Chapter 106

Unlike the simple-minded Achill, Barnett immediately sensed something was wrong when he saw a large group of guards and those handsome, sturdy horses from afar. Achill’s reply only confirmed Barnett’s suspicions.

“Eugene said you should come now,” Achill hesitated. “The king is here, and he doesn’t seem like someone who will easily compromise.”

Barnett pondered for a moment. The bishop had said this was his only chance to change his fate… A hint of determination to rebel surged within him. He drew his gun from his waist, kissed it, murmured “Carl,” and then said, noticing Achill’s reaction, “Achill, you should—”

“Don’t waste time,” Barnett interrupted, nodding backward. “Go, prepare to meet me at the back door.”

“I’ll come with you!”

“Get lost,” Barnett pushed Achill away. “Stop dawdling here, Achill—” Barnett looked deeply into his eyes. “You’re a good kid. Things will work out. I have to go now, and you must follow my orders!”

Achill was better at fighting than strategy. He had no choice but to obey Barnett’s command and run towards the back door of the monastery, just as he had done before. As he ran, he glanced back to see Barnett already heading inside.

Outside the door, Barnett composed himself, listening quietly as the bishop and the king conversed. When the bishop called out, Barnett took a deep breath and turned around, raising his gun.

The dark barrel pointed at his face froze the king’s tender expression instantly.

Barnett was initially very nervous, but now that the moment had arrived, there was no turning back. He addressed the king, “Hello, I am Barnett Field. Pleased to meet you.”

The king looked at the bishop, whose face was as cold as marble.

“I don’t think pointing a gun at someone is a display of pleasure,” the king said, deliberately addressing the bishop to ensure he was aware of Barnett’s actions.

The bishop’s expression, however, remained unchanged.

Even a person bold enough to incite revolution could sometimes be weak at heart, fundamentally a fugitive.

“I apologize,” Barnett said, “but without doing this, I fear I wouldn’t have the privilege to speak with you.”

The king continued to look at the bishop. His heart sank a little. “Very well, it seems you also understand the unforgivable nature of your actions.”

“Unforgivable,” the word was spoken by the king with authority and severity, accompanied by two cold glances directed at Barnett. His hand holding the gun trembled involuntarily.

In fact, Barnett’s experience was different from many in the revolutionary party. Many had been forced into this life because they could not survive otherwise. Barnett had reached this point because he had lost his son and had invested all his money and energy in finding his only remaining relative in the world. For this, he was willing to do anything and give up everything he had.

“Yes, I have sinned,” Barnett said like a true tough guy, “but no one can judge my sins.”

The king sneered, “Is that so? I see you hold a gun now, but your hand shakes. Either you use it on me now, or you put it down. Don’t play games in front of me.”

The king’s burned face exuded a terrifying sense of intimidation. Barnett swallowed hard. “I believe you are not afraid of death, but let me remind you, the crown prince is in our hands. You know very well what the remaining two dukes of Lexi are like. If you die here, Lexi will immediately plunge into chaos.”

The king’s face tightened. “You are a traitor to the state.”

“It was this country that betrayed me first!” Barnett raised his voice.

“So you want the entire nation to pay for your personal suffering?” The king smirked coldly, showing disdain for him.

Barnett’s face flushed instantly.

Except in front of the bishop, the king never feared debating with anyone.

“Drop the gun,” the king ordered. “Speak while I am still willing to listen.”

Barnett hesitated, looking at the bishop. He thought the bishop had called him here because negotiations had broken down.

The king’s flames reignited upon seeing Barnett glance at the bishop. He could endure being held at gunpoint; he was not afraid. But what truly pained him was this directive from the bishop.

“Put the gun down,” the bishop said calmly. “You won’t intimidate him.”

The king snorted coldly.

Barnett slowly lowered his arm. The king silently breathed a sigh of relief, but also glanced at the bishop with some reproach. In the next moment, however, Barnett raised his hand again—this time pressing the gun against his own head.

The king’s pupils contracted.

Barnett’s breath was rapid. “I know you’re a good man. I’ve heard of your reputation. Oss is a good place, though I’ve never been there. They say people live well there,” Barnett smiled bitterly. “I truly wish I could find Carl in such a good place. But…”

“The bishop made a promise to me. He assured me that a wise monarch like you would understand our sins and give us a chance to start a new life. I don’t doubt this. So I request to bear all the blame alone, to lighten the burden on the others. Bishop, I hope you will keep your promise, find my child. If he lives well, tell me at my grave. If he struggles, help him stand on his own…”

Barnett gritted his teeth, facing the king, displaying a strong determination that was more than just words. “I am willing to end it all with my life.”

“Stop—” the king shouted, halting Barnett’s attempt at self-destruction. He looked at the bishop, who remained detached.

The king stepped forward hastily. Barnett, under his intense gaze, couldn’t move and allowed the king to forcefully snatch the gun from his hand. The king pressed the gun barrel against Barnett’s forehead and struck him hard with the butt, causing blood to immediately flow. Barnett grunted, looking at the king with both sadness and resilience. “You can execute me yourself.”

The king tossed the gun aside, glaring at Barnett with disdain. “If you think death solves everything, then you are truly naive and cowardly!”

Barnett remained silent. The bishop, seeming a bit weary, sat down on a small bed with a creak. The king turned to him with a hateful expression, his gaze shifting repeatedly between the revolutionary and the bishop. With outsiders present, speaking freely was inconvenient. The king said to Barnett, “Leave first. I mean it. Go far away. I need to talk to the bishop alone.” The king’s tone was commanding and menacing. “Don’t attempt suicide again, or you will regret appearing in Clay today.”

Barnett looked at the bishop, blood flowing down his forehead, seeming not to feel the pain. “Bishop…”

“Go, Barnett,” the bishop said calmly. “Have Archel bandage you up. Don’t let the nuns see. It would frighten them.”

Barnett covered his wound with his hand, bowed deeply towards the room, and walked heavily outside.

The king closed the door, his boots grinding on the bloodstained floor. He turned back and said, “Is this your goal? To let me see firsthand what kind of tough guy you want me to pardon?”

The bishop replied flatly, “Barnett is brave and capable. Pardoning him can create more value than punishing him. Randes, you are a wise ruler who knows how to make decisions.”

The king sighed quietly. He walked over to the bishop, sat on the small bed, and whispered, “He pointed a gun at me.”

The bishop asserted firmly, “He wouldn’t have fired it.” After saying this, he regretted it somewhat secretly. The king immediately reached out and embraced him, sounding very relieved and pleased. “I knew it.”

Knew what, the king didn’t say, and the bishop didn’t either. The bishop pushed the king away slightly. “Stop hugging me. Later, I’ll fall into the sin of trying to bind you with emotions.”

The king smirked, his mood suddenly brightening. Such was the magic of love—it could break hearts or make one ecstatic.

The king gently kissed the bishop’s lips. “Eugene, tie me up, tie me up with you anywhere. I won’t struggle.”

The bishop pushed the king harder this time, but the king seemed too excited. The more the bishop pushed, the more the king squeezed closer, pinning the bishop between the bed and the wall, passionately kissing and caressing him. “Alright, I agree to pardon Barnett to a certain extent. The city court will judge him. If he has committed serious crimes apart from war—murder and arson, for example—I cannot spare him…”

“Barnett isn’t that kind of person.”

The bishop evaded the king’s fiery lips, each kiss landing randomly on his cheeks and neck, disrupting the small wooden bed he slept in as a child, which creaked incessantly in the monastery…

The bishop pushed the king away again, stating firmly, “No, Randes,” in a cold tone. “If you keep this up, I’ll have to hit you.”

The king burst into laughter. “Go ahead, hit me,” he rested his forehead on the bishop’s shoulder. “Eugene, don’t leave. Accompany me on the tour of the fiefs. The people would be pleased to see the king and the bishop together. It would demonstrate your authority, wouldn’t it?”

The bishop replied coldly, “I feel like you’re becoming quite the orator, aren’t you?”

The king laughed again, muffled. “Oh, perhaps that’s because I have an extraordinary bishop.”

“So, we’ve settled on pardoning them,” the bishop said.

The king thought that in the end, he compromised. He had been persuaded by the bishop. It could be considered a mutual compromise, after all, the bishop had also made concessions.

The king insisted that this matter had nothing to do with emotions, but in his heart, he still felt a strange sweetness.

In this sweet embrace, the king suddenly understood why the bishop had been subtly angry all along.

The temperature rose instantly on the king’s face. He was a bit excited and a bit incredulous. He grasped the bishop’s hand, looking straight into his eyes. “Eugene, my dear, you’re angry with me. You are indeed angry with me. I’m such a fool, Eugene…” The king lowered his head and deeply sniffed between the bishop’s fingers. He fervently kissed the bishop’s fingers with a kind of passionate childishness. “Forgive me, I’m so clumsy,” he kissed the bishop’s hand a few times as he spoke. “I’m really foolish, I’m the silliest fool in the world…”

The bishop found himself squeezed into a corner by the king’s robust body, feeling stifled and hot all around. The king seemed lost in his own world, not knowing what he was laughing about, rambling on, constantly kissing his hand, making his fingers wet. The bishop tried to withdraw his hand, but the king held on too tightly, and their palms were stuck together. The bishop finally kicked him hard.

Even though the king was kicked hard in the stomach, he wasn’t angry at all. He released the bishop’s hand and admired the bishop’s beautiful face, which was filled with both anger and beauty. The king smiled slightly, speaking in his softest tone. “Eugene, I swear I won’t make you angry again.”

“Get out,” the bishop said coldly, pulling at his disheveled clothes. His face was flushed, which made him look exceptionally beautiful in the king’s eyes. The king stepped back and stood aside, smiling as he watched the bishop straighten out his clothes.

“After this, I’ll return to Oss. Bill is getting married. Come with me. You can officiate their wedding. Bill would be very happy.”

The bishop replied, “What does his happiness have to do with me?”

The king said, “Don’t be so sure. Witnessing someone else’s happiness is very gratifying. You should try it.”

“I…”

His retort was left unsaid. A loud shout came from outside the window, a scream of terror that could only be produced under incredible circumstances—short, frenzied, and hoarse.

The king heard it too and immediately pushed open the window.

Not far away, in the fields of the monastery, Barnett was gripping someone’s shoulder. As the king focused, he saw that the person being held was his most faithful servant, Bill Wood.