NOVEL NEXT Chapter 45: Burn Them
"The plague? I think it's rather pitiful for the poor victims. After all, it could happen to just about anybody, can't it?"
A few of the nobles nearby finally broke their silence, voices carrying through the Great Hall. Where Duke Charles Venton sat, the nobles surrounding him were a mixture of ages, some as old as the Duke himself, while others were young and new to politics.
"What do you think should happen to the victims? They're simply living in perpetual pain, are they not? The doctors who monitored them reported bleeding from the eyes, unnatural spasms, and other horrors."
The question came from an older gentleman, clearly one of the senior figures in the room. He appeared even older than Charles, which made him unusual in such a gathering.
Luca studied him. The man wore a plain but conservative suit and held a pipe between his lips. His hair had long since receded, leaving behind a thin crown of gray, and his pale eyes were a soft shade of silver-gray.
The way he sat, close to the Duke, suggested he was more important than his modest attire implied.
Luca considered the question carefully. In truth, he hadn't thought much about the victims.
The plague itself had been an inconvenience to him because of the Plague Cult, but the suffering of the infected had barely crossed his mind. Now, with every eye waiting for his answer, he forced himself to think it through.
At last, he smiled faintly. "It's simple, really. Burn them."
The hall filled with startled gasps. Some nobles who had resumed their own conversations fell silent again to hear more. The boldness of his words had captured their attention.
Duke Charles raised an eyebrow.
"Burn them? Can you elaborate."
"It's exactly as I said," Luca replied without hesitation. "Burn the bodies to stop the disease from spreading. It may sound cruel, but it's no different from cutting off a diseased limb when it can no longer be healed."
"Burning is a little extreme, don't you think? They're innocent peopl-" someone whispered from the crowd. The voice was young, uncertain.
Luca interrupted. "We don't have a cure for the plague yet, nor do we know its cause. The only way to stop it spreading is to cut it off at the root. It's unpleasant, but necessary."
Of course, he was lying about the cause. He knew very well the plague originated from the demon Pestewind and its cult, but no one else here should have that knowledge, except perhaps the higher members of the Church who might have already pieced it together.
"Furthermore," he added, his voice steady, "these innocent lives are simply numbers on a parchment when you strip away sentiment. If their deaths serve a greater, more noble cause, then why should the sacrifice not be made?"
The room went quiet. His words struck the nobles as brutal, even for them, but Luca didn't see them that way.
To him, it was simply how the world worked: kill or be killed, sacrifice or be consumed.
He hadn't spoken like that to impress the nobles, nor Charles, nor Erina. It was what he truly believed was the best course of action. And if it slowed down the Plague Cult's schemes, all the better.
The silence broke when the old man beside Charles let out a booming laugh.
"Bahahaha! He's a fiery one, isn't he, Charles? Reminds me of you back in the army. The Lion of the South, they called you."
Charles didn't laugh, but his stern face softened slightly. His raised brows eased, and there was the faintest tug at the corner of his lips. He was impressed.
"Your assessment is close to what I would consider," the Duke said, his voice even, "but there are other factors that make it less feasible. The church's stance on the matter, for instance. The King himself might frown upon such methods."
He leaned back, tapping his cup. "And to act on that scale, we would need the City Council's approval. Without their votes, such drastic measures would be impossible."
Luca had thought of all of this already but kept silent. It wasn't the time to press further.
His attention shifted back to the older man, who seemed far more casual than the other nobles. Unlike them, his speech was plain, almost relaxed, more like the way Terry or Jack would speak.
He felt like the man was familiar but he couldn't tell where from.
Finally, he asked, "Might I ask your name, sir?"
The man raised a brow, his wrinkles deepening into a mild scowl.
"Can't believe the young ones don't recognize me anymore. Must be the fifth time I've introduced myself today." He paused, puffed lightly on his pipe, then added, "James Fitzgerald. Though you'll likely know me better as the Lord Mayor."
'What?!'
The thought shot through Luca's head like a spark. He'd heard the name before, but never had a face to put to it. Fitzgerald was said to be a recluse, rarely appearing outside his close circle. To find out the man he'd just spoken with so casually was the Mayor of Carinthia was beyond shocking.
His rank placed him far above most of the nobles present. Luca quickly scanned the hall again. By his count, there were over twenty nobles gathered here. At least six were counts, the rest barons.
Normally, they would remain in their counties and send representatives to the city, but tonight every noble of the Duchy seemed to have come in person.
That in itself was strange. Visits between territories weren't uncommon, but for all of them to gather here suggested something weighty. Luca suspected Charles's overbearing personality played a part.
Fitzgerald's voice pulled him back from his thoughts.
"Don't look so stunned, lad. You're ruining that sharp demeanour you had a moment ago. Luca Kaldreth, was it? I'll remember that name."
Charles nodded in agreement with his old friend's words. If he truly intended to shape Luca into something greater, like a duke, or one of the Empire's High Lords, then connections like this would be essential.
After a moment of thought, Charles stood and gestured toward Luca.
"Come with me. Let's talk."
The Duke's sword still hung at his side, gleaming faintly in the candlelight.
Luca dipped his head and followed, leaving the hall in silence behind them.