Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king - Chapter 467

Chapter 467: The higher authority(3) Chapter 467: The higher authority(3) The chest gleamed under the golden candlelight, its contents more radiant than the silks and incense that surrounded it.

Silverii and gold coins were stacked in it, with of course the gold coins being the one at the top for , awe-effect.

Aron watched as the High Priest’s thick fingers twitched, his breath hitching ever so slightly at the sight of so much wealth laid before him.

The gleam in his eyes was unmistakable-hunger, barely concealed beneath a mask of solemnity.

Aron had seen that look before, on merchants counting their profits.

But never had it been more apparent than now in the supposed holy man who sat draped in the finery of the gods.

Maybe it should be worrying that our highest religious authority is a fat, greedy man ,Aron thought as he resolved to perhaps say a prayer about it one of those evenings when he had nothing to do.  For now however such situation adressed his prince’s needs perfectly.

His gaze flickered from the priest to the bribe, a fortune beyond what Jasmine’s father had ever managed to gather in the royal treasury.

Back in the old prince’s reign, such a sum would have been unthinkable.

Yet now, here it was, packed in a single chest, offered freely.

12,000 coins.

A number chosen not on a whim, but with painstaking deliberation.

Too little, and the high priest might feign disinterest, unwilling to risk his position for a mere pittance, especially given the magnitude of what he was to ask.

Too much, and the treasury would bleed, leaving them vulnerable should war descend upon their lands.

The realm could not afford reckless generosity-not when the threat of war loomed on the horizon, dark and inevitable.

After all money was perhapse more important the food when dealing with the war effort.

So his grace had chosen wisely, selecting the perfect sum-an amount that would both entice and satisfy.

And now, as Aron observed the unguarded avarice in the High Priest’s gaze, he knew without a doubt.

His grace had chosen correctly.

The High Priest finally tore his gaze away from the glimmering hoard, blinking as if rousing himself from a pleasant dream.

His thick fingers curled over the armrests of his golden throne, gripping them as if to steady himself.

Then, with the carefully practiced solemnity of a man who wished to appear unmoved by wealth, he straightened his posture and cleared his throat.

“Her liege’s generosity is…

most welcome,” he said, his voice rich and deep, like honey poured over stone.

“For the noble work of aiding the less fortunate and the miserable.” Aron bowed his head slightly, the corners of his mouth lifting just enough to show the appropriate level of deference without slipping into outright servility.

“Her grace will be most pleased to know that her silver shall be used for such a noble purpose,” he replied smoothly, his tone betraying not a hint of irony.

The priest smiled-small, pleased.

But then, as if reminded of his own station, he let out a deep, measured sigh and leaned back against his gilded throne.

His fingers tapped idly against the armrest, and his sharp, beady eyes refocused on Aron, scrutinizing him now not as a mere messenger, but as a man who had something to request with that bribe.

“While I am always grateful for more resources to further the gods’ holy mission,” he mused, voice slow and deliberate, “I cannot help but wonder if generosity alone moved your liege’s hand in this matter.

A gift of such magnitude… surely, it is not without purpose?” A lesser diplomat might have balked under the weight of such a question.

But Aron had been prepared for this, as surely as he had been prepared for the steep ascent to this grand cathedral.

He did not flinch, nor did he hesitate.

Instead, he gave a small nod, as if he had expected nothing less.

“Your holiness is wise,” Aron said, keeping his voice measured.

“Indeed, this is not merely a gift, but a fine.

A sum her grace felt compelled to offer, given the sorrowful event that has befallen her lands.” The priest’s expression hardened ever so slightly.

He did not interrupt, but Aron could see the unspoken question forming behind his dark, calculating eyes.

“And,” Aron continued, “It is also given in the hopes that her grace might request something in return.” At this, the High Priest’s thick white brow arched ever so slightly.

The amusement of before had vanished, and now, a sharper, more assessing look settled onto his face.

The Yarzat envoy took a measured breath before continuing.

“The issue, Your Holiness, lies not only in the unfortunate tragedy itself but in what may follow.

The priest who met his end…

he brought suffering upon the land.

Through his actions, fires were set, and innocent lives were lost-lives that, I must clarify, belonged mostly to unbelievers.

Unbelievers, yes, but ones whom Her Grace had welcomed with generosity, granting them land to settle on.

Not out of folly, nor out of defiance, but with the intention that, in time, they might find their way back to the righteous path.

Lost sheep, gently guided home.” At this, the High Priest’s brows furrowed deeply, the lines on his forehead carving a map of displeasure.

His fingers ceased their idle drumming, and for the first time since the start of the meeting, true scrutiny settled into his gaze.

“And tell me,” he said, his voice quieter now, but no less heavy, “was it these unbelievers who took his life?” Aron was already shaking his head before the High Priest had finished speaking.

“Some individuals, Your Holiness, were guilty of that .

Of course the perpetrators, the ones who committed this grievous act, have long since been executed.

Justice has already been served.” He let the words hang in the air for a moment before continuing, keeping his tone even, diplomatic.

“The problem is not in what happened, but in may come.

There are those among the clergy who may not be satisfied with the punishment of a few.

I fear that some priests may demand that Her Grace extend that guilt to the entire settlement-to all of those who dwell within it-regardless of whether they had any part in what transpired.” A shadow passed over the High Priest’s face, though he said nothing yet.

Aron pressed on.

“But the true dilemma is this: Her Grace, having already ensured that those responsible have met their end, will refuse to punish the innocent.

She will not allow an entire settlement to suffer for the crimes of a few.” The High Priest exhaled slowly, his expression unreadable.

“And should such a refusal become known,” Aron continued, “it will not be long before this matter is reported, spreading beyond our lands.

There will be voices among the faithful-priests too fervent in their rage, too consumed by indignation to see reason.

Priests who will call for condemnation, for retribution, against Her Grace herself…

all because she did not punish further.

And that, Your Holiness, is where the true danger lies.” The High Priest let out a slow breath, his lips pressing into a thin line before he finally spoke.

“They would do well to demand such a thing,” he said, his voice grave yet unwavering.

“Unbelievers dared to kill a man of the gods-a servant of the divine!

Such an act cannot simply be washed away with the blood of a few.” He leaned forward, his fingers tapping against the gilded armrest of his throne as his gaze bore into Aron.

“Her Grace should do well to cleanse her lands properly.

Those who refuse to convert to the rightful preaching should be cast out or put to the sword.

This is not some lawless hinterland where savagery and false idols are allowed to take root.

This-” he gestured broadly, as if to encompass the entire continent in one sweeping motion “-is the land of civilization.

A land graced by the gods.

We are their chosen people, and we cannot allow heresy to fester within our borders.” His voice grew heavier, each word striking like the tolling of a bell.

“To permit unbelievers to live in peace among us is to invite corruption.

The rot spreads, slow at first, then all at once.

And if we allow it to fester, it will not be long before the sickness reaches even the faithful.

That is something we cannot allow.” His words settled into the air like dust after a great storm-suffocating, inescapable.

Aron remained still, his expression unreadable, though behind his eyes, thoughts churned like a sea before a tempest.

Aron had known this resistance would come.

It was inevitable.

Allowing unbelievers to settle on the land of the Star was already a matter of controversy, tolerated only because of His Grace’s careful maneuvering .

But for those very same unbelievers to now bear the blame for the killing of a priest?

That was something else entirely.

To the High Priest, it was blasphemy beyond reason, a sin that could not be ignored.

And Aron knew that unless he played his hand with precision, unless he used every card at his disposal, the condemnation would go forward.

The settlement would be purged.

He could already see the fires in his mind.

Houses reduced to charred husks.

And all the efforts that his Grace had obtained burning to smokes.

That could not happen.

Not because he cared about some unbelievers’ well-being, but because the last thing he wanted to do was to displease the man holding the key for his success.

He had to succeed for his own sake.