Inside the territory, Old Wilson had stationed many knights outside the castle to keep watch.
It was already the early hours of the night, pitch-black all around except for the brightly lit castle. Old Wilson had changed into a silver-white suit of armor and was calmly polishing his greatsword while listening to the knights' reports.
Since their departure from Blackwater City, there had been no attacks on the territory. The bandits they had previously defeated had apparently scattered and no longer posed a threat.
Merlin leaned back in his chair, color returning to his face. He had spent his time in the carriage meditating, gradually restoring some of his mental energy.
"It seems my ribs aren't broken but rather dislocated."
Merlin held his left hand gently over his ribs, where he had taken an injury during his battle with Mage Jason. He had initially thought the ribs were fractured, expecting months of recovery. But after closer inspection, he realized it was merely a dislocation, a much easier injury to treat.
"Uncle Prahl, I think my rib is dislocated. Could you help me set it?"
Prahl hesitated briefly, then stepped forward to help Merlin. But Old Wilson quickly rose and came over, saying, "I'll do it, Merlin. Tell me where the dislocation is."
Merlin pointed to the most painful spot, and Old Wilson nodded before pressing down sharply with both hands.
A crisp "snap" rang out. Merlin's forehead broke into a cold sweat as he silently endured the sharp pain. Afterward, Old Wilson removed his hands, revealing Merlin's bruised but much-improved side.
"Ah…"
Merlin exhaled, standing slowly and testing his movement. There was still some lingering pain, but it no longer hindered light activity.
In this critical period, Merlin's ability to move was a reassuring sign for everyone.
"Merlin, are you all right?" Old Wilson asked, visibly relieved.
"Yes, I still have some minor injuries, but they won't hold me back for now. Father, we need to discuss where we're headed from here," Merlin said, bringing up their urgent issue: where to go next.
The city of Gran was almost certainly under church control. While Blackwater City was better off, with Mage Jason killed and the church's power weakened, staying there was still risky. If the church forces in Gran realized what had happened, Old Wilson and Merlin would be in grave danger.
The pressing need was to determine the broader situation in the Bright Kingdom. However, neither Old Wilson nor Merlin had reliable information.
An oppressive silence filled the room, like a heavy stone weighing down on everyone.
Breaking the silence, Meixue suddenly spoke up. "Gutt mentioned that the church had taken control of most of the Bright Kingdom."
Merlin nodded; it was what he had suspected. The church, after years of preparation, now had the upper hand. If even the royal family couldn't stop them, then the entire Bright Kingdom was likely descending into chaos.
After a long pause, Old Wilson, his voice hoarse, said, "It seems the royal family can't hold back the church. There's nowhere left for us in the Bright Kingdom. Merlin, what do you suggest?"
Old Wilson's gaze fixed on Merlin, a clear indication of Merlin's standing in the Wilson family.
Merlin considered for a moment, then looked his father in the eye. "The church's strength and years of preparation have made its takeover of the kingdom nearly inevitable. We can't stay in the Bright Kingdom any longer. Our only choice is to head east, cross the border, and enter the Blackmoon Kingdom."
Merlin's words brought a tense silence over the hall.
"To the land of heretics?" Meixue asked, her expression a mixture of emotions.
Merlin realized that he was fundamentally different from the others in the Wilson family. He didn't care whether he was in the Bright Kingdom or the Blackmoon Kingdom. In fact, as a spellcaster, he preferred the latter. In Blackmoon, spellcasters were highly regarded, free from restrictions, and it was even considered a sacred land for magic.
But for Meixue, the steward, Lady Wilson, Prahl, and even Old Wilson, the Bright Kingdom was home. They had grown up with its customs and, to some degree, had absorbed certain church teachings. To them, Blackmoon was a dark, heretical land.
Old Wilson said nothing, but his expression shifted as he pondered Merlin's suggestion. Of anyone in the Wilson family, Old Wilson knew Blackmoon best, having fought in the war against it years ago and survived the brutal "slaughterhouse." For him, crossing into enemy territory was a particularly difficult choice.
Just then, a knight rushed into the hall.
Kneeling, he respectfully reported, "My lord, a large group of knights is approaching the castle."
"Could it be the church's forces?"
Old Wilson's face darkened, but the knight shook his head. "It's too dark to see clearly. We await your orders, my lord."
"Let's go and see."
Old Wilson couldn't sit still any longer. He grabbed his newly polished greatsword and followed the knight outside.
"Let's hope it isn't the church…" Merlin murmured, his expression tense.
Merlin knew that if it was the church, another deadly battle was likely. His mental energy had barely recovered halfway, and he only had eight Great Fireballs left. If another first-level spellcaster like Jason appeared, Merlin couldn't be certain of victory.
Following Old Wilson, Merlin quickly left the hall to assess the situation outside.