Cthulhu Gonfalon

After an intense battle, everyone would need rest, even Baron Dahl, who had not actually participated in the fighting. Because of all that tension he was subjected to when observing the battle, he felt exhausted and also needed a good rest.

Now it was the servant soldiers' time to work. In groups of three to five people, they started scouring the grounds of the gnomes.

This search had two goals in mind. The first was to see if they could find anything valuable, and the second was to search the grounds for any gnomes who were lucky enough to escape the blows of the soldiers' weapons. They would exterminate these fugitives and leave the tribe with no chance for revival.

To the servant soldiers, the former was more important, whereas to Dahl Hill, the latter mattered more—after all, these ghastly things reproduced at a rate that was simply too fast.

"Today's fight went well," said the knight who oversaw commands for the battle that day. They were in the army tent as he reported to Baron Dahl. "The number of gnomes that escaped will not exceed ten. They were at the back of the tribe, so they had taken flight right at the beginning. At that time, we were still unable to allocate manpower to give chase."

"It's just ten of them; if they've managed to escape, then let them be," said Baron Dahl with indifference as he waved his hand to dismiss his concern. "In this snowy weather where the ground is frozen into ice, wherever they may escape to, they might not be able to survive long. Even if they are lucky enough to live through this winter, less than 10 gnomes, what can they be capable of? If nothing much goes wrong, at least within the next three to five years, the gnomes within our territory will not be able to reach a larger number. After all, gnomes like the tribal chief and the shaman are not frequently seen."

He was not wrong in saying so. The gnomes constituted a relatively weak group among the magic beasts. Without the leadership of a gnome tribal chief or a shaman, usually the size of a tribe would be maintained at a number not exceeding 100. Any bigger than that, these gnomes would be targeted by the powerful magic beasts—after all, gnomes could also be found on their recipes. If the gnomes kept their tribes small, the powerful ones would not be likely to tire themselves out just for these little things that ran fast and were hard to catch. But if the number of gnomes was large enough, then that was a different story. They just needed to work hard to catch them all and fill their bellies. In this case, those powerful magic beasts would certainly be willing to specially make a dash for them.

"It is strange to speak of this. This time around, we can just put an end to whatever happened with that gnome shaman, but what exactly is going on with that gnome tribal chief?" said a knight. "I've never seen any that could grow so big!"

"Yes, I haven't seen one like that either," said another knight who nodded in agreement. Then looking to his left and right, he realized the mage was not inside the tent. He could not help laughing, then said, "Guys, look. Someone has already run over to study it."

"I'm afraid he won't be able to study it at all," said a knight who just stepped in as he shook his head. "I saw those people from the Church of the Void Mask dragging its corpse up onto the altar, saying that such a peculiar enemy could be used as a sacrificial offering…"

The crowd froze for a while; then a knight-to-be, who seemed to be just of age, asked in surprise, "Isn't the Void Mask a pure good god? How come he still accepts blood sacrifices?"

Everyone looked at one another. But come to think of it, there seemed to be nothing wrong with it—the followers had toiled hard to kill a powerful magic beast, so it seemed reasonable to take its corpse as a sacrificial offering. At least, making offerings to the good gods was something that a war-geared church, or churches of a similar nature, would do.

It was just that for the clergymen following a pure good god to also do something like this, people would come to find it a little too—well, the style of picture they depicted was not right.

There was another mage who enlisted in the army who also felt that this picture was not right. However, he did not mind the clergymen from the Church of the Void Mask performing such an act of sacrificial offering. Anyway, he had already gotten his rightful share from the spoils of war—an arm of the gnome tribal chief, as well as its heart. With regards to carrying out a study, these two parts were more than enough. Any more than these would go to waste. But he too was so surprised that the Church of the Void Mask would engage in the offering of such bloody sacrifices that he could not help but query.

"So what do you think we should use to offer as a sacrifice?" asked Bishop Kabbalah. He was done with conducting the offering and had basked in the warm holy light with some church members.

That mage pondered for a while, then said, "The first wheat harvested in autumn?"

"That is meant to be used in the ritual for the Church of the Goddess of Bumper Harvest."

"The first money we earn every month, or the first coin in our salary bag at the end of every month?"

"That is meant as an offering for Her Majesty, the Goddess of Wealth."

"The prayers that we say every morning when the sun just rises?"

"My friend, can you not let your thoughts run wild!" said Bishop Kabbalah as he simply could not help but shake his head with a sigh. "Don't try so hard to compare our situation with the other churches and gods. Our Majesty is an easygoing god who believes that so long as it is a fruitful effort, we can always use it as a sacrifice. He doesn't care what is being offered; he is only concerned over three factors: whether the sacrifice contains sincere prayers, hard work and legitimate harvest, and that's all."

The mage who enlisted in the army was then struck by realization as he lightly nodded.

If only these three factors were included, then the victorious gains that this group of clergymen obtained from their crusade against the magic beasts naturally belonged to content that could be used as sacrifices. And today, amongst their victorious gains, the most vaunted one would be that gnome tribal chief that could become a giant. Taking its corpse as a sacrifice made complete sense.

No wonder this time around, the sacrificial offering was so successful. As the sacrifice disappeared, the warm holy light fell like raindrops. Not only did it allow the people to completely recover from a fatigued state, but before the eyes of many, there were even flashes of exquisite light and joy. This must be the reward bestowed upon them by His Majesty, the Void Mask.

Just then, a flash of light suddenly appeared at the altar above them. A glaive that was so big and wide that normal people would need to use two hands to wield it appeared out of thin air and fell onto the ground next to the altar.

The clergymen were surprised at first, then they could not help but rejoice—this was clearly a reward bestowed by His Majesty, the Void Mask!

Everyone could not help but shift their gazes over to that burly and bearlike Sacred Warrior. Because the way this glaive was modeled was almost identical to the one that he was using.

"When we get back, you must treat us!" another Sacred Warrior, who had a good relationship with him, could not help laughing as he said.

"Yes, a treat, a treat!" chanted the other Sacred Warriors as they followed suit.

That burly Sacred Warrior laughed heartily and nodded. First, he faced the altar and said a prayer, then carefully, he held the sword with both hands. Holding on to the handle, he tried to wave the glaive a few times and felt how its weight was well-suited to his preference. This was undoubtedly worthy of being a great creation of a god. Compared to that sword he made by spending several years of savings on, this was far more brilliant!

"This blade fits my hands so well!" he said happily. "Its size, length, weight… there's nothing that doesn't suit me well. When I wield it, it's so smooth that it's like a part of my body!"

"Step aside and find a random piece of rock to try it," suggested the elderly priest. "A weapon bestowed by His Majesty can't simply fit one's hands so easily."

The burly Sacred Warrior truly thought so too. He walked to a large stone near to him. With both hands tightly grasping the sword, he shut his eyes, took in a deep breath, then mustered all the fighting spirit that he just comprehended from that day's battle. Upon gathering as much of it as he possibly could, he mercilessly hewed down at the rock in one strike.

The glaive struck the rock, but there were no sparks splattering about, nor was there any rebound. It was just like cutting a wooden block that was not very hard. With a slight bit of obstruction, but still, the blade was successful in cutting into the rock. In one breath, he had made a cut into the rock that was at least a foot deep.