Everyone Wants Me Dead: The Villain Lord's Survival Diary-Chapter 19 – Basement

"Whew—finally done."
This time was truly dangerous. Sylvie hadn't expected that just by doing some accounting, he'd uncover two ticking time bombs right under his nose.
He forced himself to stand, leaning on his greatsword, taking a deep breath as a wave of weakness and soreness washed over his entire body.
This was the side effect of the Do-or-Die Will, a skill that could only be activated when severely injured, leaving him in a prolonged state of weakness once its duration ended.
After all, it's called the Do-or-Die Will for a reason; it's either you die, or I live.
"Damn it! Claremont is still buried!"
Sylvie slapped his forehead and called out to the gathered cavalrymen to quickly dig Claremont out of the rubble.
...
Claremont lay on a stretcher, his face pale. His knight's helmet was nowhere to be found, revealing his graying hair and still stubbornly bright eyes.
"Young master, this old servant is fine, but my helmet and my sword..."
The old knight mumbled, grimacing in pain, yet still requesting Sylvie to help retrieve his helmet and sword.
Sylvie looked speechlessly at Claremont being carried away by the cavalrymen, thinking to himself, "He's almost lost his life, and he's still worried about his helmet and sword?"
"You there, yes, Goodbye, go get a priest to cast a healing spell on Claremont."
"…Young master, there are no priests left in Winterfell City…"
Goodbye pointed to the dozen headless bodies in white robes outside the rubble, saying somewhat innocently:
"You said to leave none alive, so we killed all the priests."
Sylvie was stunned, realizing he had impulsively ordered the knights to kill all the priests in the cathedral. Now, who would heal them?
Rubbing his face in frustration, Sylvie muttered.
"Alright then, go to my study and get a bottle of Water of Life for Claremont."
"Everyone else, listen up, search the cathedral ruins, take anything valuable, and to me if you find anything uncertain."
"Winterfell Keep is still short on people! Sigh—"
Sylvie sighed.
He swore that in some time, he would raid other territories to snatch a few priests, who would do nothing but serve as healers when needed!
...
After resting with his sword for a while, Sylvie felt much better.
With nothing else to do, he squatted by the pile of miscellaneous items the knights had gathered, rummaging through them one by one to see if there was anything good.
"Balda statue, oil painting, gospel book, cup? What kind of junk is this... emmm, why is there a pair of stockings here? Which idiot brought this?"
"No, what I should be more concerned about is, does this mean Marton and Carter have some peculiar hobbies?"
Sylvie stroked his chin, pondering which of Marton and Carter was on top and which was on the bottom.
"Oh my god, what is this!"
"By the gods above…"
Suddenly, Sylvie heard a commotion from the knights in a corner of the ruins.
"What's going on over there?"
"My Lord, we've discovered a basement over there."
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A knight jogged over to Sylvie.
A basement? Sylvie was puzzled, what's so surprising about a basement?
"Isn't it reasonable for a cathedral to have a basement?"
"Well…"
The knight hesitated, saying with some reluctance:
"The situation there is a bit complicated, My Lord, I think you should see it for yourself."
Led by the knight, Sylvie arrived at the basement entrance, where two or three knights were leaning against the wall, vomiting profusely.
What did they see?
With a solemn expression, Sylvie pushed open the basement door.
As soon as the door opened, Sylvie felt a numbness between his brows, as the thick stench of blood, like aged wine mixed with the foul odor of decay, assaulted his nostrils.
The knight behind him gagged, immediately covering his mouth and nose, lifting a lantern, and stepping in front of Sylvie.
Descending the dimly lit basement via the mottled stone steps, the sound of the knight's boots on the stone slabs echoed off the walls.
The deeper they went, the stronger the stench of blood became, to the point of being suffocating.
Soon, they reached the last step, but the knight leading Sylvie suddenly stopped.
"Clang."
The lantern fell to the ground, spinning a few times, as the knight trembled all over, collapsing to his knees, clutching his face, and letting out a pained wail.
By the light of the lantern, Sylvie seemed to see hell on earth.
In a basement no larger than ten square meters, it was packed with a dense pile of demi-human corpses, at least twenty or thirty at a glance, all young demi-human girls.
They were all naked, their deaths tragic.
Each one had a pale complexion, devoid of any blood, their eyes bulging from their sockets, faces twisted in agony, as if they had suffered immense pain and fear before dying.
Some of the corpses were still relatively fresh, but half had already begun to rot, and in the dim light, Sylvie could see maggots writhing on them.
In the center of the basement stood a round table, on which sat a cylindrical container filled with blood, as tall as a person.
Beside the container was a letter, freshly written and yet to be sealed.
[To His Holiness the Pope:
Praise Balda, greetings from Marton.
The blood for this Holy Blood Ritual is ready and will be sent to the Royal Capital before June.
There are still many blood pouches hidden within Eaglehold, but they are well concealed, making it difficult to extract them in the short term. I humbly request your assistance. Additionally, if possible, I request the removal of Carter, as he is not a good partner, being stubborn, reckless, and as foul-tempered as a stone in a latrine…
I sincerely hope the Holy See's plan proceeds smoothly, praise Balda's Holy Church, praise my great Lord.
Winterfell City Archbishop Marton]
...
With a grim expression, Sylvie set fire to the basement filled with sin and suffering, leading the mentally shaken knight outside.
He had underestimated the Holy See's depravity.
From the letter and the basement's situation, it was clear that the birth of the Templar Knights stemmed from that mysterious Holy Blood Ritual, and the blood of demi-human girls was a necessary medium for the ritual.
They were even referred to as blood pouches by the Holy See.
This made Sylvie think back to his past life, wondering why the despicable lord had frantically collected demi-human girls. Was it really just due to some fetish?
Was the implementation of the Demi-human Enslavement Pact his idea alone, or was there a hidden hand behind it?
Was the Cologne Empire's attack on the Demi-human Principality really just due to the sudden outbreak of the War of the Gods?
Balda's unprovoked attack on Maroën, the Goddess of the Wilds, also seemed suspicious.
Sylvie furrowed his brows, feeling as if a hidden hand was orchestrating everything from behind the scenes.
"Forget it, I won't think about it."
Sylvie shook his head wearily. Since he was here, he might as well make the best of it. He hadn't even figured out the issues with himself and the players, let alone have the time to worry about the Cologne Empire and the Demi-human Principality's affairs.
With the help of the system's rewards, he was sure to grow stronger and stronger, and when the time came, anything that stood in his way could be crushed with force.