Chapter 1246: Chapter 1246

“Also, while you’re in Ruen, your official position and files will stay registered in Nolan, but you’ll be under the temporary administration of the Ruen diocese. Think of it as a temporary transfer. Any reports you need to submit, materials you need to requisition from the Church, or personal needs you have will all be handled by the Ruen diocese. In that sense, things won’t be too different from Nolan.”

“I understand. So my report about the phantom in the night sky should be submitted to Ruen, then? Speaking of which, Bevanna, Papa Oliver, did either of you see it back in Nolan?”

“I was sleeping soundly that night, and Bevanna was behind the Gate of All Things the whole time. However, most of the astrologers from the Universal Star Church witnessed it. From the information they’ve shared, the force that finally dealt with the army of snowmen was undoubtedly divine. And in all likelihood, it was the ‘God of Lies.’ It’s just... I’ve never heard his followers claim that the great being has a domain over ice and snow.”

Papa Oliver mused, stroking his chin in confusion, while Jenkins listened with a stone-faced expression, doing his best not to let his true feelings show.

The god’s appearance led Papa Oliver to suspect there were followers of the God of Lies in Ruen as well. He didn’t connect Jenkins to the elusive group, but he grew worried that these followers were expanding their influence.

“You know, the effects of the Fabry Fraud still linger. If they have enough people to orchestrate a continent-wide scheme, we’d be hard-pressed to stop them. Every kingdom is establishing new financial departments to support the creation and reform of national banks, but the real reason is to prevent anything like that from happening again. You understand. With Miss Fabry’s methods, she could destabilize any country with ease... The Church is doing something similar—the banking reforms, I mean. Times of change always attract swindlers, and swindlers with vision, drive, and skill are the most dangerous of all.”

Papa Oliver’s fears weren’t unfounded—assuming Miss Fabry and the followers of the God of Lies actually existed.

“Even the followers themselves are a fabrication. As the God of Lies, I’m certainly living up to my name... Then again, isn’t Fini my follower? Does that mean... I’ve deceived myself?”

A young secretary was also present, taking minutes; their conversation was deemed important enough to be recorded for the library’s permanent archives.

“Good evening, Saint Williamette.”

“Good evening, Saint Pontiff.”

The two exchanged a few pleasantries before getting to the heart of the matter. Unsurprisingly, it concerned the Stuart family.

“Religion must not interfere with the royal authority of secular kingdoms. That much is stipulated in the High Tower Accord.”

The Pontiff stated this plainly, then followed with a “however.”

“However, special times call for special measures. I trust the Sage will forgive us. In short, to ensure the stability of the northern dioceses, to allow the northern faithful to live in a prosperous and peaceful kingdom, and for the future growth of the Church in the north... we hope that you will support the princess of House Stuart in her bid for the throne... Saint Williamette, have I been a bit too blunt?”

the formally dressed pontiff asked, looking slightly abashed.

“I understand what you’re suggesting, but I will be more subtle in my approach.”

Jenkins nodded in understanding. He had long known that despite the constraints of the High Tower Accord, the Twelve Orthodox Churches would never pass up an opportunity to expand the reach of their faith.

“So long as you understand. In essence: if it can be done, do it. If you cannot, then at the very least, you must ensure no one else succeeds where we have failed. You may command any and all resources, both material and personnel, from Ruen and its surrounding dioceses...”

He gave Jenkins a conspiratorial wink. Latest content publıshed on noⅴelfire.net

Our exemplary Saint understood such matters all too well.

After learning of Jenkins and Dolores’s “close” relationship, the Church astutely recognized a golden opportunity. While the Church of the Sage had no intention of controlling a nation through its queen, having the Saint’s wife as the monarch would undoubtedly bring immense benefits.

What made the situation so wonderfully convenient was that their relationship was a “love match.” Thus, even if events unfolded as they hoped, the Church of the Sage could declare to all that it had not violated the High Tower Accord.

Pontiff IV and Jenkins talked for a long time. It wasn’t a conversation between two conspirators plotting the fate of another nation—though both had the talent for it—but rather a deep dive into the state of the continent.

The Pontiff seemed to be hinting that in the near future, the continent would face another opportunity for unification.

But Jenkins didn’t quite understand. If the Church had no intention of using puppets, what kind of opportunity was the Pontiff referring to?

The games played by the powerful were beyond the comprehension of a mere antique shop apprentice like himself—or so he told himself for now.

But the long talk with the Pontiff did give him a much deeper understanding of the situation among the three major kingdoms. He now had a clearer grasp of what the priest he met at the Ice Palace a few days ago meant when he said, “This is the end of an epoch. Chaos and war are written in destiny.”

“So, are strife and turmoil truly on their way?”

He asked himself, feeling he could never accept living in such a time.

After his conversation with Pontiff IV ended, the Ruen diocese held a grand ceremony that night to formally welcome Jenkins.

Although he had arrived on Monday, his visit had originally been a mere “trip” or a “social call.” Now that it had been decided the Saint would be “on temporary transfer” here, it was only natural to celebrate in a different fashion.

This useless but necessary procedure took over an hour. Finally, the demigod Mr. Rosier led Jenkins down the corridor from the confession hall to the rear courtyard and showed him an enormous oil painting covered with a silk cloth.

The painting was rendered in a predominantly cool palette. The upper section depicted a sparse, distorted cosmos, while the lower section showed hundreds of small figures facing outward, as if confronting some monster that stood where the viewer was.

Only the face of the figure at the forefront, clearly a leader, was rendered with any clarity. One could faintly make out Jenkins’s features. The artist had also thoughtfully painted a cat on the figure’s shoulder. In this ambiguous, hazy, and twisted scene, all the humans looked like monsters. Only the cat looked like a cat.