Chapter 434: Diocese Inheritance

Father Cameron hardly dared to speak. After picking up this bishop, he felt a persistent low pressure enveloping the surroundings.

This low pressure did not stem from the environment, but from the legendary bishop behind him.

Being one of Archbishop George's assistants, he was aware of the history between his own archbishop and this bishop.

Thus, he even refrained from breathing too heavily, instinctively holding his breath for fear of disturbing Bishop York and provoking trouble.

Fortunately, throughout the journey, Bishop York had not spoken much, only occasionally asking him some key questions.

They continued like this until they entered the vicinity of Saint Mary's Church.

There, Bishop York's questions ceased, and Father Cameron glanced at the rearview mirror, only to see the surprisingly young bishop, who exuded a profound aura of oppression, gazing out the window with admiration.

He couldn't help but sigh in relief.

York seemed to hear it and also glanced at the rearview mirror, sharing a look with the startled Father Cameron, giving him a reassuring smile.

This priest seemed overly cautious, and York wondered what was up.

But York did not dwell on it. He turned to the window, appreciating the medieval scenery, feeling the ancient vibe that came from it.

He held a certain fondness for how the Kingdom of Norway had preserved its ancient artifacts so immaculately.

He knew that within the city of Bergen, there were three medieval churches: Saint Mary's Church, Bergen Cathedral, and St. John's Church.

These churches, like much of Northern European history, had suffered through calamities over nearly a thousand years.

So, as the car approached Saint Mary's Church, they were surrounded by many wooden buildings from the mid-19th century.

Wide avenues, squares, and small stone paths.

In his holographic map, these buildings still retained their original appearance.

"Father Cameron, I hear you're a local. Could you tell me about this place?" York asked, looking at the medieval architecture outside, smiling gently.

Caught off-guard, Father Cameron hesitated but responded quickly.

"Yes, Bishop York." He realized that York just wanted him as a tour guide, but it seemed that the bishop quite enjoyed this medieval style.

"Saint Mary's Church, although located in the main city area, is actually not far from the docks. Just one more intersection, and you'll see it," Father Cameron spoke professionally, detailing everything he could.

"This area is the old Bryggen area of Bergen, next to the King's Hall, with Saint Mary's Church right behind it."

"The terrain is slightly elevated, with several commemorative sculptures and some bishops' graves around the church," Father Cameron said cautiously, glancing at York through the rearview mirror to gauge his reaction. Fortunately, York only looked at the passing graves without any disturbance.

He continued.

"Saint Mary's Church has suffered from two major fires in its history, changing its style after being rebuilt, but it retained its double-tower structure,

Thus, Saint Mary's Church looks quite distinctive compared to modern churches, easy to recognize. Bishop York, you can see Saint Mary's Church just ahead."

Hearing Father Cameron's words, York nodded slightly. With his 300-meter holographic map, he had seen it long ago.

The facade featured two symmetrical towers with spires, and between them was a Romanesque-style church. The main building was constructed of soapstone, preserving its original flavor.

This was indeed easy to recognize, and York had to admit, the medieval vibe here was very pronounced.

But clearly, it suited his taste.

Compared to the modernity he was tired of, the ancient scenery he had never seen before could still excite him.

In a moment, the car stopped in front of the double towers closely flanking the central nave, different from any church he had stayed in before, obviously without residential spaces.

"We've arrived, Bishop York," whispered Father Cameron.

York nodded, signaling everyone to stop the car, and looked at Eileen, who seemed to be getting out as well, and calmly said.

"Father Cameron, please take my deacon to the resting place."

Father Cameron nodded repeatedly, respectfully replying, "Of course, Bishop York."

At that, York looked at Eileen, nodded slightly, then got out of the car, leaving her with a parting word as she watched him.

"Get some good rest tonight, we might have to travel again tomorrow."

The cars behind him pulled up, and York instructed Hanna, Aretha, John Wick, and Hilary similarly, then under everyone's gaze, stepped towards Saint Mary's Church.

Bergen, known as the Rain City or Europe's Seattle, didn't disappoint, as York felt the moisture in the air; a deep breath felt refreshingly cool, clearly as the water vapor also entered his body along with the oxygen.

"Looks like I'll need to get used to it if I want to stay here long-term," thought York, walking up to

 four knights who seemed unremarkable but whose knightly swords at their waists were exceptionally large and long, almost touching the ground. Judging by the size of these great swords, it was clear they were heavy, suggesting that ordinary people would find them difficult to wield.

But observing the four knights, who were nearly his own size, York thought they could probably handle them with flourish, especially with knightly skills to assist them, a sight that would surely be beautiful.

"Bishop York," greeted the four knights guarding the entrance, bowing slightly.

York nodded in acknowledgment, ready to enter, but one of the knights standing to the right caught his attention, as this knight seemed slightly more excited than the others, his heartbeat racing.

Just by looking at him, York felt a sense of familiarity.

"Have we met before?" York stopped beside this knight.

"Back to you, Bishop, I once had the honor of meeting you at the headquarters' knightly order, and I participated in the battle where the knights faced you alone," the knight maintained his posture, visibly thrilled.

"Unfortunately, you knocked me down in one go," said the knight, somewhat sheepishly, an unusual display for such a burly man.

At this, York remembered his time studying at the Vatican headquarters when he indeed sparred with the entire knightly order. He patted the knight on the shoulder.

"Keep up the good work.

"Yes, Bishop!" the knight exclaimed excitedly.

York smiled, withdrew his hand, and walked slowly towards the church, past memories becoming less significant over time, and he felt that he would need decades more to truly appreciate them.

His thoughts fleeting, York formally stepped into the heavily medieval-styled Saint Mary's Church.

Like most churches, the interior was quite ornate, with biblical stories on large stained glass windows, and wool tapestries hung on the walls. Though it couldn't compare to the luxury of some Italian churches, it was still pretty, possessing a Scandinavian minimalist style.

Around were various religious decorations to deepen the atmosphere.

The only thing that seemed to disrupt this setting was the modern lighting.

York glanced at a candle rack filled with burning candles and looked at a figure sitting neatly among the rows of pews, internally remarking.

"With all these candles lit, is there really a need for lights? Ah, some people just don't know how to enjoy."

York shook his head, stepped on the red carpet laid out, and walked forward.

The altar in the depth was also opulently decorated, enhancing its brilliance.

Arriving beside the old man, York directly sat down in one of the pews on the other side.

He noticed that, like most clergy, everyone preferred the front seats, including himself.

Settled in, York turned to look at Archbishop George, who sat on the other side and had remained silent since his arrival.

This was a deeply wrinkled old man, likely in his eighties or nineties, with visible signs of Holy Power dissipating from him, either a sign of weakening control or perhaps Archbishop George didn't bother to contain it, thinking the dispersion added to his sanctity.

This indeed seemed true, as the dispersing Holy Power gave his clothes a faint glow, filled with a sense of sanctity, which is why, in this parallel world similar to his previous life, the church had an absurd number of followers; after all, the clergy genuinely possessed extraordinary powers.

York had yet to figure out the origin of this Holy Power, why it emerged after baptism by bishop-level clergy, and whether God truly existed. Though many signs suggested the presence of God, he remained skeptical without seeing with his own eyes.

York turned his gaze away; since the old man didn't speak, he wasn't inclined to either. In headquarters, this old man had targeted him more than once.

Thus, the young and the old began a silent standoff.

Time slowly passed.

York had completed his daily tasks, the alert tones already sounded in his ear, and he couldn't help but glance again at Archbishop George.

The old man was still just sitting there, eyes closed, his body held very straight.

"Fine, let's see who can outlast whom," York thought impassively, then turned his attention to the altar, starting to meditate.

It was a good time to sort through the particles he controlled, trying to simulate combinations in his mind like building with Lego.

But just as he was modeling a particle combination, the previously silent Archbishop George finally spoke.

"You've become more patient than before, York."

York opened his eyes, looking over, Archbishop George had opened his eyes at some point, and unlike his dispersing Holy Power, his eyes were clear and bright, not at all clouded as one might expect from an old man.

"I've been through a lot," York chuckled, feeling as if it smoothed over past grievances.

"Perhaps I've matured a bit."

The church was silent for a moment before Archbishop George responded.

"Unfortunately, I cannot help you."

"That's alright," York said

 calmly: "It's been a good journey, anyway."

Speaking, York looked at Archbishop George and continued, "So you didn't call me here just to see me, did you? I remember you quite dislike me, right?"

Hearing this, Archbishop George actually smiled, his wrinkles aligning like seams on his face, his usually stoic face becoming warm and kind.

This surprised York, but he found himself smiling too.

Perhaps it was a case of disliking the sin but not the sinner; maybe back then, Archbishop George only disliked his way of doing things, not him as a person.

"I'm old," Archbishop George continued with a smile, looking at York: "I'm looking to find a successor for the Norwegian Diocese."

York raised an eyebrow: "What does this have to do with me?"

Archbishop George shook his head, not answering directly, only saying, "Unlike other bishops, I have yet to find a true successor."

Hearing this, York suddenly realized that succession in each major diocese was indeed a significant matter. In fact, each major diocese was akin to a feudal territory, and the archbishop in charge was essentially its king.

Even if the Pope's orders were issued, it still depended on the diocese's archbishop. Of course, this didn't mean that the archbishop could defy the Pope's orders in this world where extraordinary powers ruled, but they had significant leeway in details.

Like choosing a successor, managing the diocese's wealth, and all appointments within the diocese—these were major matters, considering a large diocese was comparable to a country's territory, rich in resources enough to make anyone envious.

Everywhere had its politics; it was natural for bishops to want to support their people into positions of power, so typically each bishop trained their own, usually picking from their assistants.

Like how he might choose Eileen or John Wick.

But it was surprising that Archbishop George hadn't done so.

"Surprised?" Archbishop George noticed York's expression.

"A bit," York responded calmly.

"Thailand's Bishop Richard even personally chose his assistant, Father Daniel, and you haven't," York paused.

"Are there issues with your assistants that dissatisfy you?"

But before Archbishop George could answer, York asked again.

"How does this concern me?"

Archbishop George nodded, delivering a statement that stunned York:

"It does because I want to transfer the entire Norwegian Diocese into your name."

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