“Mr. Fagreim, please inform him.”
A knight solemnly handed a box wrapped in red silk to Fagreim, then bowed.
Fagreim took the box, his brow slightly furrowing as he glanced at Beikeze, a vague suspicion forming in his mind.
He said nothing.
Matters within the Church were not his concern, and he knew better than to meddle.
“Archbishop, one item is still missing.”
Beikeze studied Fagreim’s expression.
Upon hearing Fagreim’s words, he nodded gently.
“Indeed…”
As he spoke, he handed the silver hairpin in his hand to the nearest knight, who then passed it to Fagreim.
Fagreim looked at the bloodstains on the hairpin, then picked it up and sniffed it lightly.
His gaze returned to Beikeze.
“Please wait a moment, Archbishop. I’ll go inform Tolke immediately.”
Without hesitation and without another glance at Beikeze, Fagreim turned and entered the blacksmith shop.
Beikeze’s eyes swept the area, his fingertips lightly rubbing the hem of his clothes.
“I hope it works…”
The Two-Cup Core, countless Ziying, and the quasi-artifact fragment provided by Nisangdo…
As Beikeze pondered, a knight hurried over and knelt on one knee before him, his tone urgent:
“Archbishop, something seems to have happened at the Southern Mine Vein… Lord Mosen cannot resolve it, and Lord Lutherch just left for there not long ago.”
“Oh?”
Beikeze was somewhat surprised.
He hadn’t expected Lutherch to leave the stronghold at this moment.
“What about Nisangdo?”
The knight bowed, lowering his voice further.
“Grand Mage Nisangdo… was also taken by Lord Lutherch to the Southern Mine Vein.”
Beikeze’s brow suddenly tightened, his face instantly darkening.
A cold anger mixed with the alertness of being set up surged through him.
The black mark on his arm seemed to burn slightly, and the wound at his temple, just healed, throbbed with a dull ache.
Yet this darkness lasted only the briefest moment.
Beikeze took a deep breath, forcibly suppressing his churning emotions.
Time was of the essence.
The conflict and corruption within him could erupt at any moment.
He couldn’t afford to waste time.
What mattered now was completing this step before him.
He slowly shook his head, burying his doubts about Lutherch and Nisangdo deep in his heart.
For now, the items inside the blacksmith shop were the key.
Just then, the heavy door of the blacksmith shop creaked open a crack.
Fagreim stepped out, his gaze calm as it swept over Beikeze and the knights behind him, finally settling on Beikeze.
His voice was steady, betraying no emotion.
“Archbishop Beikeze, please come in. Tolke is waiting inside.”
He paused, then added:
“The apprentices have all been dismissed. As per your wishes, and for safety’s sake, so…”
Without more words, Fagreim simply stepped aside to clear the path.
Inside, the characteristic heat and metallic scent of the Silver Forging Area rushed out, but at this moment, it was eerily silent, with only the faint crackling of the furnace fire.
Waving away the knight behind him, Beikeze strode straight in.
As the blacksmith shop door closed, the heat hit him, making Beikeze tug at his collar.
“Tolke, how are the items?”
Beikeze’s voice was calm, as if unconcerned.
At Beikeze’s query, Tolke, who was scrutinizing the silver hairpin at the far end, slowly raised his head.
“I wouldn’t say this to just anyone, but I have to ask… aren’t you afraid?”
Tolke’s voice was remarkably clear in the scorching forging area.
The firelight danced across his face, illuminating his knitted brows and scrutinizing gaze.
His rough fingers pinched the silver hairpin still bearing dark, dried bloodstains, and the dull stone at the hairpin’s tip glimmered faintly in the firelight.
Beikeze’s hand, tugging at his collar, paused slightly, then dropped.
He lifted his face, and the new black mark on his right arm pulsed faintly in the firelight, emitting a cold, stinging pain.
The wound at his temple, though healed, still throbbed with intermittent pain.
He didn’t answer immediately, merely meeting Tolke’s gaze.
“Afraid?”
Beikeze’s voice was hoarse, his lips twisting into a faint, cold curve.
There was no humor in that curve, only desolation.
“Tolke, I think you understand the preciousness of this Light better than I do, and you yearn for it more than I do, don’t you?”
“In the same way, you also know better what exists within the Black Mist.”
As he spoke, Beikeze took two steps closer to Tolke.
Tolke’s gaze shifted from the hairpin, boring deep into Beikeze’s eyes—eyes that were a mix of madness and exhaustion.
“Light?”
Tolke’s voice dropped, laden with gravity.
His rough fingers rubbed against the solidified, blackened blood on the hairpin’s shaft, feeling the subtle indentations beneath the silver surface.
“Yes, I yearn for it… That’s also why I’m unwilling to go back.”
Tolke certainly knew the current state of the Church.
The beings in the Black Mist outside were stirring restlessly, and even he felt troubled.
And Fagreim’s news about Theodore and the Pope’s departure only made him sense something amiss.
What exactly happened at the Watkan Tribe? Can His Holiness, going there personally, truly resolve everything? Or perhaps…
Tolke dared not think deeper.
That was why Barton, an old friend equally skilled but more cautious, chose silence and avoidance after guessing Beikeze’s intentions.
But Tolke stayed.
He accepted the bloodstained silver hairpin, accepted the gaze of Beikeze, heavy enough to crush him.
“However, Beikeze…”
Tolke raised his head, a complex look in his eyes.
“Your plan is far too reckless…”
Tolke’s figure swayed constantly in the firelight, making the air in the room feel oppressive.
“And… aren’t you truly afraid of His Holiness’s wrath?”
He believed Beikeze understood that even if he died, His Holiness, with His great power, had ways to punish him even in death.
The pain, combined with Tolke’s words, constantly stung Beikeze’s nerves.
He took a deep breath, then exhaled heavily.
Reaching up to rub his brow, he finally spoke:
“Those corruptions have been hiding from His Holiness, making it impossible for Him to detect them.”
“Only after His Holiness leaves do we have a chance to purge them.”
“If we can eliminate these hidden dangers… even if His Holiness punishes me, so what?”
The veins on his forehead suddenly bulged, and the black mark on his arm throbbed violently.
Beikeze’s voice hitched, his body swaying as he nearly collapsed.
But he quickly steadied himself, his voice tinged with madness:
“Even if they die… what does it have to do with them?”