Chapter 875: Act 53 – The Countess
Under the towering, majestic curved arch, the sacred melodies finally came to an end. Twelve high-ranking priests clad in gold-trimmed red robes turned pale, nearly losing their balance, while nearby attendants and juniors rushed forward to support them. These influential individuals were either the regional high priests of the Rustra area or senior scholars from the Academy; their status was significant, second only to those at the dome of the Temple of Fire. Corresponding to their status was their power—among them were Archbishop Christopher of the Cohen region, the divine-favored Anders, and Master Sutton of the Academy, all of whom had already stepped into the realm of Truth, just a step away from the Holy Seat. The residents of Rustra commonly referred to the eleven figures above the dome of the Temple of Fire as the Holy Seat, and over time, this expression had spread. Besides these three, the other nine had also attained enlightenment in their respective elements. People in their positions rarely presided over ceremonies or rituals in person; but when called upon, they could deftly carry them out, rarely finding themselves in such a fraught situation.
“Truly breathtaking,” remarked Varla, observing the scene. It was hard for those who had never seen this supreme figure to imagine that the overseer of the entire Temple of Fire could appear as this seemingly kindly old man. His beard and hair had turned snow white, his stature had shrunk considerably, and he wore a red bishop’s cape trimmed with white fur, standing with trembling hands as if a gust of wind could topple him. Yet, it was only the glimmer in his deeply set eyes and the distinct lines around his tightly pressed lips that proved this elder, who had controlled the Temple for more than half a century, was far from simple.
People called him the archbishop who brought iron and fire, the only one among the eleven who had experienced a complete Holy War. There is a well-known proverb in Rustra about him—that the Holy Seat never shows mercy; this referred to his character, which was anything but as kindly as his appearance suggested.
He stood on the altar along with two others, and the one he addressed was a woman positioned to his left. This woman was tall, draped in a white short cape, wearing a high crown, and holding a scepter adorned with a golden flame insignia. Her long cloak trailed on the polished obsidian ground. Her face was overly gaunt, with cheekbones so pronounced that they obscured her femininity, lending her an excessively stern appearance. She had short, platinum hair tied back into a long braid that fell over her cape. This woman was Syndey Metfarica, the third-in-command of the Temple of Fire and the fourth most powerful figure in the Cruz Empire. Legends about her were countless, dating back to the Year of Celestial Conjunction, claiming she once clashed with the fourth wizard leader of the Bud people, narrowly losing but gaining honor in the process.
People often likened the sharpness of one’s gaze to that of a hawk or falcon, but such descriptions seemed inadequate before this woman. Her gaze was not only sharp; it felt substantial enough to convey meaning with a single glance. There was a golden flame ring encircling the pupils of her eyes, linked to her divine power—the angel Euphemia of the Holy Sword. In matters of the Holy Pronouncement, no one in the Empire could surpass her, a fact that even Varla had to concede.
Beside Varla stood another individual, wearing a richly adorned silk robe, with a gentle and seemingly merchant-like demeanor. This was Caesar, one of the lesser-ranked eleven, whose name sounded imposing, but historically, he had been diligent without significant achievements.
Syndey maintained her typical silence, even as the wielder of the Temple spoke to her, showing no intent to engage in conversation. While the world referred to her as the Virgin of the Lion Sanctuary, which was not without reason, Varla appreciated her character. Compared to the previous generation of archbishops, those inheriting the Temple of Fire in this era seemed notably youthful—youth is often associated with recklessness rather than steadiness, but Syndey was the exception.
“His Majesty issued a decree on the fourteenth; these people entered the city on the seventeenth, and the Academy responded most proactively, Archbishop,” Caesar quietly reminded him.
Varla nodded, fully aware of the implications hidden within that statement. For centuries, the royal power of Cruz had finally reached its pinnacle over the past century. He often couldn’t help but think how fortunate it would have been if he had been born before his teacher’s era—when the Temple could advance its influence unchecked in small nations like Erluin and Anburo, and even meddle in secular affairs. During the height of ecclesiastical authority, even the succession to the throne lay in the hands of the archbishop, but what about now?
The elder was left with a bitter taste in his mouth.
“After this, I fear the influence of His Majesty within the Temple will rise again, Archbishop.”
“I understand,” Varla shook his head. The Academy faction had always been closer to the royal family; since the Thunder Incident, they had sought to enact ecclesiastical reforms and had long criticized him as the archbishop. Although a purge had eliminated some dissenters after the Holy War, it evidently hadn’t stopped the lunatics. The Temple indeed needed reform, and he was increasingly aware of this. However, the power to lead that reform could not fall into the hands of those cliquish individuals; otherwise, the Temple of Fire would have no future.
He knew that Caesar’s words served as a warning not to satisfy the Queen’s demands this time. Even though royal influence had increasingly infiltrated the Temple, the Temple still retained the right to govern its own affairs. His decision to allow the seemingly ageless supreme figure to extend her hand into the Temple had already sparked discontent among many of the eleven. The presence of only himself, Syndey, and Caesar today illustrated this well—Syndey was uninterested in power struggles, Caesar was compliant, while the rest clearly harbored significant dissatisfaction.
“But that is the Azure Spear,” Varla sighed deeply. Their Empress was indeed too difficult to deal with. Sometimes he wondered whether it was a blessing or curse for Cruz to have such an Empress—this Azure Spear was a sacred object of the mundane world, crafted by the azure knight who shattered the heavens, bringing forth the Second Era. In the “Song of Light,” it was described as a hope for mortals, a holy spear that changed fate. It was easy to imagine that any Temple possessing such a divine artifact would have its prestige drastically increased; for both personal and political reasons, he could not refuse.
Caesar also fell silent, fully aware of the implications of this situation. He couldn’t help but glance back at his colleagues. Even Syndey, who usually wore the same expression, now had her eyes glimmering.
After all, it was the Holy Spear of the Heavens—
“Unfortunately, why must the spear’s wielder be a hill dweller?” Caesar thought with regret; if he didn’t already know the spear had been transported from Erluin, with a master in place before that, he might have thought it was a scheme concocted by their seemingly ageless Empress. It was widely known that among the nations under the Temple of Fire, only hill dwellers did not worship Gilt’s doctrine; they revered their ancestors and the spirits of nature and were thus considered barbarians. Yet, it was such savages that the Holy Spear recognized.
“Your Majesty, to bestow a fate-altering object to an outsider solely to suppress the Temple, this is playing with fire—you mortals cannot control the future; the gods will certainly punish you,” Varla thought helplessly, unable to refrain from muttering.
The three remained silent, quietly watching as the crystal layer at the center of the hall became thinner and ultimately dissipated into nothingness. Inside, the young girl kept her eyes tightly shut, propping a long spear in her hands. It seemed as if she had lost her footing, breaking ‘ice’ to weakly collapse onto the ground, where she lay unconscious upon the intricately patterned surface of the magic array.
Varla gazed at the shards of crystal falling to the ground, and he vaguely saw the disintegrating Temple. The Academy faction was no longer standing with them; the local high priests were also divided, and Williams’ defeat had severely impacted the Temple’s prestige beyond the Empire. He thought of that incompetent fellow, unable to contain his anger. It was a disgrace for a leader of the Temple’s knight order to lose to a junior; this was embarrassing indeed, and it wasn’t just his reputation at stake, or even that of the Cecil family, but also of the Temple itself.
He then thought about that little Earl of Toniger from Erluin, rumored to be the grandson of the Sword Saint Darus, and couldn’t help muttering, “Why is it this guy again? He really is a persistent ghost.”
Hearing this low murmur, Caesar shivered involuntarily, his expression changed. He of course remembered the upheaval forty years ago, the Temple’s decline, which seemed to have begun with that unjust trial. He looked at the archbishop beside him and suddenly realized that the archbishop’s willingness to accommodate Her Majesty’s conditions likely went beyond just the Azure Spear. He suddenly recalled that just a week ago at the royal banquet, Her Majesty had vaguely hinted at the new Countess’s origins and her relationship with the Earl of Toniger from Erluin.
Thinking of this, he nearly broke into a cold sweat and quickly tightened his expression, fearful that the supreme figure beside him might catch a glimpse of his thoughts.
But Varla didn’t pay him any mind; instead, he turned to Syndey and said, “Syndey, take the Countess down for a bath. Be kind to her.”
The goddess’ attendant froze for a moment, then coldly nodded.
…
The girl was dressed as if she were a princess, encased in a light yellow Baroque-style gown. Her long red hair flowed down like scattered flames, and her slender neck and delicate collarbone were exposed to the air. A fine mithril necklace adorned with a fiery gemstone lay against her skin, glowing amber tones contrasting with her healthy complexion. The flouncy skirt was filled with rose-like pleats, layered sleeves, sheer linings, and an oversized bow at the chest, all transforming her into an exquisite doll. The tightly fitted waist nearly constrained her so much that it was hard to breathe. Xi looked at this spectacle, her amber eyes filled with anxiety.
It felt as if the experiences of this day were an absurd dream. She dreamed that she was asleep within a massive amber, undergoing countless events and seeing bizarre sights—but most of the time, she was covered with a black cloth or confined in a box, out of sight. Whenever she felt uneasy, a voice would chat with her, but this occurred only occasionally. The proud lady within the Azure Spear often concluded their conversations harshly, hastily drawing conclusions that implied her own foolishness.
She then ‘saw’ herself being carried into a grand Temple, surrounded by many priests conducting a ritual, with the low hum of sacred chants filling her ears. Then she felt as though she had awakened; in her haziness, a lady clad in white priestly robes guided her, having several maids assist her in bathing and changing clothes. She had never experienced such a scene in her life and was nearly paralyzed with fright. She had considered escaping several times, but each time the lady had stopped her. The power she prided herself on felt as feeble as that of a child, incapable of resistance. She remembered the expression the lady would give her each time, reciting a prayer that seemed to invoke an irresistible pressure descending from the heavens, penetrating the Temple’s dome, and directly imposing itself upon her, rendering her immobile.
Now, she sat in a lavish long-backed chair—this chair was extravagantly designed, resembling an intricately carved throne, something she had never seen even in the Lord’s castle—staring dazedly into a floor-length mirror, where the beautiful figure reflected looked nothing like herself. Several maids surrounded her, attentively assisting with her grooming, while Xi, knowing resistance was futile, resigned herself to being treated like a puppet.
The maids occasionally glanced at their new mistress while comparing her to the beauty in the mirror, meticulously arranging her long hair and attaching sparkling earrings, or whispering to each other, occasionally erupting into low giggles, making Xi blush. She was still unclear on exactly where she was or why she had come here, and why she was garbed in such strange clothes. She wanted to contact Avina, but the lady in the Azure Spear seemed to have her own matters today. Xi’s attempts at communication fell silent, but at least she could still sense the Azure Spear’s presence, which provided her with some reassurance.
The maids surrounding her were all charming and lovely, obviously carefully selected. Most had varying shades of red hair, long or short, making it clear to everyone who saw them their lineage and bl**d. As Xi looked at these kin, she found it hard to raise her anger at their soft-spoken dialogues. Perhaps it was because she understood that the rather strict goddess attendant was still waiting outside.
“My Lady Countess,” one round-faced maid said enviously, “You are truly our princess, the most beautiful girl among the hill dwellers.”
“You… what did you call me…” Xi, not particularly skilled in interacting with strangers, was still taken aback by this, almost asking the question in a daze.
“That’s right, Lady Countess, you might not know yet—you are the only Countess conferred personally by His Majesty in hundreds of years. Your fief is said to be the most bountiful land in the kingdom, located on the edge of the Wilds of Four Borders—”
“Yes, yes, yes, I once saw the maple forests there, my God, it’s incredible! It’s clear that His Majesty holds you in high regard,” the maids chattered excitedly. “The key point is that it lies right next to our hill dwellers’ lands—the mountains of Varla, I have dreamed of going back home to see them.”
Xi listened, confused. She gazed at the girls, not understanding what they were saying. She was born in Shubli, where there were many hill dwellers. It seemed she had indeed heard tales of the mountains of Varla, the homeland of the hill dwellers, when she was a child, but those belonged to distant dreams. As she listened to the discussions about fiefs, His Majesty, and Lady Countess, her mind felt a chaotic mess, and she couldn’t think of anything.
But she noticed that these girls genuinely admired her; they chattered away, saying, “Lady Countess, I have heard His Majesty intends to grant you the autonomy of that land after you pledge your sword! That land in your hands will mean it returns to us hill dwellers! For centuries, we hill dwellers have yearned for independence and autonomy, and it will finally be realized in your hands!”
The girls fervently discussed this, but as they spoke, their voices gradually lowered.
The circumstances of the hill dwellers in the Empire were not much better than in Erluin, perhaps even worse. The Cruz people regarded them as barbarians, and nobles captured hill dwellers as if they were capturing beasts—once hill dwellers, men and women, were driven from their forests, they were confined like animals, uprooted from their homes, sold everywhere, with those under better conditions becoming servants of the nobles, while the majority perished in some unknown mine.
Who would want to be uprooted? The history of hill dwellers’ resistance had long since become a legend. Within the Empire, besides a few clans dependent on the Empire, most had hidden in the forests, living lives akin to those of wild beasts. Even those who remained were looked down upon, likely to be captured for various reasons, condemned to servitude.
It seemed these girls shared such experiences. The room suddenly fell silent for a moment as some girls began to sob. The round-faced maid choked out, “Lady Countess, do you know? Today, because of you—we hill dwellers no longer have to be uprooted, separated from our families, and we won’t be hunted like beasts by the Cruz people. Lady Countess, your name will surely echo throughout the Empire’s mountains, and one day you will become a hero for the hill dwellers—”
Xi opened her mouth.
She felt certain she must be dreaming. She couldn’t help but grasp the armrests as if trying to stand up—her crystal shoes felt utterly out of place, making her walk like a puppet. The maids hurriedly steadied their wobbly princess, preventing her from stepping on her own skirt and falling, something that had indeed happened before. But Xi glanced around and stammered, “What you’re saying… I don’t quite understand. Lord, where is he…?”
“Lord? Isn’t that you?”
Xi shook her head vigorously, about to retort, but just then someone knocked on the door from outside, and Syndey’s voice came through, “Countess Mitra, if you are finished with your grooming, someone wishes to see you.”
The maids immediately fell silent, each becoming like a wooden puppet, for they understood who would come here at this time.
…
