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Chapter 613: Interrogation

“Suspension without pay and fifteen days’ detention if no further harm results; dismissal and trial before Your Majesty if further harm results,” Iron Axe said immediately.

“Correct. Do exactly that.” Without a formal military tribunal yet established, Roland handled serious misconduct personally—but Danny’s offense didn’t rise to that level. “Given the campaign ahead, reduce it to five days here and have him serve the remainder in City of Neverwinter.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Don’t concern yourself with how the other soldiers will take it. This sets a precedent: discipline applies to everyone equally, regardless of contribution. That’s the lesson.” He paused. “Of course, what he accomplished won’t be forgotten. If anyone asks, tell them I have my own arrangements.”

In truth, Roland knew he bore some responsibility for the situation. He had assembled the premium shooting unit of fifty without formally separating the experienced snipers from the ordinary gun battalion—had simply told them all to hold the flanks and pick off anyone who tried to approach the machine gun bunkers from the margins. Danny, with his hunter’s instincts, had operated the way a sniper actually operates: moving to advantage, picking his targets by threat priority. The regulation didn’t cover that kind of initiative because Roland had never written a regulation for snipers.

He intended to, after this war. Better doctrine, better equipment, better independence protocols for men like Danny.

“One more thing, Your Majesty.” Iron Axe chose his words carefully. “The captured commanders have disclosed something particular. About the God’s Punishment Army.”

“What is it?”

“They say the God’s Punishment Warriors cannot act on their own. They can only complete basic functions after a commander gives orders.”

Roland turned. “Anything else?” Ashes had told him this already—it was the very reason he’d dared to march north and provoke the church. A God’s Punishment Army capable of independent action would need only a dozen soldiers scattered through the kingdom to make governing impossible.

“A commander can be an ordinary person or a pure witch, and cannot be changed once appointed,” Iron Axe continued. “New members undergo a ceremony pledging allegiance. One captive attended such a ceremony.”

“Take me to them. Bring Agatha.”


Deepvalley Town was pleasant above ground. Underground, it was cold and damp in the particular way of places that never see sun. The four captured commanders were held in separate cells—blindfolded, soaked, hands bound at the back. No visible wounds. All shivering. Whatever Iron Axe’s interrogation techniques were, they had been thorough.

Even so, the church’s believers were not ordinary prisoners. Faith made them durable.

“Only the two on the right have spoken,” Iron Axe said quietly. “One is a chief justice; the other is a priest from Holy City. The other two have said nothing—and they don’t know their companions have already talked.”

Roland went directly to the one who had attended the God’s Punishment Army’s ceremony. The jailor brought the priest to a small interrogation chamber next door. Iron Axe poured cold water over his head to bring him around.

The man—Farat—shuddered violently. “I’ve told you everything I know,” he said, voice thin and exhausted. “Please kill me now.”

“Tell me about the ceremony for the God’s Punishment Army,” Roland said.

Farat shook his head.

“This is the final round of questioning,” Iron Axe said, leaning close. “Answer and I’ll let you go.”

A long pause. Then: “The ceremony is held in the Tower of Babel. Only God’s Punishment Warriors, the pope, and designated commanders may attend. Absolute silence is required throughout. Even the smallest sound will ruin it.”

“Why?” Roland asked.

“Because new warriors recognize their commanders by sound.”

“The first sound they hear?”

“It can be multiple sounds.” Farat’s breath came shallow and ragged. “The chosen commanders recite hymns together. The new warriors accept every voice they hear during that period.”

“Are you yourself a commander?”

“I command… a group of ten.”

“And that group also obeys orders from your superiors?”

The priest nodded. “All God’s Punishment Warriors obey the supreme pontiff.”

Roland turned the mechanism over in his mind. He had imagined something more elegant—telepathy, perhaps, or some resonance through the conversion itself. Instead: sound. Voices during a ceremony. It was more fragile than he’d expected. Soundwaves dispersed; commanders could give contradictory orders; any disruption of the ceremony itself would compromise the binding. The entire system had built-in failure modes the church had presumably worked around for centuries simply by controlling access tightly.

“If all of a God’s Punishment Warrior’s commanders die,” Agatha said suddenly, “what happens to that warrior?”

Farat went still when he realized the voice belonged to a woman.

“Answer,” Iron Axe said, reaching for the water.

“I don’t know.”

“You’re lying.” Nightingale’s signal reached Roland immediately—a slight pressure on his awareness. “Another half a month here, or you tell us now.”

The priest clenched his jaw for a long moment. Then: “They go to Barbarian Land. That’s everything I know.”

“Barbarian Land?” Agatha echoed, sharp.

“It’s hearsay only. Normally, other warriors intercept them before they get far. But… there are rumors. Warriors who lost their commanders long ago and were never recovered. It’s said some of them crossed into Barbarian Land years ago and never came back.”

“How is the God’s Punishment Army created?”

“Only the supreme pontiff can conduct the ceremony…”

“When a pope retires, how does he transfer control to the next pope?”

Farat’s forehead broke into sweat. “I… don’t know.”

Agatha’s questions continued—Alice, the Union, Taquila, the old war. Each one met silence. Not strategic silence. Genuine blankness.

“He truly doesn’t know,” Nightingale confirmed.

“Then we’re done here,” Roland said. He, Agatha, and Nightingale moved toward the exit.

Iron Axe followed a step. “Your Majesty—the church captives. What should be done with them?”

“Honor what you promised.”

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