Raised in Dungeon

"The Norttish escaped?!"

"Yes, your grace. Ivaylo is no longer in the basement,

and Luke…

Died because of poison."

"Oh my..."

The following day, after Ivaylo left the room, Luke's senior found Luke dead in the basement. Then, on his way to report it to the bishop, he found out that some foster priests panicked.

"One more thing, your grace. Luke's mother is also dead."

"How come?!"

"From the marks on her neck, it looks like someone strangled her to death."

"Oh no. May god, who called you, take you to himself; may angels lead you to your new, better story." The bishop prayed for Luke and his mother.

He cried, feeling guilty for leaving the task to Luke, who was still a pawn. He regretted choosing him, as Luke's faith and loyalty had made him the ideal choice to guard the Norttish. Augustin was confident that Ivaylo's persuasion would not sway Luke. And it was true; Ivaylo failed to persuade and chose to kill him.

"What should we do now, your grace?"

"Spread all the pawns, knights, and rooks around the church in groups of four. Tell them to search for someone wearing black clothing. If they find him, arrest him! Let's hope he's gone from the church and hasn't killed any more people."

"Yes, your grace."

"Archbishop Cornelius must not be happy to hear this."

The archbishop was not in the church at that time. In the early morning, he went to the slums with two rook holy knights and two foster priests, carrying something in a large sack. He still wore his flashy church clothes but covered them with a black robe. Likewise, the foster priest wore a black robe, and rook wore holy knight armor inside that robe.

The carriage used by the archbishop was not an ordinary one but a luxurious one belonging to the church.

When they reached the slums, people there came out of their huts.

The slums were where the peasants lived on the edge of the capital. Since most people in the city were commoners, their treatment outside the slums was almost slave-like. So they just stayed where they were, having no money and unable to go out of town to hunt. At most, some were employed by the commoners to help them out.

The place was also very smelly; some people had collapsed on the streets, and maybe some of those who had collapsed were already dead. Once a week, the soldiers came to pick up the corpses and throw them out of the city to avoid the plague.

Because the poor people in the slums could only steal, no one could own a carriage. So when Cornelius' carriage entered, people would immediately lookout, even though the noise wasn't too loud.

The carriage stopped in the middle of the slum. There was a small 2x2 meter of the abandoned church there, broken and brittle. The foster priests took a table that still looked good from inside the church and placed it outside.

From inside the carriage, the archbishop lifted the two large sacks himself.

"Your excellency, let me do it!" shouted one of the rooks.

"Never mind, you have to look after us! Let me do this myself!"

One of the foster priests immediately picked up the rest of the sacks in the cart because he couldn't bear to see Cornelius struggling to carry them. The other one took the rotten wood from the church and burned it with amnis.

The peasants grew in number a moment later, gathering and watching them from a distance. Seeing them, the two holy knights immediately took up their positions to protect the archbishop from them.

When Cornelius opened his sack and took out a loaf of bread the size of a head, one of the peasants immediately ran towards them.

"FOOOD!" he shouted with his tongue out, and his saliva splattered on the ground. His body was thin, and his clothes were in tatters. His face looked desperate and mad with hunger.

Although he approached crazily, the foster priests and Cornelius didn't even look at him, believing that the rook would handle it.

-SPLASH

"AAAARRRGH!!! PAIN!!! HURT!!!" the rook sliced open the peasant's left hand. Then rook kicked him so hard in the stomach that he fainted.

The rook then made a wind symbol in front of the injured peasant and muttered.

"The angels who watch over us, please wrap his wound with your love; ask for power from your god and flow it into every cell of his body; heal him so that he has the strength to serve you more. Healing wind."

The gentle wind coming out of the symbol froze the blood coming out of the peasant's hand. Slowly the peasant opened his eyes again; when he looked back at the person in front of him, he immediately cried out in fear.

"LISTEN UP, PEASANTS! IF YOU TRY TO DO THE SAME WITH THIS PERSON, THEN SAY GOODBYE TO YOUR HANDS; HEREAFTER, WE WILL NOT HEAL PEOPLE LIKE THIS ANYMORE!"

The other peasants were immediately frightened and gradually backed away.

"What are you doing?! Hurry up and go!" the rook shouted at the peasant whose hand he had cut off.

The peasant stood up and moved away in fear.

"Hey! Not that way! You want food, right? Get in line!"

Hmm? All the peasants were immediately confused by the rook's words.

The man slowly approached the table in front of the church. He was facing Cornelius, who looked at him angrily.

"Geez, you have to be patient and wait! Don't let hunger get the better of you!" Cornelius said as he took out a banana leaf that had been twisted into a bowl. Then he put the soup made by the foster priest into it.

"Here! You may take it, but with one condition! The condition is to eat that slowly!"

The peasant nodded, thrust out his hand, and accepted the soup.

He drank it quickly.

"I SAID SLOWLY!"

Because of that shout, he went back to eating slowly.

As he ate it, his tears came out, and he started crying in front of Cornelius.

It was probably his best meal after crawling on the streets for so long.

"Good, now take the bread, and go!" Cornelius' shouting at that time no longer frightened him. Instead, he smiled and immediately did everything Cornelius said.

The other peasants, who saw that, immediately ran chaotically towards them, wanted the food.

Rook then looked at all the peasants and shouted:

"LISTEN, EVERYONE! HIS EXCELLENCY ARCHBISHOP CORNELIUS BECKINGHAM WILL PAINSTAKINGLY GIVE YOU FOOD! BE GRATEFUL! NOW YOU MUST QUEUE PROPERLY! EVERYONE WILL GET A SHARE! SO IF I FOUND SOMEONE RIOTOUS AND THEY DIDN'T QUEUE PROPERLY, I WILL GLADLY KILL YOU!"

Because of that threat, everyone returned to walking in an orderly manner, vying to get in line but in an orderly and non-riotous manner.

Cornelius used to do this every time he visited a city. For him, it was the least he could do to save people. He didn't trust humans, so he never left money and food with others to distribute charity; instead, he would jump right into the problem and give them food with his own hands.

In his city and region, there were no slums or slaves. Everyone became a foster priest, for which Cornelius paid with his life. His food was not much different from others, and he had no luxuries besides his carriage and clothes. He distributed almost all of his money to those in need.

"For these people, I have to get a good position in the council; that way, I can rewrite the kingdom's criminal code about taxes and peasant rights. In order for this to happen, everyone must accept me, respect me, and listen to my advice. The current council is strange; everyone seems to be alienating me, planning things behind my back without telling me. Especially Queen Regina; she's up to something behind the scenes," thought Cornelius on his way back to the church.

After they arrived, the rooks saluted him and said,

"Thank you for your hard work, your excellency." The two rooks spoke in unison.

"No need! I'm just doing my hobby!"

It was a lie; they knew it. Cornelius's words were harsh, but they respected him.

As they returned to the church and got off the carriage, the foster priest behind him did not stop bowing his head while holding the empty sack.

"Don't do that! Help the others inside! You lazy priest!" said Cornelius to them.

...

Cornelius was in a good mood; helping the people made him happy, but the pleasure was immediately ruined when he met Bishop Augustine inside the church.

"Your excellency…

Our prisoner has escaped."

Cornelius was instantly enraged and hit Augustine roughly on the shoulder.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!"

All the priests, foster priests, knights, and visitors saw it. And it once again tarnished his name as archbishop. But he didn't care about that. He was more concerned about the fate of his plan. His plan to rewrite the kingdom's criminal code was instantly destroyed before his eyes.

"What is that guard of yours doing?! Isn't he a believer?! Why did he let him escape?!"

"I'm sorry; that man's guard, Luke, was killed by him."

"..."

Cornelius fell silent in shock, holding his aching head from suddenly receiving information he didn't want.

"Explain to me more in my room later. Leave me alone for now," said Cornelius.

Bishop bowed his head, then let Cornelius into his room with a desperate look on his face.

Inside his room, Cornelius immediately locked the door, then tiredly sank onto his soft chair.

"Haaaah... I have to devise another plan for everyone," he said.

Cornelius' usual thing to do when stressed was to read the holy book. He could relax and throw all his negative thoughts away by reading god's word. So after he rested his body for a few minutes, he stood up and opened his window curtains.

-pin

As he opened the curtains and light entered his room, Cornelius immediately realized that someone other than himself was in the room. But he reacted too late; that person was currently behind him, pointing something at him. He could feel his neck being pierced by something.

"Don't move," said that person.

'Damn, why at a time like this?! I left with my Armacar in my room!' thought Cornelius.

"I admire you for requesting that others not enter your room. Thanks to that, I can hide here without getting caught. They must not have thought that I was here."

'How did he know about that?

"This voice... You are that Norttish!"

Ivaylo smiled as he pierced Cornelius' neck with his needle.

The ambush made Cornelius realize that not only his plan but also his life were ruined.

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