The Northern Continent's Darkest Hour

Late January, on the southern coast of the Protos Empire in the Northern Continent. Along this warmer coastline, snow was hardly a common sight. Lilom City had always been a warm, lively city with the sea as its backdrop. Situated on the remote western edge of the southern border, it lay far from the Protos Empire's major southern ports. Behind it stretched vast mountain forests, requiring a journey of over a hundred kilometers to reach the nearest inland city. For the most part, it was merely a tourist destination. Though not particularly wealthy, its scenery was magnificent. The entire city was spread across a chain of coastal islets connected by bridges. These artistic spans were Lilom City's most striking landmarks, facilitating transit while offering splendid vistas of the sea. Yet during this rare, bitterly cold winter, the storm seemed to have swept all the way from the imperial capital in the north to border cities like theirs. A light snow drifted down into the night. The beam from the lighthouse flickered faintly through the thin veil of snow. Ships moored in the harbor were dusted with a light coat of white. The seabirds no longer chattered, having tucked themselves away into cabins or the warm hollows of the lighthouse. Masts cast dreamy silhouettes against the distant lights through the falling flakes. Snow fell softly upon the city's flagstone streets, melting into the slush already covering the ground. Along the long road leading from the harbor to the city hall, streetlamps were cloaked in snow, their light turned soft and hazy as it filtered through the frosty glass. After dark, pedestrians grew scarce. The few who did appear were bundled in thick coats and hats, hurrying along. Their footsteps left wet tracks on the ground, staining the newly fallen snow a murky black. These citizens did not seem to be fleeing merely from the cold. Rather, it was the harmonious yet eerie transformation sweeping the Protos Empire of late, and the silver-robed clerics who now strode brazenly through the streets. In the deep of night, as even the moonlight was obscured... Not far from city hall, within a mansion befitting nobility and power. Crimson tapestries draped the walls, their intricate embroidery depicting scenes of war, trade, harmony, and prosperity, showcasing the history and glory of the Protos Empire. In the parlor, two men sat comfortably in chairs forged of moonwood and metal, drinking across from each other. It looked like a banquet of villains—a sight that had never truly vanished throughout the history of the Northern Continent. "My lord of the Resurrection Church, a toast on behalf of the city lord." The man in tailored finery made for his stout frame was clearly an aristocrat of this city-state. He raised his glass and drained it in a single gulp. "Viscount Francis simply fails to recognize the times. He cannot see the grand picture of the empire today." The noble shook his head with an expression of deep lament, looking every bit like an upright man troubled by the state of the world. As for whom he considered qualified to govern this city-state, his servile demeanor toward the cleric before him spoke louder than words. "...Actually, I rather appreciate that lord." Opposite the noble, the silver-armored cleric who worshipped an evil deity swirled his wineglass, murmuring. Around his neck hung an azure, grotesque holy seal. The holy seal on his chest was a Blue Precious [Proof of Resurrection - Domination]. Members of the Resurrection Church bearing a [Proof of Resurrection] of this grade were all high-ranking clerics with substantial authority. The Purple Rare seals above it belonged almost exclusively to a bishop's direct guards or confidants, figures far too eminent to be found in a remote border region like this. Pink Sacred belonged to the Saints and Saintesses chosen by the bishops, beings beyond reach, while Epic grade was the [Proof of Bishop]. Under normal circumstances... Members of the Resurrection Church took great pains to conceal their [Proof of Resurrection], displaying it only when proving their identity to colleagues. Hardly anyone short of mad would brazenly wear it openly as a medallion. Yet now... In the Protos Empire, the Resurrection Church had been recognized as a legitimate religion. The Cardinals who had long been notorious across the Northern Continent, feared and loathed by every race, had now become Archbishops whom the empire's people were expected to revere. This earth-shattering shift had not been coerced by the Resurrection Church—nor did the church possess the power to coerce the Protos Empire. It had been the empire's own choice. A few years ago, anyone would have thought the empire had gone mad. Yet at this moment, it was reality. "But that lord... Viscount Francis leans heavily toward the Church of the Goddess of Fate. His attitude toward your Resurrection Church is plainly evident, full of suspicion and dread. Above all... there is no way he would embrace the doctrines of the Bishop of Domination." The noble spoke carefully, sipping his red wine while studying the expression of the silver-armored cleric opposite him. "Then it seems... he is indeed guilty." The silver-armored cleric turned his head toward the small fountain in the courtyard, murmuring thoughtfully to himself. From inside to out, the entire mansion was pleasantly warm, with murmuring water, in stark and tranquil contrast to the city's tense atmosphere—or perhaps they were the very source dictating that atmosphere. "Indeed. So that you may preach more smoothly in this city, and to prevent malicious authorities from smearing your church's image, I believe the upper echelons of this city need a change." The noble wore a satisfied smirk. He drained the rest of his wine and wiped the red liquid from his lips with his sleeve. "...Although our Resurrection Church is now an orthodox sect recognized by the Protos Empire, we cannot blatantly violate imperial law, or we will still be imprisoned as criminals." The silver-armored cleric seemed to ponder for a moment before speaking slowly. To move against a legitimate noble of the empire—the lord of Lilom City, Viscount Francis—would bring grave charges if the imperial authorities investigated and uncovered the truth. Even as a high-ranking cleric of the Resurrection Church, he would be made an example of. "Did you know? The lord's daughter possesses atavistic demon traits. Even though both her parents are undoubtedly human, someone with demon traits like hers is still considered a half-demon and has no right of inheritance. Once Viscount Francis is gone, I will swiftly make her my dependent, and I shall take control of this city-state. I guarantee that any aftermath will sink without a trace; she will have zero opportunity to bring officials from the imperial capital to investigate the cause of Viscount Francis's death." The corners of the noble's mouth curled up, the fat on his face wobbling, clearly harboring vile intentions. In name, she would be a concubine; in truth, such filthy vermin were fit only to be his plaything and slave. "You truly are a wicked fellow." The silver-armored cleric smiled and picked up his glass. Although dealing with such a noble left leverage in his hands, the man would never have the nerve to cross clerics of the Domination branch. After all, they were hardly virtuous themselves. If the Bishop of Domination were truly angered, this entire city-state could be wiped from existence in an instant. A noble like this was nothing more than a worm. "So what do you say, my lord? Viscount Francis is currently at sea, expected to return from the eastern main port city in the coming days. I can provide you with his customary route and schedule." The noble poured another half-glass of wine for the cleric and asked. In the past, colluding with an evil cult like the Resurrection Church meant execution upon discovery. Now, the Resurrection Church had been brought out into the open. Commissioning services from them within the empire did not even require secret channels; one could approach them publicly anytime. Even the temples in Lilom City had been handed over to the Resurrection Church. Yet everyone knew full well what kind of specialty services the Resurrection Church retained. The Protos Empire was currently in a volatile gray period. If one did not seize the opportunity now, once the empire completed its transformation and stabilized, such an opening might never come again. "Then allow me to lend you a hand." The silver-armored cleric leaned back in his chair, folding his arms as his armor creaked. Viscount Francis was indeed an obstacle. It was just as well to remove him. After all, the weak being slain by the strong was only natural. If Viscount Francis died with grievances unavenged, he had only his own weakness to blame. "I will fetch the nautical chart detailing Viscount Francis's usual route and arrange ships for you and your clerics. When the time comes, you can approach them without raising any alarm." The noble stood up, chuckling as his belly shook. Imperial policy, the Resurrection Church, turmoil in the north—none of that concerned him. All that mattered was what would happen once he held power. Knowledge was power, and power ruled over everything in sight. Few understood how sweet its taste truly was. Once authority and might colluded, even black could be washed white; they themselves became justice. The empire now was absurd yet wonderful. It was a carnival of villains. "I'll go with you." The silver-armored cleric rose as well, seemingly finished with the dinner. The noble naturally welcomed the cleric's company through the mansion. They walked along the corridor and up the stairs, soon arriving at the third-floor study, which offered a sweeping view of the night. The calendar hanging on the wall had recently been flipped to a new year. It was now Solar Calendar 1798. Upon the dark wooden desk lay stacks of official dispatches from the imperial capital. Most were notices regarding remnants of the Church of the Goddess of Fate. If any such fugitives were spotted in border cities, the provincial capital was to be notified immediately, followed by a report to the Imperial Military Department. "How ironic. In just two short months, the once-glorious Church of the Goddess of Fate has been swept right out of the empire." The noble pulled open a drawer and glanced at the papers, shaking his head with a touch of irony. Though all this madness baffled the common folk, someone like him, well-versed in political currents, could discern some clues. The Protos Empire needed the strength of the Resurrection Church. Following that, there would likely be a grand reckoning with the nations to the northwest. Though he did not know precisely what changes were taking place within the empire, eliminating the obstructive Church of the Goddess of Fate was undoubtedly paving the way for all of it. Yet among these dispatches... A red warning notice stood out prominently. It had drawn the silver-armored cleric's gaze almost from the start. Upon it were stamped the personal details of High Priest Loren of the Church of the Goddess of Fate in the Southern Continent, commanding all southern port cities to be on high alert for this figure. Even if the turmoil surrounding the Church of the Goddess of Fate in the Northern Continent might prompt their southern counterparts to send reinforcements... Such a possibility was vanishingly small. High Priest Loren was unlikely to abandon the defense of his homeland to cross the sea to the Northern Continent in person. The Bishop of Destruction, Ivanos, was more than enough trouble for him. Meanwhile, the Saintess of the Church of the Goddess of Fate was far to the northwest in the Kingdom of Asethelan, posing no threat of infiltrating the Protos Empire's heartland from the southern coast behind them. "The empire is absurdly cautious." The silver-armored cleric picked up the notice and sighed. The very first line of the dispatch regarding Loren read: *If the bearer of the [Original Slate - Wind] is discovered, report to the Imperial Military Department immediately.* Beneath the text were illustrations of the [Original Slate - Wind] and examples of the distinctive glow produced by the slate whenever its bearer cast wind magic. Since supreme powerhouses like Loren typically traveled under exquisite disguises, ordinary methods would never uncover him if he infiltrated. Yet he had one weakness: the moment he used his signature wind magic, the phenomenon inevitably caused by the [Original Slate - Wind] struck straight to the soul, impossible to imitate and glaringly obvious. Thus, recognizing the slate was far better than trying to recognize the man. Whoever carried the [Original Slate - Wind] was indisputably Loren. "Heh, though High Priest Loren is said to be an honorable man unlikely to resort to underhanded, despicable tactics, the empire has always been exceptionally wary of true powerhouses. In the off chance he actually risked leaving his native southern kingdom unattended and slipped secretly into the empire..." The noble chimed in. "The empire simply doesn't understand Loren." The silver-armored cleric set the red dispatch down and shook his head. "Even if he came, he would openly support the Kingdom of Asethelan. He would never sneak deep into the empire to commit sabotage, nor would he have the nerve to cause trouble in the imperial capital." "Unless he's gone mad and plans to break into the imperial capital prison to release all those great demons locked away for a century. That might actually throw the Protos Empire into utter chaos." The noble spoke in a flattering, joking tone to echo the cleric's thoughts; they found great common ground on the subject. Hearing that, the silver-armored cleric actually furrowed his brows and considered it seriously. He had to admit, the noble had the mind of a villain. Unfortunately, leaderless Tier 8 demons possessed no cohesion whatsoever; fundamentally, they were nowhere near as threatening as people imagined. The silver-armored cleric soon burst into laughter. The noble's joke had finally amused him. "Daring to enter that prison? He'd be walking straight into his own doom!" The noble joined in with a vicious chuckle. The Church of the Goddess of Fate was now classified as an evil cult in the Protos Empire. A cult leader like Loren, if he dared show his face, would never escape imperial judgment—he would undoubtedly be thrown into that very prison!