CHAPTER 398: CHAPTER 269: THE RIGHT EYE OF BALISTAN_3

When he awoke again, he realized that, in his drunken state, he had slept atop the graves—the most peaceful sleep he’d had since the war began.

"I swear, one day, on some forgotten battlefield, I will write my repentance in blood," Balistan said, as he told Lance of his resolve to spend the rest of his life seeking redemption on the world’s bloodiest, most brutal battlefields.

For him, the battlefield meant constantly facing the terror of war, until he was silently killed. He felt this was what he deserved, the only way to be like those soldiers.

Only, his luck was never very good. Even though he had been severely wounded many times, he still hadn’t died. However, in those cruel battles, he had finally learned how to command.

His character, once given to seeking clever shortcuts, had become steady. His sole peculiarity was his fondness for drink, as it brought him fleeting moments of peace when he was drunk.

Lance had not expected Balistan to have such a past; no wonder he had that attitude towards his eye problem.

"Those things are all in the past. You might have been wrong, but after all these years, it’s time to let go."

"No, it keeps me mindful of the mistakes I’ve made."

"I respect your choice," Lance said. He wasn’t speaking to him in an official capacity right now, so he wouldn’t force him to do things he didn’t like.

The worst habit of those in power is their instinct to control those below them with their authority, not allowing any doubt or resistance. Upon discovering any, they oppress, hassle, or even kick out the dissidents.

Only in this way do they feel the pleasure of power while also satisfying their fragile egos, making them feel strong.

But Lance didn’t need such pathetic and insecure tactics. His strength came from his own abilities; the recognition from his subordinates stemmed from his actions, not his title.

The title of Lord gained recognition because of him, not he because of the title of Lord.

The saying might be somewhat roundabout, but the logic was solid.

"I am willing to face the toughest enemies, and I hope My Lord will grant me that opportunity."

"I understand. But you are no longer alone; we are a team, and we move forward for that ideal. On this path, you will ultimately find redemption," Lance reassured him, then diverted his attention by discussing the situation at the front lines.

There wasn’t much to say about the north. After Paracelsus’s special medicine arrived, the laborers could work boldly, greatly increasing efficiency.

Still, there would be some attacks from the Giant Spiders. However, they wouldn’t appear during the day; at night, the campfires and torches were enough to drive them away. The shipment of crossbows had been transferred there and was more practical than muskets.

After briefly understanding the situation at the front, Lance no longer disturbed him; the fatigue of being stationed required rest to recover.

But Balistan did not stop; instead, he went to the tavern in town. The conversation they’d had earlier had stirred his memories, and tonight he was determined to drink until he could no longer stand.

"Bartender, bring me some drinks!"

"Coming right up!"

「...」

Lance arrived at the door of the cell holding the nun. It was a rivet-studded iron door, radiating a cold, sturdy presence, and it wasn’t even locked—merely closed.

If possible, he’d rather the nun escape, as that would torment her conscience even more. Unfortunately, the nun was an honest person. After she had locked herself in, she remained quiet. Lance had intentionally handled his other affairs, waiting until late at night before coming here.

Entering the cell, he saw the nun kneeling on the floor, facing a wall in prayer. It had to be said, her faith was indeed strong, and she held herself accountable with the Holy Canon.

"My Lord!" The nun looked somewhat nervous, or perhaps guilty, upon seeing Lance arrive.

"Alright, I’ve just finished my work." Lance’s face showed a natural weariness. "I spent the whole day on your affairs. But I’ve investigated thoroughly. You’re not much connected to this matter; you were deceived by that scoundrel Tamara. So, your sentence is five days."

What else could the nun say? A noble Lord who had saved her life twice. And herself? Constantly causing trouble for others, bringing various problems to this peaceful little town, and even forcing the Lord to rush around dealing with her issues. Guilt, unease, a sense of unpayable debt...

Lance said, "Hungry, aren’t you? Have something to eat before we talk." Although he had brought up the matter, he didn’t dive straight into the subject. Instead, he offered food, continuing his considerate treatment.

Lance’s demeanor made the nun even more uneasy. She felt too ashamed to eat the food provided by the Lord and raised her hand to refuse.

"No, no, no, I can’t eat anymore."

Her words, however, merely made Lance laugh. "Everyone needs to eat. If you don’t eat, do you intend to starve yourself to death?"

The nun didn’t speak. The Church emphasized penance, and she believed physical hunger could alleviate her guilt.

But Lance did not agree with this distorted concept.

"You haven’t paid your fine yet. What you need to do now is to regain your strength as quickly as possible within these five days and then figure out how to earn the money to pay it back.

Think about it—if you don’t eat for five days, even if you don’t starve to death, what could you possibly do once you’re out?"

Lance’s counsel directly addressed her most pressing psychological needs.