CHAPTER 19: THE BISHOPS' GAMBIT

"Ah… I see, so you have memory loss. No wonder they keep calling you Matthijs. Well, hi, Matthijs," Vaerya remarked as the horses trotted through the scorching sands. The speed runes glowed fiercely under the burning sun, the heat radiating from the ground distorting the air above.

"Haha, hi," I muttered, trying to mask my unease.

"How do you feel about all this mistreatment? Considering you don't remember anything about the wars, it's intriguing to know what you think about being treated unjustly, especially when you've done nothing to deserve it." I hesitated, careful not to reveal anything that might hint I was from another world. I wouldn't want my god to think I was slipping up again.

"I mean, I don't feel much. I have no attachment to either race."

Even though I was human...

"One thing I can say for sure is that, from what I've heard, it's not like we were any better than them. If our history is full of killing and torture, it seems almost justifiable that they would do the same to us."

"Well, that's because you weren't here for it. Vadek has been against the war from the start. Ever since he took command of the third Ubuian kingdom, Thaloria, he revolted against his father. He never wanted to continue the war, but because Thaloria was closest to human territory, and because we revolted, we were cut off and ended up as slaves. Yet, the humans led a strike through town, intending to kill us." She gazed off into the distance, her face etched with agony. "Vadek led the truce agreements, sacrificing himself and some of his friends so the rest of us could live in the sewers. And yet… I couldn't even say thanks." She wiped her tears with the sleeve of her robe.

In truth, I know I'll never be able to live up to Vadek's legacy. But I'm grateful I was reincarnated as someone who was a peace activist. In fact, god has done well in guiding me toward a path of peace, and I'm thankful for that.

While I may never meet the expectations of the other Ubuians, all I can do is ensure I continue seeking peace and helping Joshua with his ultimate goal: to unite the 12 nations. This means leaving the Ubuian tribes for last, as conflict with them is inevitable—and it won't be an easy one. They have all the human kingdoms in their grasp, while we only have one.

"Oi," Draken shouted as the winds grew stronger, howling in my ears. "We've arrived at the desert faster than expected!" He halted, and I pulled the reins of my horse as well.

Ahead of us, the horizon was no longer clear. A massive wall of sand loomed in the distance, twisting and writhing like a living beast. The sandstorm was raging, its fury evident in the swirling columns of sand that reached up to the sky, blotting out the sun. The winds picked up, whipping the sand around us with increasing intensity, stinging our skin and obscuring our vision. The air was thick with grit, making it difficult to breathe as the storm bore down on us, reducing everything around to a blur of yellow and brown.

"Are we still going to continue with the plan you stated?" Draken asked, his voice strained as we watched the massive sandstorm gathering in the distance. 

"The desert is where we'll spend most of our time," I shouted above the rising wind. "If we go through this without the speed runes, we'll lose an entire day. I'll inscribe a second-speed rune onto the horses. The efficiency might be lower, but it'll do the job. And if we run into that god of the sands, we'll beat that piece of shit to a pulp." I quickly moved to engrave the runes into the horses, "We need to be out of the desert by sunset," I added as I climbed back onto my horse.

"Vaerya, Draken, stay close behind me," I instructed, wrapping a cloth tightly over my mouth and nose to block out the sand. I squinted against the stinging grains as I whipped the reins, urging my horse forward into the storm, with Draken and Vaerya following close behind.

. . . 

"Quit chasing me!" Fritz yelled as he dashed through the narrow channels, his breath ragged. The man pursuing him easily matched his pace, his short blade flashing in the dim light as he slashed at Fritz. Fritz deflected the strike with practiced ease, the clash of metal ringing sharply off the walls and echoing through the narrow streets. Each deflection sent a shower of sparks into the air, the battle reverberating through the silent city.

As they entered a shadowed alley, the bishop behind him traced a rune into the ground. A pulse of mana surged through the cobblestones, sending the tiles shooting upwards in jagged pillars. Fritz reacted instantly, leaping off the wall to push himself onto a nearby balcony. From there, he vaulted to the roof, narrowly escaping the deadly rune. But the bishop was relentless; a burst of flames shot past Fritz as he ducked, the heat searing the air around him.

The bishop's hands were clad in silky black gloves, each inscribed with a powerful air manipulation rune. With every snap of his fingers, the rune consumed his mana, sending out sparks that ignited into arcs of flame. These flames twisted and curled, guided by his will, and sought out Fritz as he darted from rooftop to rooftop, heading for the city gate.

"Tch, I can't use any more of my large-scale runes," Fritz muttered under his breath, frustration mounting. "I guess I deserve this."

Fritz dropped out of sight, disappearing from the bishop's view. Undeterred, the bishop snapped his fingers again, directing the flames downward. A grunt of pain echoed up as Fritz barely dodged the flames, his coat singed and smoking.

"Gotcha," Fritz growled, a triumphant grin spreading across his face.

"Fu—" The bishop's curse was cut short as Fritz grabbed his leg mid-leap, slamming him into the rooftop with brutal force. The impact drove the air from his lungs, leaving him gasping. Fritz didn't waste a second, his knife slicing through the air with a deadly whistle, aimed straight at the hand wearing the glove. But the bishop managed to block the strike with his blade, then quickly stabbed downward, sinking the blade into Fritz's shoulder. Fritz grunted in pain but kicked the bishop off, buying enough time for the bishop to get back on his feet.

Clutching his wounded shoulder, the bishop quickly traced a rune onto his arm and snapped his fingers. The flames cauterized the wound instantly, and not a flinch crossed his face. His gaze remained fixed on Fritz, his eyes cold and unyielding.

"You're pretty good. What's your name?" the bishop asked, his voice steady despite the pain.

"Matthijs Geiger," Fritz replied, though his expression betrayed the effort it took to hold back laughter.

"I see… So you're the infamous Matthijs Geiger. Your combat skills are impressive, though still unrefined," the bishop remarked.

"Yeah, well, you can come find me next time. Remember the name Matthijs Geiger," Fritz said, his lips twitching as he fought to contain his amusement.

"Laughing in the face of danger," Bishop Klein mused as he shifted into a stance, his voice laced with respect. "I, Bishop Klein, pay my respects."

"Yeah, you should," Fritz shot back, his tone edged with a smirk. "Better start planning your own funeral too."

. . .

"Joshua, you seem to be quite sought after lately. Any idea why?"

"I wonder."

"Ubuian, just surrender now," the bishop ordered, stepping between them and the gate that had just slammed shut behind him, sealing their escape.

Merilla sprang into action, diving toward the bishop with deadly intent. But he was ready. With a swift, brutal motion, he caught her mid-air and choke-slammed her into the ground. The impact reverberated through the earth as he kicked her into the kingdom's wall, the stone cracking from the sheer force. Merilla collapsed, unconscious, her body limp and broken.

"Merilla!" Joshua's voice cracked with desperation as he watched her fall.

The bishop turned to Joshua, grabbing him by the wrist and hoisting him off the ground like a ragdoll. "No one is here to save you now," he sneered, his grip tightening.

"What do you want?" Joshua asked, his voice steady, his mind racing, thinking of what he should be saying and what he could leverage.

"Someone with a more effective way of dealing with the Ubuians than the likes of you," the bishop replied coldly, dragging Joshua along as if he were nothing more than a toy. "Don't worry. We've ensured that your brother is ready to ascend the throne tomorrow."

"Tomorrow? You're making a terrible mistake," Joshua retorted, as he tried to pry at the fingers gripping him, "Getting rid of your strongest trump cards in the grand scheme of things? How will we face future battles if they arise? How will we defend ourselves?"

"Defend ourselves?" The bishop's gaze flicked disdainfully to where Merilla lay crumpled against the wall. "She couldn't even defend herself against us." But as his eyes settled on the spot where she had fallen, his expression faltered. She was gone.

Before he could react, a hand clamped down on his shoulder, and he spun around to find Merilla standing before him. Blood trickled from every orifice, her muscles trembling from the strain. Though he had assumed her bones were shattered, she somehow remained upright. Her body was battered, screaming in pain, yet there was a fire in her eyes—a fierce determination that defied death itself.

No Ubuian simply lays down and dies when someone they care about is in danger. But this time, there was something more, something deeper driving her forward.

"Which one of you... is Joshua?"