The carriage wheels rattled across cobblestone, flanked by soldiers. Their rifles glinted in the sunlight, as if prepared for war. They weren’t here for me - they were here for the city, to protect the Nobles. Paranoia coated the streets of the Noble district.

  I leaned back, arms crossed, gaze on the passing buildings.

  The Regent’s words still clung to me.

  Inquisitor. Divine energy without a pathway. That blade. That ring.

  A man who should’ve been impossible, yet stood in front of me like a living contradiction.

  And I’d agreed to follow him.

  I exhaled through my nose, steadying the weight in my chest. The Regent wasn’t someone to oppose, not yet at least. But he was also the only one I’d met who seemed to see the Empire the same way I did - not as a crown, not as doctrine, but as humanity’s last chance. He was a zealot for the idea of the Empire, not the concept of the almighty. I could see it in his eyes. There was zero doubt.

  I was almost envious of such conviction.

  If I placed my weight behind him, I’d have more resources than I could ever scrape together on my own. More reach. More power. Enough to make a difference.

  Besides, he’d think twice before trying to kill me. Not when I was a Veilwalker. Not when I was a double-pathway user. Descendant of not one, but two divine saints. That was leverage. Dangerous leverage, but leverage nonetheless.

  The carriage slowed. My thoughts broke as the Cathedral came into view.

  Saint Patrick’s.

  It wasn’t just a church. It was a fortress of faith. A towering spire rose higher than even the walls of the Noble District, piercing the sky like a spear of marble. Surrounding it, wings of stone stretched outward, each carved with gothic arches and stained glass that caught the sun in kaleidoscopic shards. It radiated reverence and dread in equal measure.

  Even I had to admit - it was beautiful.

  Carriages lined the steps, more than I could count. Nobles in fine dress flowed toward the open doors, a faint melody drifting from within.

  The afternoon sermon had begun. Mary would be here.

  I joined the stream. Two hooded priests stood at the great doors, swinging ornate censers that exhaled mist. The smoke clung to my clothes as I passed, filling my lungs with something sweet and sharp. My body loosened. My thoughts slowed. A manufactured serenity.

  Inside, I expected pews and scripture. Instead, the first chamber was a vast atrium, flanked by opposing staircases. Between them, a statue stood tall - a man carved in marble, clutching a book in one hand and raising the other as though defying some unseen force.

  His youthful face and slender frame were almost iconic.

  Saint Patrick himself. My knowledge is lacking, but I know he was a Martyr of the church despite not being an official member.

  Someone killed by soldiers of the Eastern Empire during the last war.

  The plaque beneath him read: Defender of the Faith. Unyielding in the Dark.

  Nobles filled the space, some glancing my way. Whispers. Thinly veiled stares.

  Arken Talvarien stood among them, robed in understated finery. His eyes found me instantly, and the faint twitch of distaste that crossed his face was almost comical - like he’d just found a rat in his dining room. He smoothed it over quickly, his features settling into that smug calm that only judges and politicians could wear.

  I ignored him. Followed the flow of minor nobles up the stairs, into the sermon hall.

  I noticed guards in paladin-style armor lining the entrances, their expressions hidden beneath helmets. I had serious doubts that the sword at their waist could compete against rifles, but it showed how steeped in tradition the church really was.

  The chamber was vast, vaulted ceilings painted with celestial battles. Candles burned in endless rows, their smoke curling toward the rafters. At the head of the hall stood a raised pulpit, and behind it - Mary.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  She looked divine as always, the very air seeming to radiate around her as she stood still. Everyone’s eyes clung to her figure, like lost souls drawn to a sacred lantern. Whispers around me spoke of her praise and blessings, her popularity ever present.

  I didn't blame them, but I couldn't help but almost cringe as the image of her standing in a battlefield covered in blood invaded my mind.

  She wore white robes embroidered with gold, a circlet of silver resting just above her brow. The light from the stained glass made her seem almost untouchable. But her voice, when it rang out, was sharp and clear.

  “Today, we honour the fallen.”

  One by one, names were read. And one by one, a priest extinguished a candle. Twenty-three lives. Twenty-three flames. When the Grand Cardinal’s name was spoken, the silence deepened. Mary’s head bowed. “May the Almighty guide him safely home. May the ocean of the divine accept him.”

  Prayers rippled across the hall.

  Next came an announcement. “Lord Arken Talvarien has pledged to fund the funerary rites of the fallen, so that their families may grieve without burden. The Almighty smiles upon such generosity.”

  Murmurs of gratitude spread. Arken smiled faintly, seemingly bashful as people around him flowered him in praise.

  But I caught the smugness in his eyes, faint but familiar - I’d seen the same look in Arthur before.

  I smiled at the thought.

  If Arthur knew I was comparing him to Arken, he'd throw a fit.

  Mary raised her hands again. “Lastly - we pray for strength. That the Regent will find the heretics who struck at us, and cast them into fire of the Veil. That the Empire will remain unbroken, unbent, unbowed.”

  The chamber echoed with prayer. I stayed still. Not moved, not unmoved. Just… quiet. I’d seen too much to lose myself in holy words. But I bowed my head when the names of the dead were spoken. Respect, at least, was deserved.

  When it ended, Mary descended from the pulpit, greeting the faithful in a row. Her smile was warm, practiced, unshakable as she spoke to every single one. Probably so everyone could suck up to her.

  Her mask of pleasantry barely faded or cracked under the constant attention.

  I was almost impressed.

  Until I finally stepped forward.

  For the briefest moment, it cracked.

  “Damian,” she said sweetly, eyes narrowing just enough that only I caught it. “What does a faithful servant like you seek?”

  I smiled back with thin eyes, equally as hollow. “A word. In private. Once you’re finished here, your highness.”

  Her eyes lingered on me. Then she nodded. The mask slipped back into place.

  I stepped aside. That was when Arken appeared. Smooth as oil. He seemed perturbed I was speaking to Mary, though he did his best to hide it.

  “Ah, Damian Solm-. Oh, apologies. Just Damian, right?” he greeted, voice rich with false warmth. “Some say you're a once-in-a-lifetime blessing, a commoner with divine heritage. The Almighty has smiled on your bloodline.”

  I didn’t even glance at him, barely paying attention as I admired the stained glass. “It seems so. How fortunate for me.”

  He tilted his head, still smiling. “Of course. The Almighty’s plans are not for us to question, and heavy is the burden of his favor. I just hope those he chooses to carry the weight are of… sufficient character. Don't you?”

  His words were velvet, but the edge beneath them was razor-sharp.

  I glanced vaguely at him, acknowledging his words. “I’d hope so.”

  His smile thinned. “Still, your talents are… remarkable. I do hope you use them wisely. May he guide you under his watchful gaze.”

  He gave a little bow and drifted away, gathering other nobles with ease.

  I exhaled. That was Arken Talvarien in a nutshell. Courteous poison. And I understood again why Arthur despised him. Arthur had never been a socialite; his interests lay in military tactics, not lobbying favor.

  Though he's always been good at speeches, hasn't he?

  Suddenly, it hit me. Arthurs traits seemed to align to one distinct direction, one that seemed hard to ignore upon reflection.

  Wait a minute. Is Arthur autist-

  “Why are you here?” Mary whispered, sharp. Her sudden appearance shocking me out of my thoughts.

  I shrugged. “I came to enjoy the sermon.”

  “Please.” Her tone left no room for games.

  I sighed. “Fine. I need access to the Cardinal’s residence.”

  Her eyes sharpened immediately. “What?”

  “It’s important. The Lord Regent gave me his blessing, you can check it with him.” I held her gaze. “I need to prove myself if I want to peacefully become a noble, especially since I'm a commoner. Just so happens The Lord Regent has given me a task befitting.”

  Mary didn’t seem surprised the Regent had given me his blessing. Perhaps she had already known. But at the mention of her uncle, her eyes noticeably softened. Something I picked up on.

  Bingo. So the Regent is her soft spot huh.

  Mary's eyes glimmered faintly, patterns faintly forming under the low-light, away from anyone's prying eyes. From the way she waited, I could guess what her gift was. She was probing, searching for deceit.

  The Eyes of Verity… So this is one of her gifts. Just as I thought.

  I didn’t flinch.

  I had no doubt she already knew that I knew.

  It also helps that I'm technically not lying. Albeit stretching it a bit.

  At last, she exhaled with some reluctance. “Fine. I'll choose to believe you for now. ”

  Her expression softened, just a little, but her eyes remained steadfast. “I don’t like this. But… very well. I’ll arrange it. For my uncle.”

  “Appreciated.” I said.

  Her smile returned, polished and perfect for those still watching as she moved back into view. But her whisper, meant only for me, was cold.

  “Don’t make me regret this.”