clear space around it—creating the meadow between them. The entire forest exuded a strange, heavy aura, one that inspired inexplicable awe.

  The closer he got, the more intense and uncanny that feeling became. Ethan could almost sense the forest rejecting him. There was no malice in it, only a weighty, imposing presence.

  Drawing nearer still, he realized it was a vast, majestic woodland. Each tree was so thick it would take several men linking arms to encircle it. Their gnarled trunks and sprawling branches radiated timeless grandeur. Wispy mist drifted between the trees, and sunlight filtering through the leaves formed slanted beams that cut through the veil-like fog. Not a single bird chirped or beast roared in the forest.

  Stay away. Ethan felt as if the entire forest was screaming this silently. Now that he was so close, he could almost feel the intimidation on his skin. He thought back to Levin’s analogy, which had seemed confusing at the time—but now felt perfectly apt. This forest was like a colossal, ancient god gazing down, making you afraid to approach. Even recalling its overwhelming majesty felt like a burden.

  “Is this… Whispering Woods?” Ethan murmured, almost to himself.

  “Yes. This is Whispering Woods,” a voice replied—as if a thousand people were straining to shout in whispers.

  Ethan turned around and saw the villagers had long since stopped walking. They huddled in a cluster in the middle of the meadow, not a single one glancing toward the forest. The strange voice came from someone standing nearby, not far from him.

  The man wore a red robe—similar to the one Ethan had used to disguise himself as a hunchbacked cripple in the capital, designed to cover every part of his body. But there was one difference: his face was exposed.

  It was an ordinary face, the kind you might see on any street—with expressions, with bright, moving eyes. Yet Ethan felt the face clashed horribly with the eerie aura the man exuded. That face felt like the robe was stuffed with a thousand rotting, dead vipers: a dangerous stench, like that of a corpse, clung to him.

  “Do you want to go in?” the robed man asked, his voice still strange.

  “Yes,” Ethan replied, on guard.

  The robed man seemed unconcerned with Ethan’s wariness. He kept his eyes fixed on the depths of the forest. “Don’t worry. In a little while, I’ll take you in,” he said. His voice was not loud, but it sounded as if he had to force it out of his throat—hoarse, like a thousand people wailing at once.

  Ethan suddenly felt a chill run down his spine.

  None of the villagers noticed what was happening by the forest. They avoided looking that way instinctively; even if they glanced over by accident, the imperceptible yet unmistakable sense of rejection made them turn their heads back immediately—without even the urge to talk about it.

  Besides, they were too focused on their own business. The thud of hooves echoed in the distance, growing louder. Dozens of cavalrymen rode out of the forest. “Lord Imperial Envoy is here!” Rodhart exclaimed, recognizing one of the figures.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  “Why are there so many of them?” Levin whispered, staring at the fully armed cavalry—swords drawn, armor gleaming. Fear crept into his voice. “Could it be…?”

  “No, of course not,” Rodhart reassured everyone. “Lord Imperial Envoy promised to pardon us. A man of his status and learning would never go back on his word! You startled him last time—naturally, he’d bring guards this time.”

  But the cavalry was clearly not just there for protection. They charged straight toward the villagers, then spread out in a circle, surrounding the twenty-odd men, women, and children. Only then did the Imperial Envoy and a fat, official-looking man ride over on horseback.

  “Lord Imperial Envoy! What’s going on?” Rodhart asked.

  “Knight, you may step out,” the Imperial Envoy said, nodding at him. Rodhart walked forward. “For your noble character and good education, I shall overlook your association with these bandits.”

  Rodhart hesitated. “But what about them…?”

  The Imperial Envoy spoke as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “Naturally, they will be executed.” At his words, the villagers let out cries of terror.

  “But you promised to pardon them!” Rodhart urged.

  The Imperial Envoy raised a finger to his head, his voice dripping with superiority. “That is wisdom. Would they have let me go if I hadn’t said that? I was not making a sincere promise—I was merely employing a clever strategy.”

  The fat official beside him gushed in admiration. “Your plan is brilliant, Your Excellency! If you were to lead armies on the battlefield, you would be an unbeatable general. A man of both literary and martial talents—truly a pillar of the nation!”

  The Imperial Envoy smiled and nodded, humbly replying: “I am only a scholar, a man of books. I am not suited for fighting. As for being a ‘pillar’—you too deserve that title, Lord Dott. I have inspected many regions, and conditions here are among the best. And building a chapel proves your piety to the gods.”

  “Yesterday, you saw them apologize to you—they admitted their mistakes,” Rodhart knelt down, begging for mercy. The gap between his hopes and reality was too great; he could not accept this sudden reversal. “Doesn’t that prove they’re still good, honest people?”

  “Of course I remember,” the Imperial Envoy said. “As a reward for their apology, I shall have them executed together—sparing them the pain of losing their loved ones. You know, when punishing heretic villages, we usually execute the children first. It makes those who defile the gods suffer the greatest spiritual agony, purifying their vile souls.”

  “I heard you invented this method yourself, Your Excellency?” the fat man asked respectfully.

  Pride lit up the Imperial Envoy’s face. “I thought of it while studying books at the seminary. Letting heretics feel this painful baptism while they are still alive helps them atone for their sins more quickly in hell.”

  The fat man’s cheeks bunched up into an obsequious grin. “How merciful and wise you are!”

  Rodhart’s voice cracked, almost in tears. “But they’re not heretics! I told you the truth yesterday!”

  The Imperial Envoy’s patience was wearing thin. “They may not be yet—but what about tomorrow? They kidnapped a court official for a little money and food. That shows they have no respect for the law at all. And I have already investigated,” he said, pointing to the fat man with the authority of a judge. “They have slandered this incorruptible local official, Lord Dott. Lord Dott only imposed a small tax on the people to build a chapel in the city. A deed for the gods! Yet they refused to pay this sacred tax and slandered a pious man like Lord Dott. That proves they have no regard for the gods’ teachings or gratitude in their hearts. As a theological scholar, I can tell—such souls are most easily tempted by devils. Executing them before they become devil-worshiping heretics is the kindest thing we can do for them.”

  He turned to the fat man, Lord Dott. “But Lord Dott, why insist on executing them here? Wouldn’t capturing them and burning them alive in the city be more deterrent?”

  Lord Dott replied: “Ten days ago, a charitable gentleman visited me. He was worried our cemeteries wouldn’t have enough space—and he said it was improper for heretics to be buried with the faithful. So he suggested we bury them here, and offered us one silver coin per corpse. That’s why I proposed executing these bandits here. Transporting so many corpses would be a lot of trouble.”

  The Imperial Envoy’s face showed concern. “That sounds strange. Are you sure he wasn’t a heretic?”

  Lord Dott quickly shook his head—his jowls wobbling. “No, no! I used all the money he gave me to build our chapel. Anyone who spends money on such a noble cause must have a great heart. Don’t you agree, Your Excellency?”

  The Imperial Envoy nodded. He turned to the trembling villagers, his tone like a benediction. “You hear that? Your corpses will even contribute to the chapel’s construction funds. That is your honor.” He waved a hand in a gesture that might have passed for a ritual. “Very well. Execute them.”

  Dozens of cavalrymen drew their swords and charged at the villagers—mostly the elderly, women, and children. Screams of terror and agony mingled with the spray of blood from their defenseless bodies.

  “Stop!” Rodhart leaped to his feet. Three cavalrymen immediately pressed their swords to his neck, and another struck him on the head with the hilt of his sword—knocking him to the ground.

  The Imperial Envoy watched, a look of regret on his face. “It seems your loyalty to the law and faith in the gods are weaker than your affection for these bandits. Even though you have some merit, I have no choice but to execute you too—lest you sully the noble title of ‘knight.’”

  Though he had been kidnapped the day before, a little trick had allowed him to round up all these bandits effortlessly. Listening to the heretics’ screams, the Imperial Envoy thought Lord Dott might have been right—perhaps he could be a general. Suddenly, he saw a man sprinting toward them from the edge of the forest. True to his newfound “general” persona, he waved majestically at several cavalrymen beside him. “There’s another enemy! Who will bring me his head?”