Prologue: The Capital (Part 2)

By protocol, the newly appointed cardinal should naturally meet and engage with the Emperor. However, Emperor Griffinhart XVII was currently away on a southern tour, leaving Cardinal Jarvis with no opportunity to meet him directly.

The Emperor's decision to travel while his beloved Empress was unwell was clearly not his own will. Instead, this arrangement had been decided collectively by Grand Priest Ryan, Prime Minister Murak, and Commander Roland of the Templar Knights. The young emperor, faced with the complex political entanglements brought by the cardinal, was evidently ill-equipped to handle such challenges. The intricate web of connections and the stakes involved made it clear that even a single misstep or inappropriate remark could lead to significant trouble. A cardinal sent by the Pope himself would surely not be easy to deal with. Hence, rather than staying behind, the emperor had departed, leaving matters to the Prime Minister, Rodhart, and others, giving them the room to manage the situation as they saw fit.

But it wasn't merely Prime Minister Murak and Rodhart who were tasked with this matter. While the two had remained largely silent and somewhat awkward during their initial meeting with the cardinal, it was Grand Priest Ryan who launched the first challenge.

"Your Eminence Jarvis, to have gained the Pope's favor and trust at such a young age and to be granted the position of cardinal at this critical time is truly unprecedented in the Church's history—a testament to your divine talents. From my observations, your skills in both martial arts and magical prowess are undoubtedly extraordinary."

"You flatter me," Cardinal Jarvis replied with a faint smile, fully aware that this was merely a prelude, with the true challenge yet to come.

Grand Priest Ryan sighed and continued, "Speaking of which, we indeed have a difficult matter at hand. Her Majesty the Empress has been unwell recently. Unfortunately, our knowledge of white magic is too shallow to alleviate her condition. We've eagerly awaited your arrival, Your Eminence, as your profound mastery of holy magic surely holds the key to curing Her Majesty."

Hearing this, both Prime Minister Murak and Rodhart visibly stiffened, their expressions slightly uneasy. While they didn't openly object, neither seemed comfortable with this approach. Using the Empress's illness as leverage left a bad taste in their mouths. Yet, they couldn't deny that it was an effective strategy.

The Empress's illness had become a thorn in the side of the capital's upper echelons. Though two skilled priests specializing in healing and white magic had already examined her, they could only detect faint, peculiar fluctuations within her body. No other abnormalities were found. To make matters worse, the white magic, typically beneficial and harmless to the human body, seemed to cause her discomfort. Despite convening court physicians and healers from the Magic Academy for further research, no definitive conclusions were reached.

Should the cardinal decline to help, it would signify weakness, serving as an implicit rebuke—a small but meaningful first blow. Conversely, if the young cardinal were to act recklessly and worsen the Empress's condition, it would provide the perfect pretext for further accusations. Still, Prime Minister Murak and Rodhart silently hoped that such a scenario would not come to pass.

Cardinal Jarvis furrowed his brow. "What exactly is Her Majesty's illness? Even the priests of the Magic Academy are at a loss? From what I know, their expertise in restorative magic is unparalleled on the continent."

Grand Priest Ryan gave an ambiguous smile—somewhere between satisfaction and sorrow. "Indeed, not even we know the cause. Her Majesty's body shows no signs of disease or poison, yet she lacks energy and appetite. Strangely, her body seems to reject white magic. Based on our research, we suspect it may be an exceedingly rare type of tumor. However, for someone of Your Eminence's caliber, surely this poses no challenge. Celeste is regarded as the holy land for all practitioners of light magic, and you, as its genius, must possess the purest and most profound white magic. You will not disappoint us, I trust?"

After a moment of thought, Cardinal Jarvis broke into a radiant smile and nodded. "Very well, allow me to do what I can to resolve Her Majesty's troubles."

Half a day later, accompanied by Grand Priest Ryan, Prime Minister Murak, and Rodhart, Cardinal Jarvis arrived at the royal palace. Several priests and clerics followed closely behind.

Although the Emperor was absent, the ailing Empress received the cardinal in the grand hall. Her pallor had worsened; while she hadn't visibly lost weight, the lifeless look in her eyes made her appear frail and desolate.

Upon seeing how young the cardinal was, the Empress was visibly shocked. Upon hearing that he would personally examine her, she seemed flustered. "There's no need to trouble Your Eminence. I just need rest," she murmured.

Grand Priest Ryan coughed. "Your Majesty, Cardinal Jarvis has come specifically for this. It wouldn't be appropriate to refuse his efforts."

The Empress glanced at Prime Minister Murak and Rodhart. Both wore conflicted expressions, hesitant yet silent. Eventually, they nodded.

"Do not fear, Your Majesty. The Lord's light can banish all pain," Cardinal Jarvis said with a smile as warm as sunlight, gently placing his hand on the Empress's forehead. Though she flinched slightly, she remained seated and closed her eyes.

"The Lord is merciful, shining His light upon the world to dispel all…" Jarvis intoned a soft prayer. A faint white glow emanated from his hand, radiating holy magic.

Suddenly, the Empress let out a soft groan, her body trembling slightly. Under the glow of the magic, her complexion turned deathly pale, devoid of blood or even the faintest hint of vitality.

"Hm?" Cardinal Jarvis withdrew his hand, his face showing clear confusion.

Prime Minister Murak and Rodhart immediately rushed forward, alarmed. Were it not for the Empress's shallow breathing and faint expression of discomfort, her appearance alone might have convinced them she had died. Only Grand Priest Ryan's face betrayed a subtle trace of amusement. "Your Eminence, perhaps…"

Before he could finish, Cardinal Jarvis suddenly raised his hand.

His gaze remained fixed on the Empress, but the ever-present smile on his face had vanished, replaced by an intense and thoughtful expression. This shift in demeanor, coupled with the gravitas that radiated from him, left everyone in the room spellbound. Instinctively, they froze, silenced by the sheer authority in his gesture.

Grand Priest Ryan's words died on his lips. Prime Minister Murak and Rodhart halted mid-step. All eyes turned toward the cardinal.

Jarvis took a deep breath, closing his eyes as he placed his hand on the Empress's head once more. This time, the white light emanated not just from his hand but from his entire being. As the light grew brighter, the three onlookers felt an overwhelming illusion—Jarvis no longer seemed like a man but a divine statue imbued with holy power.

The overwhelming presence exuding from his figure swept through the room like a tide, instilling an unshakable confidence in his actions.

"The Lord says: Pain exists, darkness persists, yet faith allows one to feel the light…" As the prayer left his lips, the white magic enveloping Jarvis grew ever brighter, swallowing him whole.

The light filled the grand hall, radiating holiness and vitality. Waves of magical energy surged through the room like tsunamis, saturating the air with life and purity. Each breath felt invigorating, as though cleansing every imperfection within.

The astonishment on the faces of the three Grand Priests grew heavier and heavier. However, their amazement wasn't directed at the sheer intensity and power of the magic emanating from the Cardinal. Instead, it was his way of using magic that shocked them—this was far from the balanced and harmonious nature of white magic.

A deep shout came from the dazzling white light, which reached its zenith at that moment. Amid the intense brightness and magical ripples, everyone could feel the grand hall seem to tremble.

Not only those in the hall but also the priests and clerics standing outside felt this strange vibration. However, the hall itself did not move, not even enough to shake a teacup on a table. This wasn't physical force—it was a kind of presence that could tug at one's mind and soul, a kind of field.

In the library of the Magic Academy, an elderly priest, deeply engrossed in a book, suddenly raised his head and let out a surprised "Huh," glancing in the direction of the palace.

In the grand hall, Cardinal Jarvis still stood in place, though he had lowered his hand. His sweat-drenched robes clung to him, and despite the visible fatigue on his face, the radiant, sun-like smile had returned. Smiling warmly, he looked at Her Majesty the Queen.

The Queen's eyes were now open, full of astonishment as she stared at the Cardinal in front of her. Her cheeks flushed with a healthy color, and vitality seemed to have returned to her.

A low murmur of amazement spread among the Grand Priests, while Murak the Prime Minister and Rodehart were overjoyed. The maids standing nearby even cheered.

"What happened, Father Tom?" Back in the library, a few young novice priests and magic apprentices turned to the elderly priest who had just spoken. They had been discussing the newly arrived Cardinal—a young man about their age but entirely beyond comparison in terms of status, demeanor, and character.

The old priest still wore a puzzled expression, frowning and glancing around while sniffing the air a few times.

"What is it?" the young ones asked, curiosity piqued.

The old man turned to them, eyes wide with wonder, and said, "It smells like... someone farted."

The young ones erupted in groans, with one nearly stumbling over in disbelief.

"Oh, come on, I knew this old guy was losing it again."

"Lord, forgive this elder for speaking such nonsense in this sacred library. I can testify that he means no offense—his mind is simply unsteady."

"Heavens above, are you truly a clergyman? I swear if you were in Celeste, you'd have been burned at the stake by now."

"Are you a dog's nose or something? We're standing so close, and we smell nothing. Was it you, old man?"

"You think we're like you, breaking wind without any sense of occasion?"

The old man spat in the direction of the young ones and said, "I never said it was any of you. You lot don't even have the qualifications to smell this fart." Then he frowned again, glancing around as if deep in thought, muttering to himself, "Who could it be… Seems like it's the newcomer…"

"The newcomer? Surely you don't mean the new Cardinal," a magic apprentice joked.

"Oh, Lord. You've caught the old man's madness too."

"Quick, summon the Cardinal to heal his mind..." "But before that, I think we should heal our stomachs first. The Lord said it's time for lunch." Laughing, the group left, leaving the vast library quiet except for the old priest sitting at the administrator's desk.

The old man closed his book, cast a glance toward the palace, reclined in his chair, and slowly shut his eyes. In the silence of the empty library, a faint murmur could be heard: "Perhaps it really is that kid..."

Back in the palace, everyone was ecstatic to see the Queen's visibly rosy complexion.

"Y-Your Majesty, are you truly well now?" Prime Minister Murak's cheeks flushed with excitement. She was the first to approach the Queen and hold her hand but paused mid-grasp. "But why are your hands still so cold?"

The Queen nodded, forcing a weak smile. "Sister, I'm fine. I feel much better now. Thank you, Cardinal." Though her energy and complexion were much improved, her smile seemed strained.

"Please rest assured, Lady Murak," said Archbishop Jarvis, returning the Prime Minister's smile. His was warm and gentle, like spring rain. "Her Majesty has just recovered from a severe illness, so her vitality is still weak. A good meal and some rest will soon restore her fully."

"This is wonderful news, Your Majesty. You must eat something now," Rodehart said, his joy unmistakable. For many reasons, no one cared more about the Queen's health than he did. Yet, when the Queen glanced at him, the worry and other emotions in her eyes left him momentarily stunned.

"Cardinal's white magic is truly extraordinary. This illness, which baffled countless physicians and priests, has been dispelled with ease. It's truly impressive. Her Majesty's recovery is a blessing from the heavens," Grand Priest Ryan said, coughing. Though his words were flattering, there was no trace of joy in his tone. He had not expected the young man to actually cure the Queen, which not only failed to undermine him but also boosted his political capital.

"Lady Murak, I am tired. I believe I need rest now," Cardinal Jarvis turned to the Prime Minister and said. "Her Majesty, too, is still frail and needs peace and quiet for her recovery."

"I understand. The Magic Academy has already prepared accommodations for you, and Grand Priest Ryan will take you there immediately." Lady Murak gave a few instructions to the maids to arrange for the Queen's rest.

"By the way, Your Majesty," as he was about to leave, Cardinal Jarvis suddenly turned back to the Queen. His smile remained radiant, warm as sunlight, and even his words carried a soothing tone: "A piece of advice—eat what you need, and don't force yourself."

Half a day passed after the Cardinal returned to the Magic Academy. Night had fallen.

In the palace, under the miraculous touch of the Cardinal, everyone could see that Her Majesty's complexion had greatly improved, her energy noticeably restored. She no longer lay on her couch motionless. On the contrary, she seemed brimming with energy, though with a peculiar restlessness.

"Your Majesty, the Cardinal said you must eat something to recover. This porridge was specially prepared by the royal chefs..."

"Take it away! Go away!" Her Majesty's temper had certainly returned, now even more volatile than before—almost reminiscent of her brash nature as a young girl. She paced back and forth in her chamber, agitated, glaring at the maid holding the bowl of porridge.

"Are you not hungry, Your Majesty? Is there something else you'd prefer to eat? I can fetch it for you," the maid asked cautiously. She knew the Queen's preferences well—Her Majesty wasn't fond of palace cuisine and preferred the street snacks outside.

"Hungry?" The Queen froze, as though the word struck a chord. She turned her head and stared at the maid.

The Queen's gaze fixed on the maid, and the flush on her cheeks deepened while her breathing grew heavier.

The maid instinctively stepped back. She had indeed seen the hunger she had hoped for in the Queen's eyes—but the light shining in those once-beautiful eyes sent a chill down her spine.

The Queen walked over, grabbed the maid's shoulders, and let her gaze fall upon the maid's snow-white neck. She swallowed.

Suddenly, the Queen's body trembled. She shoved the maid out of the chamber, almost stumbling in her retreat, and slammed the door shut with a loud bang. From inside came her hysterical voice: "Who said I was hungry? I'm not hungry. I'm not hungry..."