A few minutes later.
The battle ended almost as swiftly and violently as a tempest.
The crew and guards on the merchant ship's deck had scarcely been given a chance to resist before they were thoroughly subdued and bound. Their weapons lay scattered across the deck, leaving them with nothing but powerless fists.
Their eyes brimmed with terror and anguish, seemingly incapable of comprehending why they had been attacked by Resurrection Church cultists, and unwilling to imagine what fate awaited them next.
Among everyone aboard the merchant vessel, only Viscount Francis remained standing unbound. A faint, barely perceptible tension drained the color from his cheeks, leaving his normally dignified appearance looking somewhat haggard.
Yet he let out a wry, helpless laugh of resignation.
Viscount Francis had likely deduced what was happening.
The prominent figures back in the city had undoubtedly lost their patience, eager to supplant him, and by sheer coincidence, a preposterous opportunity had arisen to eliminate him through the hands of the Resurrection Church.
Though fury blazed in his chest, Viscount Francis was all too aware of reality. In this chaotic age, the slightest misstep would see one crushed beneath the great wheel of fate.
This band of silver-robed Resurrection Church cultists possessed overwhelming power. From their brief clash, Viscount Francis had gained a clear appreciation of the absolute disparity in their combat strength.
Indeed, had the attackers wished it, he and his crew would already have lost their lives.
Just as this stifling anxiety seeped into every corner of the deck, the silver-armored priest leading the Resurrection Church cultists strode over.
This silver-armored priest was powerful enough that no one in their entire city could match him.
In the imperial capital, Tier 5 might not be rare; some exceptionally brilliant prodigies at the Imperial Royal Magic Academy even possessed Tier 5 strength at a young age.
Yet in a remote city-state like theirs, even Tier 3 was enough to be considered a mighty mercenary or adventurer.
And Viscount Francis's capable secretary-cum-guard happened to be a Tier 4 powerhouse.
Yet against this silver-armored priest, he had been crushed in just two or three blows, helpless as a child unable to fight back against a grown adult.
To border folk like them, the Resurrection Church cultists were completely out of their league—a crushing strike from a higher dimension.
No one could stand against the cultists of the Domination branch, renowned for their ferocious combat prowess.
"Let's make this short."
Viscount Francis stood there expressionless, smoke curling from the corner of his lips.
Under the watchful gaze of several cultists, he took a deep drag and flicked the cigarette butt into the sea.
He tried his best to appear calm.
Since the other side hadn't killed him outright, it meant there might still be room for negotiation.
To negotiate with Resurrection Church cultists, or even compromise, was a humiliation. But if it could save the innocent lives on this vessel and his daughter waiting back in town, he had no choice even if it meant setting aside his pride.
The man striding up to him was the priest clad in silver armor, radiating an oppressive aura far more daunting than the rest.
If he so wished, he could effortlessly take the head of anyone on this ship.
"Viscount Francis." The silver-armored priest chuckled, crossing his arms over his chest. "What is your attitude toward our Resurrection Church?"
"From what I know, I want nothing to do with you," Viscount Francis replied.
The silver-armored priest smiled, seemingly unsurprised by Viscount Francis's blunt honesty.
This was precisely why, compared to that fat pig who knew only how to scheme, he preferred this forthright viscount.
If forced to choose a partner, the silver-armored priest would actually rather cooperate with Viscount Francis than that deceitful schemer who might stab him in the back at any moment.
After all, the Bishop of Domination had ordered them to combine wisdom and force to establish absolute hegemony as clergy across various towns, winning over the populace and making them embrace their doctrine—all while avoiding trouble by not violating imperial law.
Though in their view, breaking the law didn't count as breaking the law so long as one wasn't caught.
Even so, he still wished to avoid any unnecessary risks.
"We are actively adapting to our environment these days. The fact that not a single soul has been harmed is proof of my utmost sincerity."
With that, the silver-armored priest produced a bracelet.
"However, the core doctrine of our Bishop of Domination is faith in the natural order: the strong rule the weak. Just as at this very moment, you have no power to resist us, and I would much prefer that you willingly cooperate with us."
"Is that so...? That certainly sounds like something you would do."
Viscount Francis sneered, finding it utterly laughable.
He recognized the bracelet as a magical item akin to those used by slave traders when binding lower-tier slaves under contract.
The priest spouted high-sounding principles, yet was resorting to the same vile, underhanded methods.
"I believe you have already made your decision, Lord Viscount," the silver-armored priest said, looking directly at Viscount Francis.
Although the binding ritual was somewhat tedious, bringing Viscount Francis completely under control would mark a massive step toward the success of their missionary goals.
Right then, an imperceptible little flying insect drifted behind the silver-armored priest.
"Come see me."
The aloof, brief command sounding right by his ear put the silver-armored priest on instant alert.
"At the end of the second-floor corridor."
Another sentence.
Yet when the silver-armored priest whipped around, he found no trace of the sound's origin.
Before his eyes, a faint blue luminescence dispersed along with a trace of mana.
His brow furrowed tightly. He was certain no one had approached him to speak from behind.
A targeted voice transmission spell like this might not necessarily be high-tier, but he found it quite remarkable—who knew there was a mage aboard with such fancy tricks?
"Keep a close watch on Viscount Francis first."
A chilly smile curled the corner of the silver-armored priest's mouth. He wanted to see just who was playing these cryptic games.
Besides, an uncertain variable that even he hadn't detected was something he needed to eliminate in person.
From the ship's deck, the priest in silver armor slowly descended the stairs. His armor gleamed with a cold, harsh luster in the sunlight, reflecting against the azure waves of the surrounding sea.
Though his pace was steady, every step exuded an indescribable intimidation.
Stepping into the cabin, he glanced around, searching for his target.
Before long, the priest reached the end of the second-floor corridor. His gaze fixed upon the final door. Pausing briefly before it, he sensed neither powerful mana fluctuations nor any scent of a trap. With a soft click, he turned the handle and pushed the door open.
The room was simply furnished, yet not lacking in elegance.
A single bed, a small desk, and a bookshelf filled with books and documents.
There was no one else here, yet a peculiar atmosphere permeated the room, as though it were a crossroads of knowledge, power, and faith.
Seated upon the bed was a young man.
Supple, light-brown hair fell over his forehead, partially veiling his eyes, yet doing nothing to obscure his calm, effortless composure.
In his hands was a volume of imperial statutes. He seemed to be seeking an answer within its pages, each turn of a leaf like another layer of contemplation added.
Toward the silver-armored priest who had barged in, he showed utter indifference—as though he sensed no danger at all, or simply did not consider this the slightest threat.
"Was it Your Excellency who summoned me?" the silver-armored priest asked, staring intently at the youth.
The youth possessed an extraordinary demeanor, yet the priest could not detect the aura of a powerhouse from him either.
He would never spare any weakling who dared to make a fool of him.
And if the person were truly powerful, he would gladly seek guidance.
Proving strength and weakness was an indispensable step in practicing their doctrine.
"..."
The brown-haired youth closed the code of laws in his hands and slowly lifted his head.
Though he uttered not a word, the air seemed to congeal around him. His silence was neither powerlessness nor detachment, but a self-evident authority that made anyone present feel his inner resolve and supreme confidence.
His emerald-green eyes held no obvious anger or displeasure; rather, it was an unfathomable, lofty majesty. For reasons he could not fathom, the silver-armored priest felt an involuntary twinge of uncertainty in his heart.
At last, after a moment had passed.
"Which department are you with? Who is your superior?"
Lanqi spoke in an even, placid tone, inquiring.
He still had to go back and tutor the viscount's daughter.
How had some subordinate department shown up midway to cause trouble?
Chapter 241