Chapter 52: The Sermon of Greed
Skele-Wrath stepped onto the streets of Jade Territory.
The town was a tomb. The houses on either side were clamped shut—doors bolted, shutters drawn—looking like rows of closed, fearful eyes. The air was a thick soup of copper-scented blood, charred timber, and the biting scent of kicked-up dust.
Only the rhythmic, mechanical march of the Skeleton Knights echoed through the thoroughfares. Bone collided with bone; obsidian plate armor ground against itself with a harsh, metallic rasp.
On a second-story balcony, a curtain twitched, revealing a sliver of a gap. A child's eye appeared, the pupil dilated with terror, reflecting the monochromatic monsters prowling below. Suddenly, a pair of adult hands reached from the darkness, smothering the child's mouth and dragging him back into the shadows. The curtain fell. Silence resumed.
Wrath had no interest in such things. Fear was the currency of the weak; it held no value for him. He was simply executing his parameters.
Clink.
A small stone skipped across the cobblestones and struck a Skeleton Knight's breastplate with a sharp, hollow ring. A small boy stood there, his face a mask of defiant terror, already clutching a second stone in his trembling fist.
His parents burst from a nearby doorway, tackling the boy to the ground. They pressed his forehead into the dirt, facing the undead, and began to kowtow frantically, their foreheads striking the stone until they bled, screaming for mercy.
A Centurion raised its hand. Shadow energy began to coil around its palm, condensing into the jagged shape of a bone spear.
Wrath reached out, his heavy gauntlet pressing down on the Centurion's arm. The Centurion's Soul Fire pulsed with confusion.
"General?"
Wrath looked at the family of three—shivering, bleeding, and wretched. He said nothing. He simply stepped around them and continued his march.
The Centurion withdrew its energy and followed silently. The Fearless Vanguard quickly secured the four walls, sealing every exit. Not even a field mouse could slip through the perimeter now.
Wrath shifted a thread of his consciousness into the Soul Link.
"Master. Jade Territory has fallen. Requesting further instructions."
Kaito's voice resonated within Wrath's skull.
"Hold the position. Do not harm any humans who offer no resistance. Greed will handle the rest."
"Understood."
The connection snapped shut.
Moments later, a small teleportation array ignited in the clearing behind the city gates. The light flared once, then dissipated.
Skele-Greed stood there. His noble suit was immaculate, without a single speck of dust, forming a jarring contrast with the jagged ruins and blood-stained stone around him.
Wrath shot Greed a sideways glance, crossed his arms, and turned his skull away with a huff of disdain. Greed paid him no mind. He walked up to Wrath, fastidiously adjusting his silk cuffs.
"Hard work, General," Greed said smoothly. "Now, if you please... allow me to take the stage."
The Next Morning.
As the sun crested the horizon, a command rippled through every alley and cellar of Jade Territory.
"All humans, assemble at the Central Plaza!"
The Skeleton Knights used the butts of their lances to hammer against every door. It wasn't a request; it was an ultimatum.
Thump! Thump! Thump!
The people were dragged from their hiding spots—from damp cellars, from beneath floorboards, from the backs of wardrobes. They were herded like cattle, merging into a silent, shuffling stream toward the plaza.
No one spoke. There was only the sound of feet dragging over stone and the sound of suppressed, jagged sobbing.
In the plaza, the gargantuan stone statue of Count Barton—the symbol of his house's glory and protection—had been toppled. It lay in shattered, pathetic chunks across the ground.
Greed stood atop the ruins. The morning light caught the sharp lines of his handsome face, casting him in a halo of deceptive warmth. He did nothing but stand there, yet the gaze of every human was drawn to him as if by a magnetic pull.
The clamor of the plaza died down. Only the whimpers of infants and the uneven breathing of the crowd remained.
Greed scanned the sea of faces. He raised a hand, and a simple voice-amplification spell carried his words into the ears of every soul present. His voice was mellow and resonant, carrying a magnetic quality that seemed to stroke the eardrums of his listeners.
"Subjects of Jade Territory," Greed began.
There was no victory declaration. No conqueror's boast. Only a plain, neutral address.
"You are afraid."
Greed spoke the truth living in their hearts.
"You fear that we have come to strip you of everything you hold dear. You hate us because we struck down your Lord and dismantled your defenders."
A ripple of unrest went through the crowd. A young man squeezed his fists until they bled. A mother clutched her child's head against her chest, shielding his eyes from the monster on the pedestal.
Greed watched these reactions, his voice taking on a tone of mild, curious inquiry.
"But... I ask you to think. Truly think."
"Even without our arrival... was your life before this truly one of 'happiness'?"
The question caused the crowd to falter.
"You toil for a year, tilling the earth and harvesting the grain. In the end, how much is left in your larders? Where did your taxes truly go?"
Greed extended a hand, pointing toward the distant, opulent spires of the castle.
"Were they used to patch your leaking roofs? Were they spent to pave your muddy, filth-ridden streets? Or were they transformed into a single bottle of vintage wine for the Count's table? A new silk gown for a noble lady who has never seen the inside of a barn?
"When they 'protected' Jade Territory, were they protecting you? Or were they merely protecting their own wealth and the status that rests upon your broken backs?"
The commotion grew. The glares of hatred began to waver, replaced by a flickering, uncertain confusion. Greed saw it all. He knew the Mana woven into his voice was taking hold. It couldn't create an emotion from nothing, but it could amplify what was already rotting in their hearts.
"Now, that era is over," Greed said, his voice turning soft and comforting. "The Old Order has been buried in the same soil as your Count. And I, by my Master's grace, have come to grant you a rebirth."
Greed spread his arms as if to embrace the entire city.
"In the Great Undead Empire, every individual shall have the place they deserve. Your labor shall be used to build your home. Every drop of sweat you spill will become the stone road beneath your feet; it will become the parchment in the books your children hold."
He leaned forward slightly, his gaze piercing through the crowd, finding the hidden longings of the common man.
"Your children will have the opportunity to learn true knowledge. They may become master craftsmen, scholars, or even Mages. Their lives will be determined by their own talent and effort—not by the name of the man who sired them.
"Your taxes will be used solely for the reconstruction of Jade Territory. The ledgers will be made public, posted right here in this plaza. Every one of you shall have the right to inspect them.
"You have lost nothing, people of Jade. You have only lost the shackles that bound you. You have lost the mountain that sat upon your heads and the leeches that sucked the very marrow from your bones.
"What you gain... is a brand-new world. A world where labor equals value, and ability equals status. A world where no man is born to be a slave, and no man is born superior to another."
Greed finished his sermon.
The plaza fell into a heavy, absolute silence. No one cheered, but no one protested. They looked up at Greed with eyes that began to glow with a dangerous, fragile longing. Their grievances, their resentment, and the desires they had suppressed for decades had been magnified a thousandfold.
Greed turned and stepped down from the rubble. The crowd parted automatically, forming a wide path for him. He walked through them toward the castle, never looking back.
Behind him, in the silent crowd, the first man knelt.
It wasn't out of terror. It wasn't out of submission.
An old farmer fell to his knees, pressing his forehead against the cold stone, his shoulders heaving. A sob he had held back for a lifetime finally tore from his throat.
Then a second person knelt. Then a third.
The sound of weeping spread across the plaza like wildfire. It wasn't the wail of despair—it was a release.
A new world was beginning, rising from their tears and the ruins of the old.
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