137 075. Rescue -1 Part One

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Oscal Baldur gulped the water down and then shoved a big chunk of meat in his mouth.

“Thank you, archbishop,” he muttered out while munching on a mouthful of food.

Raphael Astoria heard the gist of what happened from the sword king.

Oscal said that for the last four months, he’d been wandering the desert all alone. He had nothing to drink or to eat, and whenever he was about to collapse from hunger and fatigue, the monsters residing in the vast desert proved to be his hope of survival.

He killed giant desert scorpions and consumed their meat, then after slaughtering the Brown Orcs trying to ambush him, he cut open their bladders and quenched his thirst that way.

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Afterwards, he walked, and then continued walking some more.

He would sometimes spot a town or a troupe of mercenaries once every month or so, but he did his absolute best to avoid getting in contact with them.

Raphael’s question was met with Oscal’s shaking head. “I don’t have any clues regarding the whereabouts of his highness the Seventh Prince. As for the traitor Ruppel, he and I landed on the same spot of the desert together, but…”

The problem was, the warp magic had sent them straight into a fierce sandstorm. It wasn’t a regular sandstorm either, but a monstrous tornado consisting of two, three different storms combined together.

Thanks to this freaky misfortune, Oscal and Ruppel ended up being flung far away from one another, and the old man was left to wander aimlessly inside a storm boasting a scale that he had never even seen or heard before in his entire life.

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“In the case of the Third Imperial Prince, the odds of him dying under the layers of desert sand are quite high. I barely managed to walk out of that storm after all.”

Even if he was the revered sword king, it wouldn’t be easy to bend the great mother nature to his will.

Once he filled up his empty belly, he stood up from the chair.

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However, Raphael tried to dissuade him. “Shouldn’t you rest for a little longer?”

“No, I must give my report to his majesty first.”

Ten minutes of break was sufficient for Oscal.

Without a doubt, Kelt Olfolse was the ideal ruler who’d never be shaken up by anything. As the sacred sovereign Oscal swore to serve until his dying day, this emperor was the embodiment of perfection.

Oscal knelt down on one knee and bowed his head. “Please forgive this one’s disloyalty, your majesty. I failed to hold onto the traitor as mentioned in your decree, Ruppel Olfolse. Also, I failed to protect the noble Saint, his highness Allen Olfolse.”

The moment the Seventh Imperial Prince was brought up, the head of the Order of the White Cross ever so briefly flinched.

She was standing tall with her pure-white sword stabbed into the ground below with both of her hands holding its hilt. For a moment there, her eyes trembled a little.

Oscal could only grin bitterly at Charlotte still acting unsatisfactorily even to this day.

The Holy Emperor spoke with a low voice, “Any other report to make besides that?”

Even though the fate of his youngest grandson was up in the air, the emperor showed not one single glimpse of unrest.

“I’ve witnessed Aslan’s army on the move, your majesty. Their King, Rahamma, was personally leading the formation.” Oscal reported on what he saw and heard. “Their destination was Evelyum, a place referred to as the city of slaves.”