Anno Salutis 1082, June 23rd, night. Capital Lucien, deep underground in the Inquisition.
In the Inquisition’s most secret council chamber, a covert meeting was underway—one that could determine the future course of humanity.
At the head of the long table sat Archbishop Lucien, Albert Morel, as immovable as a mountain.
His deep purple archbishop’s robe made his expression even colder.
The two sides of the table were sharply divided: on the left, the Cardinals clad in scarlet robes, representing the supreme spiritual authority of the Northern Province; on the right, the Inquisition’s senior leadership and veteran Inquisitors, their black robes emanating a deadly aura like sharpened blades.
Every single one of them was a member of the “Inner Circle,” privy to the Church’s deepest secrets and the truth behind humanity’s impending doom.
On the massive screen at the far end of the table appeared the Southern Province Archbishop, Archbishop Leon, Augustin Richelieu, and other southern representatives.
This elderly man, with white hair and a kind face, stood in stark contrast to the cold hardness of Archbishop Lucien.
Were it not for his exclusive deep purple archbishop’s robe, people might have thought he was just a kindly old neighbor who wandered into a serious meeting by mistake.
If Archbishop Lucien ruled as a monarchal figure with supreme authority that intimidated all, using political intrigue to maintain the Church’s existence, then Archbishop Leon was the pastoral shepherd, soothing hearts with profound theology and compassion, shaping the Church’s very soul.
Their personalities complemented each other perfectly, jointly laying the foundation for the Church’s prosperity and stability.
Noticing Archbishop Lucien’s stern expression, Archbishop Leon smiled warmly and spoke softly like a gentle spring breeze:
“Albert, you’ve lost quite a bit of weight lately. Have you taken to following the young ones’ fad and become a vegetarian?”
“Long-term vegetarianism isn’t good for your health. You must believe in science. The Lord has granted us all nourishment; you need to eat more meat if you want to serve Him faithfully for a hundred years!”
Archbishop Lucien’s mouth twitched slightly: “A hundred years? My old bones will be halfway in the grave by then. Why live so long? Are you trying to torture an old man?”
His tone was stiff, but the tension in the room eased slightly thanks to his old friend’s teasing.
As the last Cardinal took his seat, Archbishop Lucien signaled to the meeting’s host—senior Inquisitor Victor Soren—to begin.
Victor’s face was resolute, his eyes sharp like an eagle’s.
He was Archbishop Lucien’s trusted lieutenant.
Except for a couple of times when he was outmatched by Allen de Laval, Victor generally appeared calm and reliable.
Rising, Victor’s voice was steady and commanding: “Everyone, in adherence to the doctrine ‘The Eternal Flame shall never be extinguished, and the Judgment endures forever,’ this Saint Shield Conference is now officially in session. We shall begin with the first agenda item…”
The first agenda was the investigative report on the attack against the Laval family.
Victor detailed the case’s entire sequence: the assault by the Crimson Spiral Cult, Allen de Laval’s warnings and fierce fight, the heretic stronghold beneath the slaughterhouse, the execution of the False Mark Knights, and the Inquisition’s comprehensive intervention…
This included Allen de Laval’s unusual behavior within the Inquisition.
After hearing these incredible stories involving Allen de Laval, everyone present fell into silence.
When Victor mentioned Allen’s business cooperation with a street vendor to sell iced drinks, the quiet Archbishop Lucien suddenly spoke up: “The recipe he provided—has it been verified?”
“It has been successfully reproduced, Your Excellency,” Victor replied.
“The ice cream recipe he gave matches exactly the form and taste recorded in the lost ancient texts.”
Archbishop Lucien pressed further: “That same afternoon Allen left the Inquisition, when mercenaries blocked his way and splattered paint on him—was the culprit identified?”
The investigation had concluded, but the results were sensitive.
Victor glanced at the Grandmaster of the Heresy Tribunal.
Understanding immediately, the Grandmaster stood to respond.
“Your Excellency, we traced the matter thoroughly. The ‘Dogs of War’ mercenary company was hired, with their target suspected to be the complete massacre of the Laval family. The contract passed through multiple hands, ultimately tracing back to…the Palace.”
Archbishop Lucien frowned deeply: “The Crown’s involvement?”
The Grandmaster paused: “We dare not speculate. This incident is unrelated to the heretic assault and is presumed to be a coincidental clash of timing.”
“Another coincidence?”
Archbishop Lucien’s brow furrowed tighter.
Albert Morel and the late King Louis Durand had studied together at the same monastery.
Louis’s elder brother, fearing a power grab, stripped Louis of his inheritance and sent him to the monastery.
At first, Louis Durand was far from a devout monk.
When he entered the monastery, he often shirked chores and amused himself by teasing the nuns.
But because of his special status, no one dared intervene.
Only the stern Albert Morel stepped forward and harshly reprimanded him.
The stark contrast from noble heir to monk left Louis simmering with resentment.
Feeling like a tiger cast down, bullied by dogs, and now scolded by Albert, his anger flared and they fought fiercely.
After the fight, they found they liked each other better the more they looked, and soon became good friends.
Louis Durand was well-educated, versed in many ancient texts; his only flaw was laziness.
Albert Morel, often dispatched by the monastery to handle difficult matters, naturally had less time for scholarly research.
Louis tutored Albert, and Albert urged Louis forward; they helped each other, eventually entering the Inner Circle and gaining access to the Church’s secrets.
Those dark and heavy secrets forever changed Louis Durand.
He grew silent and secretive, never revealing his true thoughts.
He became obsessed with strange research and began displaying an astonishing thirst for power—a stark contrast to his previously carefree self.
Albert noticed these changes but did nothing beyond watching.
Almost every Inner Circle member suffered anxiety; Albert was no exception.
Each year, some members were forced into psychological treatment due to overwhelming mental pressure.
Compared to others, Louis’s eccentricities were the least harmful.
Later, Louis’s elder brother suddenly died, leaving him as the Durand family’s last legitimate heir, forced to ascend the throne.
With Louis’s strongest rival gone, Albert Morel smoothly became Archbishop Lucien.
Twenty years passed quietly.
Louis and Albert shifted from close friends to ruler and subject, their rift now deep and unbridgeable.
Even Albert couldn’t tell if his old friend had given in to despair or was secretly plotting some scheme.
This monk-king seemed utterly indifferent to the centuries-old glory of the Durand family.
For the sake of his unknown plan, he was willing to shatter his own Crown.
He alone had brewed the kingdom’s current political crisis.
In the public eye, the once wise ruler was now a senile mad king.
Had he truly gone mad?
Archbishop Lucien did not know.
After every audience with the Archbishop, the troubled king obsessively asked the same question: “Has the Nirvana Project begun?”
The Nirvana Project was the Church’s highest secret, the ultimate contingency against humanity’s functional extinction.
Once activated, humanity’s cycle would enter a race against time.
Executing the Nirvana Project required unimaginable sacrifices; whoever initiated it bore responsibility for all mankind.
Who could shoulder such a burden?
No one.
Except the Messenger of God.
Since his accession, Louis XI had severed ties with the Church.
His probing into Church secrets was a clear violation of the ancient sacred covenant—
“The Sanctuary belongs to the divine, the Crown to the monarch.”
Archbishop Lucien could not answer him.
The Archbishop’s refusal only deepened the old king’s anxiety.
Perhaps because of this, he planned to break the rules, targeting Viscount Bernard de Laval—a minor noble—to ignite harsher conflicts between hardliners and moderates.
After Allen de Laval was targeted by cultists, then by the king, it seemed truly accidental.
But could it really be so simple?
As an old Inquisitor, Albert found the matter increasingly suspicious.
The Laval family was becoming the storm’s eye.
Behind it, unknown forces were likely pulling the strings.
Archbishop Lucien pondered for a moment, then asked, “Has the source of Allen de Laval’s notorious reputation been identified?”
The Grandmaster was ready: “The main instigator is his father, Viscount Bernard de Laval. Additionally, criminal gangs have impersonated Allen to commit crimes, further sullying his name.”
“Criminal gangs?”
“A low-level gang made up of refugees, orphans, and vagrants from the lower strata.”
“Are they connected to Allen de Laval?”
“Possibly, but it’s more likely they are using him as a figurehead.”
Bernard de Laval…
Archbishop Lucien silently repeated the name.
He was not surprised by the investigation’s findings.
In fact, he had met Bernard once before.
Years ago, to temper his spirit, he had worked part-time as a confessor at Saint Elliott Cathedral.
At that time, Bernard had just become a viscount.
Unaware that the confessor opposite him was a high-ranking archbishop, he calmly confessed his sins, expressing his painful remorse over his prematurely deceased wife and his poor son.
Poor parents everywhere.
Recalling this, Archbishop Lucien understood Bernard’s motive for tarnishing Allen’s reputation.
It seemed the viscount was willing to destroy his son’s honor to protect him.
In that case, the infamous Allen de Laval would lose his right to inherit his title and become an ordinary commoner—
A commoner free to leave the prison that was Capital Lucien.
Indeed, Capital Lucien was a cage forged by the royal family to contain the nobles from the very beginning!
The capital’s nobles enjoyed the highest rank in the kingdom, constantly bathed in royal favor; this privilege was both their pride and their shackle.
Nobles of the capital could not leave without permission.
If a noble left the capital without approval, the crown would strip them of their title, land, and assets, reducing them to commoners.
Their children would be forced to enroll in Saint Norra Emblem Academy, receiving loyalist education to become faithful servants of the crown.
This extreme restriction on nobles’ freedom was called the Pre-court Grace System.
For robe-wearing nobles, it was hardly a problem.
But for sword-bearing nobles, long absences from their lands meant losing control over their domains.
At that point, the crown “considerately” provided a “stewardship” service.
Tax farmers and officials would manage the nobles’ lands, collecting taxes and governing in their stead.
The sword-bearing nobles could stay in the capital and still earn income without spending any effort managing their fiefs.
With all that free time, they could indulge in pleasures.
Why would they refuse such a “good deal”?