Half a month was enough for the wounds left by a fierce battle to scab over, but not enough to heal the rift of betrayal carved into the human heart.
The Holy See of the Lishen Church, the most sacred and strictly forbidden place within the royal city of Arslan.
Even the air here seemed thinner and colder than elsewhere.
Beneath the heavy stone dome, sacred oil that emitted a strange fragrance burned year-round, its scent mingling with the must of ancient tomes, creating an invisible oppression.
Farushil walked alone along the corridor leading to the Pope’s residence, the ‘Silent Star Palace.’
Today, she had shed her military uniform and wore a deep blue, perfectly tailored Church-standard long dress.
The hem slid silently across the mirror-like obsidian floor with her steady steps.
She carried no weapons, not even a single magic badge symbolizing her status.
This was a deliberate gesture on her part—a posture of absolute honesty.
Every ten steps, a stone statue of an angel holding a battle spear and with blurred features stood silently in a wall niche, their hollow eye sockets silently watching all who passed below.
There were no guards here.
Or rather, the entire Holy See itself was a fortress as impregnable as steel, requiring no mortal defense.
Farushil’s steps were steady and resolute.
Her face showed no expression, and her ice-blue eyes were calm and unfathomable, like two bottomless cold pools.
But beneath this ultimate calm was vigilance stretched to the extreme.
She was walking toward the center of a giant web whose full shape she could not see.
And her purpose here was to personally pluck the thickest, most suspicious thread and watch what happened.
“Your Holiness.”
In front of the massive ebony doors leading to the residence, she stopped and bowed slightly, her voice cold and respectful.
The door slid open soundlessly.
Beyond was a vast, nearly monastic circular chamber.
On the towering dome above, a mural depicting divine punishment was painted—great shadows engulfing the land, countless beings wailing in flames and floods.
Pope Feink stood beneath the mural, his back to her.
He still wore his black robe embroidered with moons and stars, the hood pulled low, shrouding his entire figure in shadow.
Only his thin, withered form was visible.
“Farushil.”
His voice came from ahead, hoarse and low, like a wind from the depths of an ancient tomb.
“You’re here. You didn’t bring your adjutant or any guards. It seems that the incident in the Forbidden Marsh of the Demon Domain has taught you a great deal.”
Whether his words were praise or sarcasm was unclear.
“A painful lesson must be remembered, Your Highness.”
Farushil entered the room.
Behind her, the massive door silently closed again, cutting off all outside light and sound.
She stopped ten steps from Feink and bowed once more.
“The leak of information comes from the complexity of those in the know.”
“To avoid repeating the same mistakes, from now on, all my high-level military operations will be conducted with the utmost simplicity and reported only to those who are absolutely necessary.”
“Absolutely necessary?”
Feink slowly turned.
Under the hood’s shadow, only his pale jaw and eyes burning with dark fire could be vaguely seen.
“Then, in your heart, who is that absolutely necessary person?”
“You, Your Holiness.”
Farushil’s answer was without the slightest hesitation.
She raised her head, meeting the deep shadow with a frank and unwavering gaze.
“You are the supreme leader of the Lishen Church, the messenger of the gods in the mortal realm, and the source of my power. All my actions should be known to and blessed by you.”
Feink was silent for a moment, as if examining the truth in her words.
His eyes, hidden in shadow, seemed able to pierce flesh and gaze into the soul.
“Very well.”
At last, Feink spoke, a trace of nearly imperceptible satisfaction in his voice.
“Then speak. For what important operation did you come here alone today?”
“For the Gate of Dolos.”
Farushil replied concisely.
“Though His Highness the First Prince’s plan has received preliminary approval from Parliament, the previous chosen site was ambushed, and the new location remains unconfirmed. The pressure on the front lines increases daily—we cannot wait any longer.”
“I have decided to personally lead a team to conduct an in-depth survey of several potential sites with the greatest potential.”
“To personally lead a team again?”
A hint of surprise entered Feink’s voice.
“With the last experience, such a reconnaissance mission could be entrusted to a scout squad. Why risk yourself again?”
“Because this time, the site is both crucial and extremely dangerous.”
Farushil’s tone became grave.
“The currently most optimal location is the Giantstone Highlands on the western side of the Scarlet Marsh. The leyline energy there is the most stable, and the terrain is easily defended and difficult to attack.”
“But it is also one of the areas most deeply penetrated by the Demon Domain’s Forbidden Marsh. Ordinary scout squads cannot venture in.
And the previous lesson taught me that any team composed of the Royal Army or Church Guards carries the risk of information leakage. I can no longer gamble with the lives of my subordinates.”
Feink said nothing, listening quietly like a statue shrouded in darkness.
Farushil took a deep breath and revealed the true core of her visit.
“Therefore, I have decided that for this survey, I will bring neither any magic maidens nor Church Guards.”
Her voice was clear and resolute, echoing in the empty room.
“I will act in my own name, collaborating with several top-ranked players to form a temporary team and secretly head to the Giantstone Highlands.”
As soon as these words were spoken, the air in the room seemed to freeze.
“Players?”
For the first time, Feink’s tone showed a clear fluctuation—a complex emotion mixed with curiosity, contempt, and a trace of caution.
“Those…bizarre, unknown outsiders? Farushil, are you insane? You would entrust the location of the kingdom’s most crucial strategic defense line to a group…a group of mercenaries whose origins can’t even be verified?”
“They are not merely mercenaries, Your Holiness.”
Farushil corrected him calmly.
“They are a force…unbound by common sense. They are not loyal to royal power nor do they revere the gods.
Their only rule of action is benefit and challenge. Because of this, they cannot be bought or coerced by any internal force in Arslan.”
She paused, then added in an even calmer tone.
“More importantly, they…do not truly die.”
“This means they are the perfect expendables for such high-risk missions. Even if the mission fails and information is leaked, all we lose are a few outsiders who can resurrect—not a single elite of the kingdom.”
These words were a carefully prepared argument born of deep thought.
She laid her use of the players bare on the table, using a purely utilitarian logic to conceal her true intent—that she no longer trusted any armed force of the Church or the kingdom.
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