Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king - Chapter 468

Chapter 468: The higher authority(4) Chapter 468: The higher authority(4) Aron kept his face carefully neutral, though inside, he felt the pressure mounting.

The High Priest was unwavering, as expected, but there was still room to maneuver-he had to make him see reason, or at least convince him that this purge would be more trouble than it was worth.

He took a steady breath and began, his tone respectful yet firm.

“Your Holiness, in the short three months since the settlement was established, something remarkable has taken place.” Aron gestured with a slow, deliberate hand.

“Many of these unbelievers-men and women who had never before known the grace of the Star-have already seen the light.

They have embraced the faith, casting aside their false idols and their empty traditions.

And why?

Because they were given time.

Given the chance to work the land, to build homes, to live under the watchful eye of the faithful, and in that time, the truth of our faith reached them.” The High Priest watched him, unimpressed, his thick fingers tapping lightly against the golden armrest of his throne.

Aron pressed forward.

“They pay their taxes as every other subject of Her Grace does.

They till the fields, they mend the roads, they contribute to the prosperity of the land.

And in return, the Crown has extended to them its protection, as is only just.” His eyes locked onto the High Priest’s.

“It would not reflect well on the Crown to rescind such a promise.” The High Priest let out a low chuckle, his lips curling in amusement.

“If that is what troubles you, dear envoy, you need not fear.

The Crown will be forgiven for breaking its word.” He leaned forward slightly, his thick, bejeweled hand waving in a dismissive gesture.

“Promises made to unbelievers are not bound by the will of the gods.

They are like etchings in the sand-washed away when the tide changes.

If Her Grace worries for her soul, I will personally absolve her of any guilt.

And I will ensure that the Church does the same.” Aron clenched his jaw but forced himself to keep his composure.

“And what of those who have already converted?” he countered.

“If the settlement is purged, they will be swept away with the rest.

Those who have taken the Star into their hearts will burn alongside those who have rejected it.

Do their lives mean nothing?” The High Priest exhaled heavily, a flicker of impatience crossing his round face.

“Then they shall be given one final chance.

An ultimatum.

Convert or die.Let the believers out of the settlement and kill the rest” Aron felt the sting of frustration, but he did not let it show.

Instead, he shook his head slowly.

“And what do you think will happen after that, Your Holiness?” His voice remained measured, but there was a sharp edge beneath it now.

“If the Crown allows this to happen, no other tribe will dare to come to our lands.

The conversions will stop.

The opportunity to bring more souls into the faith will vanish.

Do you truly believe that is what the gods would wish?” The High Priest’s face darkened.

His fingers curled slightly against the golden armrest, his thick rings glinting in the candlelight.

“If it means preventing the rot from spreading, then yes.

If it means ensuring that our faith remains pure, then yes.

If it means cutting away diseased flesh before it poisons the body-then yes.” Aron met his gaze unflinchingly.

He had expected this answer.

He had seen it coming before he ever set foot in this grand, gilded hall.

And yet, he was not finished.

Not yet.

He had one last card Aron inhaled deeply, letting the silence linger between them for a moment before speaking.

His next words would have to be chosen carefully.

“Your Holiness, has history not taught us the way?” His voice was calm but unwavering.

“The very Shield of the Star, in his long and illustrious history, allowed tribes from across the sea, even those from beyond the Bane, to settle upon our lands.

And within three generations-no more-they were fully converted, their false gods forgotten, their faith placed solely in the Star.” He leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice just enough to force the High Priest to listen intently.

“Time, Your Holiness.

Time has always been our greatest ally in matters of conversion.” The High Priest remained silent, but Aron could see the skepticism in his eyes, the way his fingers twitched as if resisting the urge to wave off his argument.

Words alone wouldn’t convince him.

Nor would gold, no matter how much it gleamed inside that chest.

No, if reason and greed would not move him, perhaps fear would do the trick.

Aron straightened his posture and delivered his next words with precision.

“The Lord Regent himself has expressed his approval of the Crown’s plans to settle these people onto our lands.” The effect was immediate.

The High Priest’s expression changed in an instant, his amusement and disdain vanishing like a candle blown out by the wind.

His body stiffened, his eyes narrowing as he sat up straighter upon his golden throne.

Aron did not miss the way his fingers tightened around the armrest.

“What?” the High Priest asked, his voice lower, laced with sudden unease.

Aron pressed forward.

“The Lord Regent not only approved but even contributed to their resettlement, providing food to aid in their transition.” For the first time, the High Priest looked truly shaken.

Aron had expected this.

After all, the man sitting before him may have been the highest religious authority on the continent, but he was still a creature of politics.

And politics was dictated by power.

And the Lord Regent held far more power than the High Priest ever could.

The High Priest exhaled through his nose, a deep, heavy sound, his gaze flickering as though scrambling to make sense of this revelation.

“I fail to see how the protector of the one true faith would do such a thing,” he muttered, his voice uncertain in a way it hadn’t been before.

“After hearing of the killing of a priest… surely, surely he would not be so willing to support those responsible.” Aron allowed himself the smallest of smiles.

He had him now.

“Once all the evidence of what truly happened was laid out before him, the Lord Regent expressed his full support for the Crown’s continued efforts in the settlement process.” The High Priest’s lips parted slightly, his breath hitching in what could only be described as shock.

His fingers, which had moments ago curled with indignation, now seemed to loosen, as if the weight of what Aron had said was settling into his very bones.

The High Priest’s fingers twitched upon the gilded armrest of his throne, his nails tapping against the gold as he processed Aron’s words.

His face remained composed, but there was a flicker of something beneath the surface-an unease, a restrained irritation.

Aron did not give him time to regain his footing.

He pressed on.

“Lord Marthio himself,” he said smoothly, “does not believe this was a murder of an agent of the gods.

Rather, he sees it as an unfortunate misuse of unsanctioned justice in response to the priest’s own crimes.” At that, the High Priest stiffened.

His back straightened, his chin lifted slightly, and the calm veil he had worn so far cracked to reveal something much more dangerous beneath.

His lips pressed into a thin line, his nostrils flaring ever so slightly.

“Blasphemy,” he muttered, his voice carrying an edge of restrained anger.

Aron knew he was walking upon thin ice now, but there was no room for retreat.

If he backed down, all negotiations would crumble, and her grace’s lands would be at the mercy of religious fervor.

He had to hold his ground.

“Your Holiness,” he said, his voice measured but firm, “if a priest is accused of arson, with proof-proof, mind you-and is responsible for the deaths of multiple innocent people, what is the proper sentence?” The High Priest’s eyes narrowed.

He leaned back into his throne, as if to create distance between himself and the question.

The movement was subtle, but Aron noticed it.

The hesitation.

The discomfort.

There was only one answer.

And they both knew it.

After a long pause, the High Priest finally spoke.

“Such a sentence,” he said, voice slow, deliberate, “is to be decided by a council composed entirely of priests.” Aron inclined his head, as if in agreement, before delivering his final strike.

“And such a tribunal would have, without doubt, passed a sentence of death upon a priest accused of such vile crimes.” The High Priest’s lips curled ever so slightly downward.

Aron could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers drummed against the armrest.

He was losing ground, and he knew it.

But then, after a long, simmering silence, the High Priest let out a sharp breath and spoke once more, his tone clipped, cold.

“The killing of unbelievers and heretics,” he said, his voice heavy with disdain, “cannot be accounted as proper murder.” Aron had expected nothing less than that answer.

He had known from the moment he set foot inside the cathedral that the High Priest would not waver in his belief-that to kill an unbeliever was not a crime, that the lives of heretics were worth nothing in the eyes of the gods.

But he had prepared for this.

He took a slow, deliberate breath and pressed forward.

“As I mentioned before, Your Holiness,” he said, his voice smooth, unwavering, “many of them had already converted to the true faith.

In fact, I fear that among the victims who perished in the priest’s reckless game of arson, there were true believers.” The High Priest reeled back, his expression tightening.

His fingers stopped drumming against the armrest.

Aron saw the slight widening of his eyes, the flicker of hesitation.

He had struck the nerve he needed.

But he gave the man no time to recover.

“And if that is the case,” Aron continued swiftly, “then what transpired cannot be accounted as an act of murder against unbelievers and heretics.

Rather, it becomes exactly what the wise Lord Regent himself has named it-a misuse of unsanctioned justice.

Those responsible did not commit sacrilege but rather acted outside the proper judicial process.

The crime, therefore, was not in their actions themselves but in their failure to allow the judgment of the priests to be carried out as dictated by sacred law.” The words were carefully chosen, each syllable a precise instrument meant to carve away at the High Priest’s stance without striking at his pride.

“Which, of course, is a crime in its own right,” Aron added, “and one that has already been addressed.

The perpetrators were executed, as is only just for such reckless impunity.” Silence stretched between them.

The High Priest said nothing.

He merely stared at Aron, his gaze unreadable, his mind undoubtedly racing as he weighed the words laid before him.

Aron did not break the silence.

He simply held the man’s gaze, unwavering.

Now, it was a matter of whether the High Priest would accept the path he had been carefully guided toward-or if his stubbornness would push him to fight against the reality placed before him, deciding along with it if Aron was to report to his prince the sentence that he feared would put an end to his rising career.