Chapter Sixty-Two: The Hero Grows Bold

“Archbishop Borsen, may I ask what you mean by this?”
Grand Paladin Lox stared at the old man before him, struggling to suppress the anger rising in his heart as he questioned him.

After another round of repairs conducted by the humans, the stronghold that had been damaged by Jen’s attack was restored, and new personnel had been dispatched to oversee its operation from the rear. Yet the problem was...

“They’re just common mercenaries!”
Lox gestured forcefully toward the window, his hands trembling with agitation. Outside, a boisterous group of mercenaries laughed and joked, waving their flasks and exchanging crude humor. It was as if they were in a tavern rather than the shadowed depths of the Underdark.

“They have neither the skill nor the strength to venture through the Underdark! Archbishop Borsen, I’ve heard these men were recruited at your behest—what is the meaning of this? Why bring such mercenaries into the Underdark to join us in a sacred expedition? You must realize that the divine oracle we pursue is of utmost importance; there can be no room for error!”

“Quite right. That is precisely why I sent these mercenaries.”
At last, Archbishop Borsen, standing before Lox, interrupted his protest with a sinister tone. He appeared to be in his fifties or sixties, his frail frame wrapped in jet-black robes. His cheeks were hollow, his white hair meticulously combed back, but above all, his eyes shone with a sharp, predatory light, making him seem more vulture than man, clad in leather.

“You know as well as I do, the Temple of the War God is sorely lacking in manpower. Your incompetence led to unprecedented losses at our supply outpost—not only did we lose a great many elite warriors, but even Bishop Alex made the ultimate sacrifice. He was a member of the Temple of the Great Mother, a prominent candidate for the next archbishop! How am I to answer to the Temple of the Great Mother for this? I had planned to coordinate with other temples, to send a joint elite force into the Underdark for the search. After this disaster, how could I possibly approach them?”

He glared at Lox and snorted coldly.

“You should be aware that since the fall of the War God, our temple has struggled to survive. We have too few paladins. If I do not bring in these mercenaries, how can we possibly muster enough strength to fight evil? Yes, these mercenaries are crude, but they are still human! Do you truly believe they will not fight to vanquish evil and darkness?”

“But...”

Lox frowned, unable to deny the archbishop’s logic. Since the War God’s demise, the temple had been teetering on the brink, spared only by the favor owed to the Nine Saints; other temples had refrained from outright annexing them. Yet a temple without divine blessing had little meaning, and fewer and fewer joined their ranks, leaving ever fewer knights to defend it. The doctrine was battle itself—where there was conflict, it was permitted. These mercenaries had been recruited to fight the denizens of darkness in the Underdark, and by doctrine, it was not a violation.

Yet Lox was no fool. Among the mercenaries, a few were indeed capable, but most were ordinary and unremarkable. In truth, their strength was barely enough to contend with the monsters of the Underdark, let alone battle its dark inhabitants.

Archbishop Borsen surely understood this, yet he brought them anyway. The implications were intriguing. Lox realized plainly that these mercenaries were nothing more than bait, sent forth by the Temple of the War God. Their numbers compensated for their lack of skill. Should they stir up trouble in the Underdark, the evil lurking in darkness would be unable to resist acting. And once the prey took the bait, the temple could strike with overwhelming force, annihilating them.

As for the mercenaries themselves, they were lured here to serve as bait and cannon fodder.

“No more 'buts'!”
Archbishop Borsen abruptly waved his sleeve, cutting off Lox. His narrowed eyes gleamed with a piercing light as he scrutinized the Grand Paladin.

“Commander Lox, I know your thoughts, but I have done nothing wrong. You accuse me of using and deceiving these mercenaries? Hmph. Do you think they are fools? Mercenaries who have survived this long cannot be idiots. Do you think they are unaware of the dangers of the Underdark? They are not temple devotees—so why, at my summons, do they rush to serve us? Is it for the glory of the Temple of the War God? These coarse fellows? What do they know of faith? Surely you understand why they accepted our invitation?”

Lox remained silent. He knew well these mercenaries were no fools. Not being temple followers, they had no reason to sacrifice themselves for its cause. Mercenaries, who lived by the sword, understood the world’s harshness better than paladins ever could. There was no reason they would not perceive the risks, yet they still flocked to the Underdark—why?

The answer was simple: profit.

Legends of the Underdark spoke not only of terrifying monsters and evil denizens, but also of countless mysterious treasures. These mercenaries were ravenous wolves. Previously, the Underdark was far removed from the surface, and they lacked the strength to risk it. Now, with the temple opening portals and offering to sweep through the Underdark together, the prospect of battling evil was less important than the chance to gain rare and wondrous loot. If they could get into the Underdark and seize treasure, they'd be rich.

Mercenaries were gamblers at heart. With the temple present, they had little to fear, and would risk their lives. At worst, they would die—but dying to a monster in the Underdark or to a bandit on the surface, what difference did it make? The treasures of the Underdark far outweighed the meager loot of bandit camps; even a broken dagger, claimed as a trophy from the Underdark, would carry more prestige than one taken from an orc corpse.

Lox understood all this, yet he could not stomach it. The mercenaries’ crude greed seemed to sully the sacred oracle. Their mission was for the good of the entire continent, yet outside, the mercenaries drank and reveled, caring nothing for the future of the continent, nor for the battle between good and evil. Many of them had surely aided nobles in oppressing commoners—such men dared claim to represent light and justice?

Gazing at Archbishop Borsen’s vulture-like face, Lox hesitated, but finally spoke his true thoughts.

“But Archbishop Borsen... the Underdark is unlike any other place. Shouldn’t we proceed with caution?”

That was the reason Lox was unwilling to allow so many mercenaries into the Underdark. Borsen may not know how deep its waters ran, but Lox did. Now, greedy mercenaries scoured the Underdark for treasure. What if they provoked the wrong powers? Drow, mind flayers, gray dwarves—none were to be trifled with. What if chaos ensued, and a third great war erupted as before?

The War God had fallen in the second great war—so none understood that era better than the temple’s members. If these mercenaries went too far and drew the attention of the Underdark’s various powers, what then? This time, they had no true god’s blessing.

“That is not your concern!”
As expected, Borsen’s expression stiffened at Lox’s question. He snorted and turned away.

“With my lord’s oracle, these petty troubles are beneath notice! Attend to your duties, and leave these minor vexations to me. Nothing can obstruct my lord’s will!”

“Yes... then I shall take my leave.”
Lox could say no more; as Grand Paladin, empty words meant nothing to him. Borsen had spoken, which meant he was prepared. But given their relationship, he would not share his plans with Lox.

With a sigh, Lox pondered what might come. He had a nagging feeling that if things continued as they were, events would spiral beyond control.