Chapter 5: The Church of Light (9)
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In the reception room behind the Grand Hall,
this was the special place where His Majesty the Emperor received the lords from the various territories of the Empire.
Those dukes, marquesses, and counts, though their lands seemed minuscule compared to the vast Empire, were hereditary lords and shared a semblance of power with the Emperor over the Empire.
However, as time went on, imperial power became increasingly centralized.
The nobles from outside the capital were often sneered at and deemed ‘country bumpkins’ by the nobles within the imperial city.
In order to fit into the high-society circles of the Empire, many lords readily surrendered their territories to the Empire for long-term residency in the capital, thus giving their offspring more opportunities to participate in upper-echelon affairs.
Count Morris was among them.
Though he had royal bl**d and was a distant cousin of the Emperor, he managed to squeeze a connection with Prince Eric.
Riding on this dubious relationship, Morris found a job in the capital.
Yet still, when the nobles in the capital spoke of him, they labeled him as just another guy from the countryside, completely disregarding his status, with the harshest mockery coming from those who had only just settled in the capital a few generations ago.
Facing the constant sarcastic remarks, Morris clenched his fist, determined to accomplish something big to boost his reputation and shut the mouths of those insufferable nobles.
Thus, he actively volunteered to lead an embassy to the Monster Race territory.
Yet, the series of twists and turns that followed made him realize the necessity of attaching himself to a big shot—like Lord Lin’s clever ploy.
Without that plan, his head would eventually be on public display, hanging from the city walls until it dried out like a skeleton.
Only then would he be able to appease the wrath of Prince Eric’s family.
And now, he stood side by side with the Emperor as a Messenger of the God of Light, without any worries about the threats from the Prince’s family.
Unless, of course, they intended to go against all the Followers of the Church of Light in the city.
“Lord Messenger, please have a seat.”
Bel sat at the head of the table, while Morris took a seat at Bel’s left—an honor reserved for important guests, unlike the first time he visited the capital when he had to kneel from a distance and could only see the Emperor’s feet beneath his flowing robes.
According to custom, a row of sweet-faced maids entered, holding an array of teapots, serving the two noblemen without interruption.
Morris was prepared to savor the royal contribution tea he had never had before.
But just then, Bel’s face darkened as he roared,
“Everyone, out! I have pressing matters to discuss with Lord Messenger here! Anyone who dares to intrude shall face immediate execution!”
“Yes, Your Majesty!”
The maids, in a flurry, all rushed out.
This undoubtedly made Morris’s heart race—did His Majesty discover something?
Ever since he left prison and up to this audience with the Emperor, he had been behaving ridiculously well due to his natural fear and respect for the Emperor.
However, just as Morris thought this pleasant atmosphere would persist, the Emperor pulled a stunt like this, instantly turning his palms into waterfalls of cold sweat.
“Creeeak…”
That sound was the door closing tight.
At this moment, the spacious reception room had only the Emperor and Morris inside.
Bel rested his chin on his left hand, rhythmically tapping the chair back with his right, his icy gaze fixed on Morris as if he were staring at a corpse.
Morris’s mouth went dry and he was drenched in sweat.
He sensed that the Emperor might know something, but so far he hadn’t said a word.
“Morris, three days apart should make us look at each other anew; you’ve done well.”
“Thank you for your praise, Your Majesty.”
Morris nearly kneeled down to express his gratitude out of instinct, his knees buckling just as he remembered he was a Messenger now—at least someone who could stand equal with the Pope.
If he bowed now, all that previous momentum would be wasted!
Bel didn’t seem to notice the rapidly changing expressions on Morris’s face, as he casually murmured to himself,
“You got yourself a title of the Messenger of the God of Light and leveraged that to put pressure on the Empire; with this, even the royal family wouldn’t dare to touch you.
Nice plan!”
Morris felt extremely awkward but didn’t know how to respond.
Indeed, the sparring exchange he had just had with the Emperor in the Grand Hall had drained all his courage.
Now his mind felt like it was filled with mush, with hardly any coherent thoughts.
“Now that the area outside the palace is packed with the followers of the God of Light, have you thought about what kind of miracle you’ll come up with to handle their cheers?”
Morris, “…”
This script was all wrong—there had to be some mistake.
Why was the Emperor, who was supposed to show him the greatest respect, giving him orders like a subordinate?
Didn’t the Emperor fear the divine punishment of the God of Light?
As for him, having disguised himself as a Messenger of Light, he had long been prepared for any punishment, but anyway, that was certainly better than getting his head chopped off right away.
“Your Majesty, I am the Messenger of the God of Light; I don’t need your orders to know what I want to do.”
Morris gathered his courage and looked at the Emperor, trying to reclaim his dignity as a Messenger.
Bel smiled lightly, “It seems, Lord Messenger, you are not quite satisfied with my instructions.”
Morris said, “Even if Your Majesty is the Pope, you are just a leader of worldly followers, and I…”
“Enough!”
Bel’s sudden outburst startled Morris so much that he momentarily forgot what he wanted to say. He stood frozen in place, mouth agape.
“The Church of Light was established by me; I know whether there is a Messenger or not the best.
Just now, in public, I gave you some face, and you’re still breathing heavily, huh?”
“Your Majesty, I… I…”
Morris had never witnessed the Emperor cursing, and he became so scared he momentarily stammered, unable to get a word out.
“Right now, you need me, not the other way around, understand?
If you dare say in front of thousands of worshipers that you are not a Messenger, or that the God of Light is a figment of imagination, you already know what your fate would be—it would be a hundred times more painful than dying on the execution ground.
They will tie you to a stake and roast you bit by bit over a small flame.
The followers won’t easily forgive a heretic who dares insult the God of Light, understood?”
Having witnessed the zealotry of the followers in the capital, Morris knew all too well the horrors of being burned at the stake. He trembled all over, nearly fainting on the spot.
He didn’t understand why the Emperor spoke as if he had no respect for the God of Light, as if the Church of Light was merely a whimsical creation of his, something he could toss aside at any moment.
So, he was just a so-called Messenger who had been seen through by the Emperor.
Could it be… there’s really no God of Light in this world at all?
As that thought crossed his mind, Morris felt a shock of terror run through him, while Bel sat before him, his gaze as cold as ice.
