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The dimly lit meeting room had its windows closed. The candles placed on the wall sconces were unlit. Yet, none of those seated there had trouble seeing. They were seekers of light, capable of finding a glimmer even in darkness. Moreover, the faint halos emanating from each of their bodies were more than enough to illuminate the small, dark room.

The meeting room, about 20 cubits wide, 27 cubits long, and 5 cubits high, wasn’t particularly large. In the center stood a rectangular table, around which people were seated in small groups. The room was filled with a quiet bustle—soft whispers, the sound of people closing their eyes and steadying their breaths. Amidst the occasional flicker of the faint halos, the door to the meeting room suddenly opened.

“Oh, it seems everyone’s already here. I must be the last one, huh?”

“Not at all, Your Grace. You’re not late. Besides, you’ve been guiding the precious pillars of the Church Order until now. Even if you were late, it wouldn’t be something to worry about.”

Sophia entered the room, scanning the gathered attendees. As she awkwardly apologized for her tardiness, a middle-aged priest with long hair and a sparse beard shook his head in response. Following him, a young Knight Templar in gambeson attire chimed in.

“We can’t apply the same standards to someone who’s been whining about drinking every day due to piled-up work. Ahem!”

The one who greeted Sophia earlier was Bishop-Lord Nistelrooy van den Berg of Strabenher, and the one who followed was Knight Templar Peter de Brice, the eastern overseer of the Vainlant diocese.

Seeing Peter’s dark, tired eyes, Sophia couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt. After all, more than half the reason for his haggard appearance was due to Hildegard, who had left her duties to him and followed Sophia. Naturally, Sophia herself, as the one Hildegard followed, wasn’t entirely free of responsibility.

Yet, Peter never resented Sophia. For Sophia, it was both a grateful and regretful situation.

Of course, that didn’t mean Peter was the type to silently endure his plight. His target was the more direct cause of his exhaustion—a certain someone he’d been bickering with for years.

“Huh? Surely you’re not talking about me, you one-legged bastard?”

“Hmm? I didn’t mention anyone specifically. Feeling guilty, drunkard?”

As expected, Peter’s sarcastic jab hit its mark, and the so-called “someone” immediately retorted. Peter’s lips twisted into a strange smirk, and soon the two were engaged in a heated argument.

The lighthearted banter between the two elicited soft chuckles from the others in the room. The previously tense atmosphere softened slightly, and Sophia took a seat at an empty spot around the table.

Bishop Nistelrooy, swallowing his laughter, slowly began the meeting.

“Well, now that everyone’s here, let’s start discussing the main agenda.”

At the bishop’s declaration, the attendees straightened their postures. The topic at hand was likely to be heavy and serious—not something to be taken lightly. Everyone knew they had to be mindful of their demeanor.

Seated around the table were Bishop-Lord Nistelrooy van den Berg of Strabenher, Knight Templar Peter de Brice (who had recently been overseeing both the eastern and western parts of Vainlant), representatives of the local parish priests, and Julianna van Oranje, the Abbess of Saint Remi Monastery and the grand-aunt of the current Grand Duke of the Dual Duchy.

This gathering represented the core leadership of the Church Order in the Lowlands. Adding to the prestige were Hildegard Ritter von Wolfstein, the former overseer of western Vainlant, Sophia de Chazel, a Nun Knight from eastern Franquia, and Esiocles Emanuele, a rising star among the clergy.

It was a meeting of such weight that, aside from the Grand Duke’s court, it would be hard to find a more significant gathering in the region.

But the weight of the gathering also meant the weight of the responsibilities each attendee bore. The somber expressions on their faces, despite the occasional smiles, remained unshaken.

“How are the movements of the lords?”

Bishop Nistelrooy opened the discussion, his earlier smile now replaced with a serious expression.

“If anything, they’ve gotten worse. Lately, they’ve even started trying to control the movements of clergy.”

“Recently, even the correspondence between churches within the Empire has come under scrutiny.”

The parish priests began reporting what they had observed, their tones ranging from calm to agitated. As the reports flowed, the expressions of those present shifted constantly.

“So, it all comes back to the succession issue, doesn’t it?”

The Sacred Gryphon Empire, the core region of the Vainlant diocese, was facing significant internal turmoil. Despite being surrounded by powerful kingdoms, the Empire was now grappling with a succession crisis due to the ailing Emperor and the infighting over who would succeed him.

Sophia suddenly recalled her time in Ravenna. Back then, those vying for the Iron Throne of Rotaringia had created a tense atmosphere. However, there was a notable difference between the situation in Rotaringia and the current state of the Empire.

In Rotaringia, the royal capital of Ravenna was intertwined with the holy city of Ravenna, the center of the Church Order. This meant that, no matter how much the Church tried to remain neutral, its influence couldn’t be ignored. The rulers of Rotaringia had always been mindful of this.

Moreover, Rotaringia adhered to the Walong Law, which granted the first right of succession to the eldest legitimate child. This meant that succession disputes were confined to political maneuvering within the bounds of the law.

The Empire, too, recognized the Walong Law—but only for noble families. The Emperor of the Sacred Gryphon Empire, while the supreme ruler, was not a hereditary position but an elected one. Seven Electors, chosen based on the Golden Bull, were responsible for selecting the Emperor.

Traditionally, the Emperor was chosen from the direct descendants of the first Emperor, Karl the Great. However, it wasn’t impossible for candidates from other noble families to be elected—provided they could withstand potential retaliation from the elected Emperor.

This system meant that candidates for Emperor had to align themselves with the Electors, who in turn sought to elect an Emperor who shared their interests. The Electors’ influence wasn’t equal either; their voting power was determined by the number of supporters they could gather, ranging from high nobles to knights with manors and wealthy city merchants.

Thus, the relationship between the Emperor candidates, Electors, and their supporters had become a political community of shared fate.

“The position of the Gryphon King has been vacant for some time now, and this crisis has erupted at the worst possible time…”

Abbess Julianna van Oranje sighed.

The Gryphon King was a position akin to a crown prince in the Empire. Even though the Emperor was elected, a stable succession required a clear line of succession. The Gryphon King was meant to be that line.

Normally, the Electors would choose the Gryphon King, who would then gradually take over the responsibilities of governing the Empire from the current Emperor. This process was usually more subdued compared to the election of a new Emperor, as the current Emperor’s authority kept things in check.

But now, the Electors were busy undermining each other’s supporters, and the Emperor candidates were considering taking up arms in the increasingly tense political climate.

One manifestation of this was the lords’ control over the Empire’s roads and the flow of goods along the Rhine River.

The tense political climate had led to a complex and increasingly overt undercurrent of conflict. And this undercurrent often flowed through people who frequently traveled between regions—adventurers and merchants.

The lords had a convenient excuse: the recent declaration of war by the Great Demon had led to an increase in evil creatures and monsters. Using the danger as a pretext, they could justify controlling the movement of people in and out of their territories.

From the lords’ perspective, this was a logical move. But it had severe consequences.

“The trade network spanning the Rhine and the North Sea has already lost its vitality. The number of ships has decreased, and the balance between supply and demand for goods has started to falter. The signs are not good. If this situation continues…”

Abbess Julianna expressed her concerns about the economic stagnation in the northern Empire and the surrounding territories.

“The movements of the Hanseatic cities are also concerning. Recently, they’ve started controlling ship movements and are trying to increase tariffs on Lowland ships.”

“Hmm, they’re blatantly targeting the Lowlands, where the Church’s influence is strong.”

Bishop Nistelrooy swallowed his frustration.

As the grand-aunt of the current Grand Duke of the Dual Duchy, Abbess Julianna had a sharp understanding of the economic situation in the northern Empire and its territories. The problem was that this understanding painted a grim picture in her mind.

While the Lowlands could somewhat compensate for the loss by relying on trade with Franquia, Caledonia, and Kalmar, the closure of the Empire—the largest producer and consumer—was a devastating blow.

If this continued, not only the Lowlands but also the northern regions of Vainlant could face a major crisis—not from direct violence, but from the invisible yet massive economic forces at play.

The more she analyzed the situation, the more her stress grew.

But that wasn’t the only problem. The lords’ control over the roads didn’t just affect adventurers and merchants—it also applied to clergy. This meant…

“Damn it, the Empire’s nobles don’t trust the Church. That’s the real issue.”

Knight Templar Peter de Brice, the eastern overseer of Vainlant, voiced his frustration.

The Empire’s rulers were suspicious of—or outright wary of—the Church’s involvement. This was a serious problem.

Throughout the continent’s history, the Church had adhered to a principle of non-interference in political matters. Of course, there had been instances where Paladins, Knight Templars, and Nun Knights had exercised their authority to root out corruption or mediate dungeon-related issues.

But even these actions were never without justification. The Church’s authority was always exercised in coordination with the central governments and judicial systems of the respective kingdoms. Dungeon-related matters were inherently under the Church’s jurisdiction.

“In the countless political upheavals throughout the Empire’s history, the Church has always maintained its principle of non-interference. And now, they’re worried about the clergy’s political involvement? What do they even think of us?”

Peter clenched his fist in anger, and the others in the room, though they didn’t show it openly, agreed with him.

The Church had built its trust and authority over centuries by adhering to this principle. The Empire’s current distrust was like throwing mud on the Church’s history.

Any clergy member would be furious. The question of what the Empire was thinking was on the minds of every clergy member in Vainlant.

“What about the messengers sent to the lords?”

“No proper response yet. It seems they’ve been detained.”

“Those idiots must be out of their minds. Do they really think we’re powerless to do anything about them?”

Hildegard sneered at the Empire’s rulers.

Despite her sarcasm, the others didn’t argue. They only added, “Please choose your words more carefully.”

It was understandable. The detention of the messengers wasn’t just a minor incident—it was a blatant and rude rejection of the Church’s attempt to open dialogue.

Objectively, it was an absurd situation. The Empire was wary of the Church taking sides, yet they rudely dismissed the Church’s attempts to mediate? It seemed less like caution and more like outright disrespect.

“The problem is, from the Church’s perspective, we’re in a real bind.”

Bishop Nistelrooy spoke in a troubled tone.

He was right. The Church’s authority was built on trust earned through non-interference. Many kingdoms trusted the Church and allowed its activities across the continent.

But the Empire’s current behavior showed both distrust and a lack of concern for the Church’s response. The message was clear:

‘You’re actually weak, aren’t you? You claim not to interfere in worldly matters, but isn’t that just because you can’t? And you’re secretly siding with those bastards, aren’t you?’

That was the gist of it.

The problem was that the Church couldn’t respond in any visible way without risking its credibility during this politically sensitive time.

“If we don’t respond, this ridiculous misconception in the Empire will only deepen.”

“If we do respond, the trust we’ve built through non-interference could be shaken.”

Peter’s words were calmly received by Bishop Nistelrooy.

“The Church is preparing for a crucial war that will determine humanity’s fate. We can’t afford to be distracted by the foolish schemes of worldly people and create new problems.”

“But those idiots are already disrupting that!”

Peter slammed his chest in frustration, but Bishop Nistelrooy couldn’t easily change his stance.

It wasn’t that he doubted Peter’s judgment—after all, Peter, as a Knight Templar, frequently dealt with the machinations of powerholders and demons. But as a Bishop-Lord responsible for a region, Nistelrooy had to maintain a more long-term and conservative perspective.

“Well, I actually agree with Sir Brice on this matter.”

Hildegard chimed in. As a Nun Knight, she had her own experiences and insights. One of the most valuable lessons she’d learned was that sometimes, complex political and strategic considerations had to be set aside in favor of intuitive action.

In her view, the current situation in the Empire was not something that could be left unchecked. She had a strong预感 that if things continued as they were, it would lead to a very bad outcome.

“Even if it means dealing with some troublesome situations later, we need to cut off this flow now. That’s my judgment.”

With Hildegard siding with Peter, the balance in the room shifted to 2-to-1. As the situation unfolded, the others began to ponder deeply.

The choice was binary: respond to the Empire’s provocation or don’t. There was no middle ground.

Soon, additional information was provided to aid their decision. The source, of course, was Abbess Julianna of Saint Remi Monastery.

“You’ve all heard about the recent increase in military inspections by the Empire’s lords. Even in this economic downturn, the mercenary contracts are booming. Recently, the prices of crucial supplies like redwood, steel ingots, preserved food, beer, wine, strong spirits, cotton cloth, and medicinal herbs have skyrocketed. These are all essential wartime materials.”

Redwood for bows and spears, steel for weapons and armor, preserved food for soldiers, cheap beer and wine as substitutes for contaminated water, high-proof spirits for medical use, cotton cloth for bandages and tents, and various medicinal herbs.

Just listing these items was enough to make the clergy in the room feel a chill. The smell of iron and soot seemed to linger in the air. It was clear: the Empire was on the brink of civil war.

Civil war meant suffering for the common people. The Church now had to make a choice: continue its policy of non-interference to maintain trust with the continent’s rulers, or intervene actively to save the Empire’s people from the coming turmoil.

It was then that a piece of news arrived, shattering all previous discussions.

A single urgent message, delivered through a crystal orb, prompted the clergy gathered in Strabenher to unanimously declare the Church’s full intervention in the Empire.

The message was as follows:

[Civil war has broken out. Undead plague is spreading across the Empire. Suspected involvement of demons or witches.]

 

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