BlurryDream
patreon
Chapter 268: Clash of Faiths
🕑 Added 2025-04-14 11:09:04 +0000 UTCMitos was a Lysene who used to run a fruit shop in Lys, supplying fresh produce to brothels and inns throughout the city.
But when the Great Spring Sickness swept through, his business collapsed. Tons of unsold fruit rotted in storage, and he lost a fortune—so much that he had to sell his house in Lys just to pay off his debts.
At first, he planned to join other bankrupt Lysenes and take to the sea. But after learning about the construction of the Holy City of the Scourge, he changed his mind and decided to head there instead.
Unlike most of the settlers in the Holy City, Mitos wasn’t a follower of the God of Calamity—he worshipped the Lion of Night. His decision to come had nothing to do with faith. He came because he saw opportunity.
With the little money he had left, he bought up wheat and fruit, turning them into fruit bread and selling it to workers on the various construction sites.
Soon after, an official from Summerhall overseeing the city’s construction took notice of him and signed a dedicated supply contract for feeding the laborers.
Now, Mitos had become the largest food supplier in the Holy City of the Scourge. He didn’t just feed the workers—he also supplied desserts for the Chosen Legion’s meals.
As usual, Mitos personally led the delivery team bringing desserts to the Chosen Legion. While his servants unloaded the goods, he made his rounds, chatting with senior officers to build relationships and strengthen connections.
Though he was already the city’s top food supplier, Mitos wasn’t satisfied. What he really wanted was to secure the Chosen Legion’s daily grain supply. Feeding five thousand soldiers every day was no small contract. Only by winning that deal could he truly solidify his position at the top.
As always, none of the officers made any promises. But Mitos wasn’t discouraged. He believed that with enough persistence, he’d eventually secure the long-term contract he was after.
Just as he was leaving the camp with his men, a group of Scourge Rangers came walking toward them. From the bloodstains on their armor and the prisoners they trailed behind, it was clear they had just returned from a patrol where they’d dealt with a bandit group.
“Captain Parn!” Mitos quickly waved when he saw the man leading them and called out loudly, “I was just looking for you inside the camp. They told me you were out on duty. I never thought I’d run into you just as I was leaving—surely this must be the work of the God of Calamity! What else could explain such perfect timing?”
“Boss Mitos, I bet you’ve used lines like that on half the camp by now,” Parn said, reining in his horse. He signaled his men to continue escorting the prisoners back, then turned to Mitos and added, “Same as always, right? Still haven’t gotten what you wanted?”
“No matter,” Mitos replied with a pleasant smile, keeping his tone humble. “I believe the officers in the camp can feel my sincerity. Sooner or later, I’ll have the honor of serving you all properly.”
Parn, who had a fairly good relationship with Mitos—and had accepted more than a few favors from him—offered a bit of advice.
“It’s no use. Even if every officer in the camp agreed to back you, it still wouldn’t change a thing.”
Mitos paused, puzzled. “Why not?”
Parn thought for a moment, making sure what he was about to say wasn’t confidential, then answered frankly.
“All provisions for the legion are allocated directly by the Military Logistics Department in Summerhall. They only do it once a year, and each time they allocate enough for the whole year. That department falls under the Ministry of Military and Political Affairs. If you want to become a supplier for military rations, your only shot is to negotiate directly with the Ministry back in Summerhall.”
Mitos’s expression darkened. He understood immediately what that meant. If Parn was right, then he had no chance. Towns like Tumbleton, Redwatch, and the newly built Ridgehold were all major grain producers under Summerhall’s control. The Chosen Legion’s rations were bound to come from those places—there wouldn’t be room for outside suppliers.
Seeing his reaction, Parn added another hint of advice.
“Even though the Logistics Department tries to allocate enough food, shortages still happen sometimes. When that happens, each legion has to buy food locally. Those local suppliers are recommended by the legion’s commanding officer and then vetted by the Logistics Department.”
That changed things.
Mitos’s eyes lit up. Now he knew exactly what to do. He immediately thanked Parn and hinted that a generous gift was on its way.
Parn just waved it off and rode back to camp.
As he dismounted and headed toward the war merit office to report in and log his achievements, the commander’s adjutant came over and led him straight to the commander’s office.
“My lord, is something the matter?” Parn stepped forward, saluted the commander, and asked respectfully.
The commander continued working through a stack of documents as he replied, “What were you just discussing with that dessert supplier?”
The commander of the Chosen Legion stationed in the Holy City of the Scourge was named Addam Hightower, a cadet of House Hightower from Oldtown. Years ago, he had accompanied Malora to Summerhall, where he joined the Chosen Legion. He had only recently been transferred from Summerhall to the Holy City.
Addam wasn’t known for brilliance or boldness—what set him apart was his steadiness and caution. It was precisely those qualities that allowed him to stand out from a pool of far more capable candidates and be appointed as commander of the Chosen Legion in the Holy City of the Scourge.
Over the past few years, Addam had managed the legion with remarkable efficiency, flawlessly carrying out every task assigned by Summerhall. Word had even come from there that he might soon be recalled to undergo the Loyalty Trial at the Redemption Sept.
He suspected that passing the Loyalty Trial would make him the next overall commander of the Chosen Legion.
That was why he had been especially cautious lately, determined to avoid even the smallest misstep during such a critical time. When he saw Parn speaking with Mitos from the balcony, it immediately raised a red flag, prompting him to summon Parn for questioning.
Parn had no idea why he’d been called, but he understood it wasn’t a time for excuses. So he gave a full and honest report of the conversation.
After a moment of silence, Addam Hightower said coldly, “Unauthorized involvement in state affairs. One level of military merit revoked. Twenty lashes.”
Parn was stunned but didn’t protest. He accepted the punishment without a word.
Addam was satisfied with the response and motioned for him to leave.
“My lord, isn’t that a bit harsh?” the adjutant beside him spoke up once Parn had gone, trying to plead on his behalf. “Everything Parn said was public knowledge. Anyone interested could’ve learned it from the city hall. Punishing him for repeating information anyone could find out—and revoking a first-class merit—feels excessive.”
Addam Hightower wasn’t angered by the remark. He replied calmly, “Yes, the information may be public, but it still falls under civil affairs. Anyone can speak of it—except for those serving in the legion. Military interference in political matters is a serious offense. Don’t forget what happened last year: even Lord Mitt, who’s been with Lord Lynd the longest, was punished. I won’t let Parn ruin his future over something so trivial.”
Hearing that, the adjutant held his tongue.
Just then, an officer hurried in from outside.
“My lord, there’s been another clash between the followers of the Seven and the followers of the God of Calamity. You should come take a look.”
Addam Hightower’s expression darkened instantly. He rose and followed the officer in haste toward the barracks.
...
They quickly arrived at the scene. A crowd had already gathered—some merely watching, others actively involved. The opposing sides were easy to distinguish by the emblems engraved on their armor.
One group bore the holy symbol of the Seven, marking them as soldiers from the Seven Gods’ division of the Chosen Legion. The other wore the distinctive insignia of House Tarran, signifying allegiance to the God of Calamity.
Tensions ran high. The two sides were shouting and shaking fists, clearly on the verge of a brawl, yet no one had drawn a weapon—no one even placed a hand on a hilt.
Addam Hightower stepped between the two factions and roared, “Silence! Every participant—twenty lashes from the military court. Forty for the instigators. One month’s pay forfeited.”
He didn’t ask what had started the fight. He didn’t need to. His sentence was swift and final—but no one objected. The shouting ceased immediately, and both sides began dispersing toward their respective military courts to accept punishment.
This wasn’t the first time such a clash had occurred. As long as weapons weren’t drawn, these incidents were handled according to precedent—swift punishment, no further questions.
Though Addam wanted to resolve the issue before his tenure ended, he had ultimately given up. The problem wasn’t just internal discipline—it ran deeper, rooted in a growing religious divide.
At first, all soldiers transferred to the Holy City of the Scourge had been followers of the Seven. But over time, many converted to the God of Calamity, whom they saw as more closely aligned with their true loyalty.
In recent years, the Chosen Legion stationed in the Holy City of the Scourge had recruited many new soldiers from the Disputed Lands and the Free Cities. The vast majority of these recruits were followers of the God of Calamity, and the internal balance of faith within the legion had shifted. Where once the ratio of Seven worshippers to Scourge followers had been nine to one, it had now become four to six. Unsurprisingly, conflicts between the two factions had been steadily increasing.
At the heart of the tension was a core disagreement: followers of the Seven insisted that Lynd was the Chosen of the Seven Gods, and since the faith in the God of Calamity was derived from Lynd, that god must therefore be lesser than the Seven.
Naturally, the followers of the God of Calamity refused to accept that their deity was inferior. Instead, they argued that Lynd was the Chosen of all gods—that the Seven were but one part of his divine aspect, and the God of Calamity another. In this view, there was no hierarchy between the two faiths. The strongest support for this claim was that even the Church of the Storm God regarded Lynd as the incarnation of their own deity.
After resolving the latest conflict, Addam Hightower returned to his office and, as usual, recorded the incident in the official report to be submitted to the Ministry of Military and Political Affairs in Summerhall.
To Addam, this was just another routine skirmish born of religious tension. But back in Summerhall, the matter had already landed on Lynd’s desk. In response, Lynd summoned all available commander-level officers of the Chosen Legion to the castle for a formal meeting.
“My lord, there’s nothing to discuss,” said Brandon Rivers, commander of the Father Regiment. “These heretics have no place defiling the Chosen Legion of the Seven Gods. They should all be expelled.”
Brandon was a devout follower of the Seven. He had once served as captain of the Chosen Sons before being reassigned during the legion’s expansion to lead the Father Regiment.
Following two major expansions, the Chosen Legion now had a standing force of 35,000, with another 30,000 in reserves. Including servant troops, the total strength approached 80,000 to 90,000.
To better manage such a force, Lynd had divided the standing army into seven regiments of 5,000 each, named after the Seven Gods.
The Father, Mother, Smith, and Crone regiments were all led by elite commanders from the Chosen Sons. But the Maid, Stranger, and Warrior regiments were not exclusively led by Seven worshippers.
“Lord Brandon,” said Hassan Moray, commander of the Stranger Regiment, his voice cold as he stared across the table, “don’t forget—the people you’re calling heretics are also loyal warriors of Lord Lynd. Many of them have followed him for years and have achieved far more on the battlefield than any of us here.”
He continued, “You’ve made one critical mistake. The Chosen Legion answers to Prince Lynd, not the Seven. This legion is not the armed wing of the Faith of the Seven. So stop treating military matters as if they were matters of religion.”
Hassan Moray was not from Westeros, but from Braavos. He was the violinist who had once played by the Moon Pool.
The reason he’d come to Summerhall was simple—he’d been drawn in by a song now known as the Storm Prelude. Or in his own words, he had been called by Lynd.
He was already a master swordsman and Water Dancer before joining the Chosen Legion. Once in, he quickly stood out, completing numerous trials, and was appointed commander of the Stranger Regiment a year ago.
Unlike Brandon, Hassan followed the Many-Faced God. In his eyes, the Stranger was one of the god’s many aspects, and Lynd—who bore the identities of the Storm God, the God of Calamity, the Seven, and even had ties to the Lion of Night—fit perfectly as the embodiment of a deity with a thousand faces.
His appointment had been deliberate, meant to serve as a counterbalance to the growing influence of the Faith of the Seven within the legion.
This wasn’t the first time Hassan had challenged Brandon Rivers, and as always, he struck precisely at the weakest point in Brandon’s argument.
Brandon’s face turned pale. He glanced nervously at Lynd, well aware that if Lynd believed his loyalty was rooted more in religious devotion than personal allegiance, he could lose his command. Desperate, he began loudly affirming his loyalty to Lynd.
But what Brandon didn’t know was that Lynd wasn’t listening.
His thoughts were already elsewhere.
