Prologue: The Capital (Part 1)

Compared to the chaos and turmoil brought by the war in the West, the tranquility of Einfast seemed all the more precious.

This peace, however, did not come without effort. After the assassination of Bishop Ronis, the Church turned its attention to Einfast, seeing the impending power vacuum as an excellent opportunity to regain control over this vast empire. Yet, Einfast managed to maintain its distant, noncommittal relationship with the Church, leaving the emissaries sent by Celeste empty-handed.

As always, the Magic Academy remained independent of the Church's Glory Fortress, and Einfast continued to stand as a powerful empire in the eastern continent, untouched by the raging wars of the West. Thus, while the Holy Pope frowned over the ongoing battles in the Wild Highlands and Queen Catherine faced siege from the barbarians of Titalia, Emperor Griffinhart XVII could leisurely indulge in hunting and touring his lands.

This young emperor lacked the sense of responsibility one would expect from a ruler and instead reveled in the carefree happiness his position afforded. He knew that capable ministers could handle everything on his behalf, leaving him worry-free. Moreover, he had no doubts about their loyalty, especially that of two key figures: Roland, the leader of the Temple Knights, and the young Prime Minister Murak. Griffinhart XVII often felt grateful to the heavens for blessing him with such competent and devoted officials. Without any excessive ambition or aspirations, he truly believed himself to be the most relaxed and fortunate monarch in the world.

If the emperor had any regrets, it was that his beautiful queen had yet to bear him an heir. Recently, her health had seemed frail, preventing her from accompanying him on his southern tours. Instead, she remained in the palace to recuperate.

The Royal Palace, Einfast Capital

The queen reclined on her bed, her face pale and marked by sickness. Yet, she remained as breathtakingly beautiful as ever, her beauty still unparalleled in the capital. She glanced at the bowl of porridge before her, sighed, and shook her head.

"You should eat something," Rodhart said softly, sitting by her bedside. "The attendants told me you haven't eaten anything in two days. This porridge is made from bird's nest sent as tribute from the Southern Seas. It's excellent for your health."

The queen sighed again, shaking her head. "I can't eat. Even if I try, I'll just throw it up."

"Oh? Is that so?" Rodhart took out a small wax-paper package from his pocket and held it up with a smile. "What about this? This is a pastry from Old Yorkburg, made by that stubborn baker, Stacon. I had someone wait outside his house all night just to buy it for you."

The queen's eyes lit up instantly. She snatched the package from his hand, her face finally showing a smile. Though she was still pale, her smile was like snow melting in the warmth of spring. She brought the package to her nose, savoring the scent. "You remembered I love these! It's been over a year since I last smelled this. I used to pester my sister to buy them for me when I was little."

However, she sighed in regret and put the pastry down. "Thank you for the trouble, but I really can't eat it."

"Why not?" Rodhart's face was filled with concern and tenderness. Despite being the leader of the Temple Knights' first squad and commander of the Royal Guard, his kind and approachable expression made him seem more like the boy next door. The imposing aura of his knightly attire seemed to dissipate in his gentleness.

"My stomach feels uncomfortable. I can't keep anything down," the queen said with a frown.

Rodhart gently placed his hand on her abdomen and began reciting a prayer: "May the Lord show mercy to His people..." White magical light emanated from his hand.

"No!" The queen suddenly pushed his hand away, as if it were a red-hot iron.

Rodhart looked at her in astonishment. He was sure it wasn't the physical contact that had startled her. Although she was the queen and he her subject—an action like that could cost him his head—he knew their bond was far deeper than ordinary etiquette. He was undoubtedly closer to her than even her husband, the emperor.

The queen's expression grew flustered and apologetic as she reached out to grab Rodhart's hand, which she had just pushed away. "I'm sorry. I've been hearing too many prayers lately, and they're giving me headaches. Besides, white magic doesn't work on my illness. Yesterday, two priests from the Magic Academy tried healing me, and I ended up coughing blood. It was unbearable."

"What? How could that be?" Rodhart asked in shock.

"Exactly. Everyone was terrified. His Majesty even grabbed one of the priests by the neck in anger. Later, after consulting medical books and holding discussions, they concluded I might have a rare tumor disease that ordinary healing magic can't cure."

"What? Then what can be done?" Rodhart asked, his face full of worry.

"Nothing. They said I need to rest and recover slowly," the queen replied with a faint smile. She then added, "By the way, since when did you start learning magic? Did your mentor, Sir Roland, teach you?"

"No, my teacher has always said that mastering too many skills leads to mediocrity and doesn't approve of me learning magic. I only picked up a few things out of curiosity by asking one of the priests under my command. To my surprise, I found magic easier to learn than swordsmanship, though I dare not let my teacher know," Rodhart said with a playful smile, sticking out his tongue. He sighed, "That's why I came straight to see you after returning, hoping to surprise you by personally healing you. But it seems it's of no use."

"It's fine. Don't worry about it. By the way, the priests mentioned that Celeste might send a cardinal here soon. Perhaps this cardinal can examine my illness. It's said the cardinal is personally appointed by the Holy Pope to take over Bishop Ronis's position and manage the Magic Academy. He must be very capable."

Rodhart chuckled lightly. "Yes, I've heard about that too. Hmph, the Pope sent several envoys, all of whom failed to gain any ground. Now he's sending a cardinal to forcibly take over the Magic Academy? Even if this cardinal is exceptionally talented, what can he achieve here? This isn't Alrasia or Celeste. The ones truly in control of Einfast are Sir Roland and your sister. Do you think they'll just hand the Magic Academy over to the Church? My only hope for this cardinal is that he can cure your illness."

The queen was silent for a moment, lost in thought, before suddenly asking, "Rodhart, are you truly content with the current situation?"

Rodhart smiled faintly. "What do you mean? Isn't everything fine now?"

"Are you satisfied as a servant?" The queen gazed deeply into Rodhart's eyes. "Because I, as the queen, am not."

"Why are you suddenly saying this?" Rodhart frowned.

"I've been feeling uneasy these past few days. I truly believe something bad is about to happen. I don't want to be the queen anymore. I don't want to stay here any longer. Have you ever thought about it? We could just—"

"Stop overthinking," Rodhart interrupted her. He could tell from her expression, her gaze, and his understanding of her exactly what she was about to say. "You're just unwell and mentally drained. Rest, and you'll feel better."

"No, listen to me. Something is wrong. I can't stay here any longer—"

"Where else could you go? You're the queen of a nation!"

"I'm serious." The queen didn't say more, only looked at Rodhart. Her face, devoid of any regal aura, was filled with sorrow and despair. The pale, emaciated features made her appear utterly helpless, her eyes glistening with tears.

Rodhart wanted to speak but found himself at a loss for words as he stared at her face. For the first time in a long while, something deep within him stirred. This wasn't a fleeting feeling of youthful infatuation; it was a profound sense of despair and fear he saw in her beautiful eyes.

The two of them stared at each other silently. Suddenly, a voice broke the stalemate. "Your Majesty, Cardinal Jarvis has arrived at the Magic Academy. The Prime Minister requests Lord Rodhart to accompany him for the meeting."

"Your Majesty, I take my leave," Rodhart sighed deeply, stood up, saluted at the door, and then turned to leave.

At the Magic Academy, High Priest Ryan and the newly arrived cardinal were already seated together. Below them stood the priests and clerics in a neat line, though their expressions were not entirely those of reverence. Instead, they seemed unconsciously drawn to the presence of the cardinal.

This new cardinal was indeed peculiar and striking. However, the peculiarity itself was curious—it stemmed from both his identity and appearance. For a cardinal, he seemed far too imposing, too dashing, and much too young. What's more, he wasn't dressed in the traditional cardinal's robes but rather wore the immaculate white attire of a Holy Warrior, complete with a longsword at his waist.

Two days earlier, when the news from Celeste arrived, everyone had speculated endlessly about this successor to Bishop Ronis. To be chosen by the Pope to take on such a messy situation, he surely must be someone extraordinary. However, no one had expected that the person sent would be a young man barely in his twenties. If not for the fact that he was accompanied by Bishop Adra, a confidant of the Pope whom everyone recognized, no one would have believed he was the real deal—even with the Pope's handwritten letter in hand.

After delivering the Pope's orders and documents to the High Priest, Bishop Adra had promptly departed, leaving the young cardinal to face the Magic Academy alone.

Though the atmosphere was thick with surprise, doubt, and even a touch of disdain, the undeniable fact remained that he was appointed by the Pope himself to oversee this place. Even if nobody truly welcomed him, formalities had to be observed. All arrangements were promptly made, and the clergy were summoned for a ceremonial welcome.

"Lord Rodhart has arrived," a priest announced from the door. The Commander of the Royal City Guard and leader of the First Quad of the Knights Templar appeared at the entrance.

As soon as Rodhart laid eyes on the young cardinal seated at the head of the room, he couldn't hide his astonishment. However, he quickly composed himself, stepped forward, and saluted. "Greetings, Your Eminence."

"Since Commander Roland has accompanied His Majesty to the south, the Templar Knights are temporarily under Lord Rodhart's command," High Priest Ryan explained from the side. "Lord Rodhart is Commander Roland's disciple and also the commander of the Royal City Guard." The Templar Knights were technically a subsidiary of the Magic Academy, meaning that, nominally, they fell under the jurisdiction of this successor to Bishop Ronis.

Of course, nominally was one thing, and reality was another. Despite his strikingly handsome and dignified appearance, this young cardinal seemed far too inexperienced to effectively manage the challenges of the Magic Academy. More importantly, no one in the room hoped he would succeed.

"There's no need for such formalities, my lord. After all, I am but a guest here," the cardinal said with a smile. His demeanor was natural, free of any tension or pretense, as though he truly saw himself as no more than a visitor. His handsome face lit up with a radiant, amiable smile. "The reputation of the Templar Knights precedes them. I've long heard of their valor even in Celeste. Seeing a figure like you, Lord Rodhart, only confirms that such fame is well-deserved."

Rodhart felt a flicker of surprise and wariness. It had been a long time since he had experienced such a sensation—the kind of feeling one gets when encountering an opponent who is at least an equal, if not superior.

What caught his attention was not the man's outward strength or charm but the hidden depth behind his demeanor.

Though this was a welcoming ceremony and everyone in the room was technically subordinate to the cardinal, their subtle hostility, guardedness, and even veiled animosity were palpable. Challenges and obstacles, perhaps even outright opposition, awaited him. Yet despite this, the young man remained so composed, so unruffled, without revealing a single unnecessary emotion. It was as though he were an ocean of clear blue water—beautiful on the surface but unfathomably deep underneath.

"The Prime Minister, Lady Murak, has arrived," came another announcement.

For an occasion as significant as welcoming a new cardinal, it was only natural for the leaders of the church, the military, and the government to gather. High Priest Ryan represented the church, Rodhart stood for the military, and Lady Murak, the Prime Minister, represented the political faction.

While the Prime Minister was but one of the three representatives, the cardinal's reaction to her arrival was markedly different from his reaction to Rodhart earlier. His eyes lit up as he rose from his seat and walked toward the door. The smile on his face grew warmer, livelier, and more radiant. This was no mere façade; it radiated a genuine warmth from within, like golden sunlight—gentle yet dazzling.

Lady Murak appeared at the doorway.

Her slender eyebrows were slightly furrowed, likely from the pressures of this welcoming ceremony. Even her formal attire couldn't conceal the unique freshness and elegance of her youth. At the same time, there was a sense of gravity about her that no ordinary woman could possess. She alone could combine the charm of youthful beauty with the solemnity of authority, creating a unique aura that belonged solely to her. It wasn't necessarily a seductive allure, but it was impossible not to be moved by it.

At that moment, the cardinal reached her. When the Prime Minister first saw the young man in his Holy Warrior attire, she too showed signs of surprise. However, what he did next astonished everyone even more. He bent down and extended a hand, offering her a knight's bow instead of the customary salute for a cardinal.

"Lady Murak, your name and talent have long been renowned across the continent. It is my greatest honor to meet you today. Even the Lord Himself would surely marvel at your beauty and grace. May I have the privilege of escorting you to your seat?"

Although Bishop Adra had explained earlier that the new cardinal had been an emergency appointment from among the Holy Warrior, this display left all the priests wearing peculiar expressions. High Priest Ryan, in particular, was at a loss for words, his mouth agape. "Cardinal Jarvis…"

The Prime Minister was equally stunned. However, judging by the reactions of those around her, she could confirm that this man was indeed the new cardinal. After hesitating for a moment, she finally extended her hand.

Cardinal Jarvis smiled as he took her hand and led her into the hall. His posture, stride, and expression exuded confidence and genuine satisfaction. After seating her, he turned to the still-dumbfounded crowd and offered them a faint smile. "There's no need to be so surprised. This is merely a gesture of my respect and admiration for Lady Murak."

"Well, it's nothing unusual. The cardinal was originally a Holy Warrior, so such gestures are quite natural…" High Priest Ryan coughed twice as he led the priests and clerics in regaining their composure. Yet two people's expressions remained unusual: the Prime Minister, who seemed bewildered, puzzled, and astonished, and Rodhart, who appeared deep in thought, as though trying to piece something together.