Chapter 11: The Fool and the Gold Coins (Part 3)

The chairman's face turned an ugly shade of green. He never expected that after putting in so much effort and finally earning Her Majesty's favor, the Bishop would effortlessly destroy all his hard work with a single remark.

Her Majesty let out a long sigh, her face showing a troubled expression. "However, Alrasia's current situation is far from stable. The trade disruptions have caused economic decline, and several domestic thief gangs have become increasingly rampant, causing significant harm. The devils beneath Nigen are also showing signs of unrest. At such a time... hastily waging war seems highly inappropriate. I believe it is necessary to observe further before making a decision."

The Bishop responded in a somber tone, "Is there anything more important than upholding the glory of the Lord and the faith of His followers?"

The troubled look on the Queen's face remained. She gently shook her head and said, "But the situation in the country truly is as I described…"

"Your Majesty, allow me to remind you," the Bishop said, retracting his gaze. His voice, though no longer carrying its earlier overwhelming power, delivered a weighty blow nonetheless. "You are undoubtedly a monarch, but you must prioritize your faith in the Lord and your loyalty to His Holiness the Pope above all else."

The entire hall fell silent. The ministers seemed to hold their breath, not daring to breathe too loudly. Although they had vaguely sensed the subtle friction between the Queen and the Church, this was the first time it had been so openly and directly displayed.

"That is, of course, natural. Please rest assured." Queen Catherine's expression showed no extreme reaction to his words. She simply nodded and sighed lightly. Her delicately arched eyebrows furrowed slightly, and the troubled look on her face deepened. On her graceful yet naturally regal face, such an expression struck a chord in the hearts of onlookers far more than any show of weakness.

The ministers dared not lift their eyes toward the throne. As seasoned officials, they understood the subtleties of moments like these and knew better than to show any reaction. However, the chairman of the trade guild below the dais saw everything.

Inwardly, the chairman cursed the Bishop with every insult imaginable. In his view, these idle clergymen, who neither worked nor contributed, occupied high positions of power. Worse, they expected to be supported by the hard-earned wealth of people like him, yet still dared to flaunt their superiority. Just this alone was proof enough that their so-called God was either nonexistent or entirely unworthy of respect.

He heard the Bishop's words and noticed Her Majesty's expression. Especially seeing the faintly resentful yet reluctantly subdued look on her incomparably beautiful face stirred something in him. A sudden surge of emotion broke free, compelling him to speak.

However, even as his words burst forth, the decades of smooth-talking and experience in navigating complex relationships instinctively softened his tone, ensuring his remarks sounded respectful and appropriate: "Your Eminence, Her Majesty the Queen is the ruler of millions of devout believers in Alrasia. Her faith is beyond question. Furthermore, as the head of state, Her Majesty must consider many matters that require careful judgment. Surely there's no need for Your Eminence to concern yourself with such worldly affairs. For instance, on the Eastern Continent, Bishop Ronis never meddles in state affairs, yet the Mage Academy's standing in the Einfast Empire remains as brilliant as ever, unparalleled and unchallenged…"

"Impudent!" A sharp rebuke suddenly interrupted the chairman's words like a blade slicing through them.

A golden-haired knight from the Temple of the Goddess, standing behind the Bishop, glared angrily. Her piercing eyes radiated hostility, and her golden locks seemed to move with an invisible wind. Her tone was full of fury as she addressed the chairman. "How dare you utter such words? To speak out of turn and offend His Eminence, coupled with your earlier words that sought to mislead, is more than enough reason for you to cry out in repentance upon the pyres of the Inquisition."

The chairman's face turned deathly pale. The force of the knight's shout had already shaken him to his core, and her declaration left him nearly collapsing to his knees.

"Respected Temple Knight, please remember that this is the royal palace of Alrasia, not the Radiant Citadel of Celeste." A weak yet steady voice sounded.

The speaker was a middle-aged swordsman in light armor, standing closest to Queen Catherine among the ministers. Despite wearing armor and carrying a sword even within the royal court, he exuded none of the expected valor or might of a general. His face was sallow and waxy, with a faintly sickly complexion. He occasionally raised a fist to his mouth, coughing lightly behind his shrimp-like mustache.

"I know exactly where I am. There's no need to remind me." The Temple Knight glared disdainfully at the sickly swordsman, her sculpted, sharp features radiating cold defiance. "No matter where I stand, I shall never temper my faith in the Lord or suppress my wrath toward blasphemy."

The swordsman offered no response, barely glancing at her as he continued coughing lightly into his fist. The golden-haired knight, however, stepped forward, her flowing locks shimmering even more fiercely as though swept by an unseen wind.

"Talice, restrain yourself," Bishop Aescher said with a wave of his hand. "The monarchs of Alrasia have always been devout believers and loyal defenders of the faith, their contributions to spreading the Lord's teachings immeasurable. This palace deserves respect from anyone, and Her Majesty is no exception. Her faith is beyond reproach." For a rare moment, the Bishop smiled at Queen Catherine. "I hope Your Majesty will forgive her impulsiveness."

Queen Catherine returned the smile with equal grace, nodding gently. "Talice's devotion to the Lord and her unwavering faith are commendable. How could I bear to blame her for that?" She turned toward the frail swordsman below and gestured lightly. "General Oren understands this as well."

The sickly swordsman nodded weakly, still saying nothing.

The Bishop's smile deepened. "I noticed Your Majesty seemed troubled earlier by those thieves and scoundrels. Perhaps Sir Talice could relieve you of this concern. It would also serve as a valuable trial for her."

"I'd be most grateful. With such a formidable Temple Knight taking action, I trust my worries will soon vanish," Queen Catherine said, her smile becoming even more captivating as she nodded at the knight. She then turned to Bishop Aescher. "Rest assured, Your Eminence, I'll arrange domestic affairs as swiftly as possible so we can discuss the situation with Orford in earnest."

The Bishop nodded with a smile. The tension between them now seemed to dissolve entirely, replaced by an air of cordiality that made them appear like old friends, mutually respectful and admiring. The once-oppressive atmosphere evaporated, leaving the hall with a renewed sense of harmony.

When Bishop Aescher turned his gaze back to the trade chairman, however, his expression returned to one of cold, commanding authority.

Chairman Luther felt a mix of fear, dread, and anxiety gripping his heart. He didn't dare meet the Bishop's eyes, but they seemed to carry a peculiar magnetism. The moment their gazes locked, he found himself unable to look away. It wasn't just his attention—the pull was so strong it felt as though his very soul was being drawn into those deep, well-like eyes.

"In the name of the Lord, I forgive you," the Bishop said indifferently. "However, when you return, you must reflect deeply, pray daily, and cleanse the soul that money has corrupted." With that, his gaze shifted to another figure—Lord Borugan, the envoy from Orford, who had been standing motionless like a wooden puppet.

Since his embarrassing outburst earlier, the envoy had remained silent and still, his expression unchanging. Everyone had nearly forgotten his presence, treating him like an odd piece of furniture in the hall. The Bishop scrutinized the short, comical envoy from head to toe, his lips twitching slightly as though he wanted to say something. In the end, he refrained, instead showing a look of disdain, as if speaking to this bumbling figure would be as pointless as addressing a cockroach or rat.

The Bishop then rose from his seat and bowed slightly toward Queen Catherine. "That concludes my participation in today's meeting. Your Majesty, please allow me to take my leave."

"You've worked hard, Your Eminence," the Queen said with a smile, returning the bow. The Bishop turned and left with the golden-haired knight following closely behind, never sparing another glance at anyone else in the hall.

Once the Bishop departed, life seemed to return to the court. Ministers began murmuring to each other, their discussions reviving the vibrancy of the great hall. Only Chairman Luther remained dazed, his face pale and his mind still reeling from the fright he had just endured.

Queen Catherine seemed somewhat disinterested after the meeting. Without saying another word, she sighed softly on her throne, her gaze drifting toward the hall's grand doors, momentarily lost in thought.

No one could discern what was on the Queen's mind. Her unparalleled beauty, an amalgamation of earthly allure and ethereal grace, remained unreadable. After a brief silence, she rose from her throne, her voice carrying a hint of languor. "That will be all for today."

She cast a sweeping glance over the assembled ministers before her gaze finally settled on Chairman Luther and Lord Borugan.

The two men had stood frozen throughout the proceedings. Luther bore an expression of dazed confusion, while the envoy maintained his comical and foolish demeanor. The Queen regarded them with a complex expression, her lips curling into a bitter smile before she turned and left.

Thus, the highly significant audience came to an abrupt and inconclusive end. The ministers were left puzzled, unsure of what to make of it. Many approached Luther and the envoy afterward, attempting to glean more information about Orford, but Luther seemed too distracted to respond, while the envoy's foolish expressions yielded no insight. Gradually, the ministers dispersed, and Luther and Porugan were also led away.

That evening, in the royal garden of the Alrasian palace.

Queen Catherine sat alone on a reclining chair, gazing thoughtfully past the meticulously trimmed hedges and vibrant flowers toward the council hall in the distance. From this vantage point, the grand hall appeared diminutive, yet the ornate carving atop its main entrance remained clearly visible.

The marble sculpture atop the hall's entrance depicted two crossed swords. One was sharp and imposing, symbolizing the supreme power of the secular realm. The other was solemn and sacred, representing the ultimate authority of the Church. This emblem was commissioned by one of Alrasia's greatest kings during the hall's construction.

At the time, the Church had played a pivotal role in helping the King transform Alrasia from a modest kingdom into the powerful nation it was today. In recognition of this, the King granted the Church a piece of land known as Celeste, where the first Pope, Gelasius I, established the headquarters that remains the Church's stronghold: the Radiant Fortress.

The two swords in the sculpture were identical in size, with no clear indication of superiority between them, reflecting the harmonious and equal relationship between royal and divine authority during that era.

While the sculpture remained unchanging, the balance of power was far less immutable.

A soft cough interrupted the Queen's reverie. General Oren emerged from the garden path, bowing respectfully before her.

"Has the knight departed on her mission alone?" the Queen asked without turning her head, her tone light.

"Yes, Your Majesty," Oren replied. "She came to me to confirm the details about the thieves' groups and set off alone. She did not request any escorts or additional assistance."

The Queen pondered for a moment before asking, "Do you believe she can eliminate the thieves by herself?"

"Every Temple Knight is a rare talent, handpicked by the Church from among tens of thousands. After rigorous training in Celeste, each emerges as a peerless warrior with unmatched combat skills, keen judgment, and an exceptional grasp of strategy and tactics. In any country, they would be regarded as pillars of the state, invaluable for both defense and conquest. Since His Eminence sent her alone as part of her training, he must be confident in her abilities." General Oren coughed lightly, pausing to catch his breath. A faint, almost imperceptible smile flickered across his pale face. "However, while some of the smaller bands might pose no challenge, the Shamusi Band is not so easily subdued, especially by someone as young as her."

The Queen nodded thoughtfully. "I've heard the Shamusi Band is formidable—ruthless and cunning. They've even managed to escape your repeated attempts to root them out. Word has it they've recently turned to the slave trade as well."

"Indeed," Oren confirmed, his tone grim. "Somehow, they managed to capture a few elven women. They sold them for a high price."

"Slavery is illegal under both Church doctrine and our nation's laws," Queen Catherine sighed softly, her voice tinged with weariness. "Go remind the nobles and ministers who purchased those slaves to keep it quiet. If this matter gets out, even I won't be able to protect them."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

The sound of hurried footsteps interrupted their conversation. A court lady approached the Queen, bowing respectfully before reporting, "Your Majesty, the envoy from Orford has vanished."

"Oh? He escaped already?" Catherine raised an eyebrow in mild surprise. "Did I not instruct you to keep a close watch on him?"

"The guards reported that the envoy entered the inn and never left. Later, someone noticed a blue light emanating from his room, but by the time they went to investigate, he was gone. We thoroughly inspected the room but found no suspicious traces. We have no idea how he escaped."

"A teleportation scroll, most likely," Catherine remarked with a faint smile. "They must have set up a temporary teleportation circle back in Orford. Quite an expensive escape." She waved a hand dismissively at the court lady. "You may go. It wasn't the guards' fault, so there's no need to punish them."

After the court lady withdrew, Oren spoke in a low, frustrated tone, "We should have killed him when we had the chance."

"It wouldn't have been worth it," Catherine replied, her smile turning wry. "Even His Eminence didn't deem him worthy of action. How could we justify openly killing a clown like that? Besides, this entire mission was meticulously planned. The envoy played his part well—a showman through and through. They prepared scapegoats, stirred up tensions, observed everything they needed to, and of course, ensured his escape was seamless. All of this was calculated."

Oren let out a heavy sigh, shaking his head as if burdened by the weight of his thoughts. "If it comes to war... they won't be easy to deal with."

As twilight deepened, Oren's coughing grew harsher, his pale face betraying the worsening of his condition.

The Orford envoy's audience with Alrasia seemed to leave little impact on the kingdom. Court affairs continued as usual, with ministers occasionally discussing the absurdity of the envoy's antics over idle conversation.

However, a peculiar aftermath lingered elsewhere.

Chairman Luther, ever since returning home from the palace, had become noticeably sullen. Once indifferent toward the Church, he now spent his days praying and repenting before crucifixes and holy statues, neglecting both food and drink. Within a month, he had wasted away to the point of frailty.

Worried by his dramatic change, his family and friends arranged for him to attend a social gathering, hoping it would lift his spirits and help him recover.

But during the dinner, Luther suddenly stood up and screamed, "I am guilty!" In one horrifying motion, he reached into his mouth, tore out his own tongue, and collapsed, dead on the spot. Blood gushed from his tongueless mouth, spilling across the table and floor, leaving the guests paralyzed in shock and horror.