Chapter 96: The Oriole

  Great Divine Officer Cuthbert visited the Duke's mansion again, this time at the Duke's personal invitation. He increasingly regretted not having met this friend sooner. Why had he never before noticed someone so worthy of association?

  After exchanging pleasantries in the parlor, the Duke presented Cuthbert with a robe. "I acquired this robe by chance. It's useless to me, but I felt it would be most suitable for someone like you, Lord Cuthbert."

  The Great Divine Officer examined the robe—a snow-white, simple, and lightweight garment. He smiled faintly. The Duke always enjoyed giving such charming little gifts. But the texture felt peculiar. Holding it closer, he saw the fine weave and incredibly soft touch. This robe was unmistakably crafted from the finest silk imported from the distant Eastern Seas. He knew noblewomen in the capital prided themselves on owning even gloves made of such silk, so an entire robe of this material was priceless. Hesitant, his large, protruding eyes met the Duke's. "Your Grace... this seems too valuable..."

  "Valuable?" The Duke appeared surprised. "I didn't spend a single copper on it, and it's useless to me—worthless, really. For a clergyman as pure and noble as yourself, wouldn't it be rather vulgar to concern yourself with how much something is worth or its value?" He waved a dismissive hand, his tone indifferent, even slightly scornful. "It's just a piece of clothing."

  Indeed, Cuthbert felt his own surprise had been superficial. A flush of shame warmed him, but it was quickly overshadowed by delight. He unfolded the robe, examining it closely. The more he looked, the more he loved it, imagining how he would appear wearing it. But then something seemed amiss. Though the robe lacked any embellishments and appeared plain, its cut... according to Church regulations, this was a robe only a Cardinal could wear. Cuthbert stared at the Duke. "This is a robe only a Cardinal can wear!"

  "What?" The Duke frowned. "Is it? I didn't examine it closely after acquiring it. I didn't realize only Cardinals could wear it."

  "I cannot accept this. Please take it back, Your Grace, and gift it to Bishop Ronis instead." The Great Divine Officer reluctantly handed back the robe, his expression a mix of helplessness and regret.

  But the Duke shook his head repeatedly. "How can I take back a gift once given? Keep it, Lord Cuthbert. You can wear it when you're elevated to Cardinal."

  Cuthbert smiled wryly. With Bishop Ronis still in power, even if the higher-ups in the Church held his abilities in high regard, that position was beyond his reach for at least a decade.

  "Besides, I would never give this to Ronis," Duke Mrak said, his expression turning cold as he snorted. "I dislike him. As a bishop, he's rather remiss in his duties."

  "Ah?" The Great Divine Officer's eyes bulged further as he stared at the Duke in astonishment. Though he harbored his own dissatisfaction with Bishop Ronis, he had never dared show it. The Bishop's prestige and achievements were undeniable—not just within the Church, but throughout the Empire and even the entire continent.

  "Hmph. While I acknowledge Bishop Ronis's past contributions and abilities, his recent actions have increasingly fallen short of a bishop's responsibilities."

  The Duke's righteous indignation struck the Great Divine Officer as radiating an aura of unwavering justice. He nodded slightly. "Indeed. For a revered bishop to maintain such close ties with a despicable, vile character like Inham... And then there's his inexplicable promotion of newcomers—utterly uncarvable rotten wood—yet the Bishop treats them as treasures. And last time that... sigh, I'd rather not speak of it."

  The Duke nodded. "When people age, their minds grow unclear. Stubbornness and confusion are inevitable. But he happens to be a bishop, making him a true burden to the Empire."

  "This... surely it's not that severe."

  "You, a noble clergyman detached from mundane affairs like politics and economy, might not understand. The Empire's economy has worsened year by year, and the Church's income has grown increasingly strained. Do you know why?"

  "Could it be... because of the Bishop?"

  "Precisely," the Duke sighed, his voice heavy with concern for the nation. "It's because the Bishop obsesses over eradicating the Necromancer Guild, neglecting his duty to guide the people's hearts, to bring them peacefully into the Lord's embrace. That's why riots erupt among the populace, and heresies spread..."

  After this lament, the Duke muttered resentfully, as if to himself, "Sometimes I truly wonder about those monsters in the Necromancer Guild—why don't they send an assassin to eliminate the man plotting against them..."

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  The Great Divine Officer's ugly face twitched. He glanced at the white robe lying silently on the table and said nothing.

  Though the Duke wasn't watching Cuthbert, he missed nothing. Especially not after the time and energy he'd invested, seeking precisely such an expression.

  When the Great Divine Officer left, the Duke insisted he take the Cardinal's robe. "I believe you are the only one in the Empire worthy of wearing this garment. Even if not now, please accept it as my wish and my faith in you."

  After seeing Cuthbert out, the Duke's expression remained grim.

  Though his plan unfolded perfectly step by step, the Duke's mood showed no sign of improvement. Only he knew how perilous this scheme was. Of all the strategies and conspiracies he had devised and executed in his lifetime, none carried such risk.

  But he had no choice—it was now or never. A situation where only one could survive.

  The Duke gazed toward the Magic Academy. Its grand cathedral roof was visible from anywhere in the capital. Its radiant, sacred authority was palpable even from this distance. He shook his head, muttering to himself, "You forced my hand."

  Two days later, news came from the Magic Academy.

  "His Grace the Bishop rode his carriage to the corpse-storage house in the western district. He ordered the others to wait outside while he entered alone and spoke with the old man inside for a very long time. When the Bishop emerged, he appeared furious. According to the priests, they had never seen him so angry."

  "Understood. You may go." The Duke waved. The Magic Academy spy turned and left.

  Though his daughter Sophia had refused to explain things clearly, the Duke's intellect was sufficient to piece together fragments of information, combined with what he'd overheard that night. Everything unfolded as he had expected and hoped.

  A person enraged and furious reveals vulnerabilities. Now was undoubtedly the perfect moment to act. But it wasn't enough. The Duke knew that even with Cuthbert's help, their chances were too slim. He needed another ally. But where to find a suitable one? If only Clovis hadn't been incapacitated...

  Clovis had been found earlier that morning by men the Duke had sent searching. The attendant who had accompanied him to Aery had reported that their master had dueled with a Church Divine Officer midway. When the Duke later saw Ethan, he knew his deputy was likely in grave peril. He had sent searchers and, remarkably, they found him. Someone had stumbled upon the dying man in the forest, recognized him as an officer and nobleman, and provided basic treatment in hopes of a reward. Even so, after lying wounded in the wilderness for days, he remained unconscious, hovering between life and death when brought back.

  "Marquis Erney requests an audience, Your Grace." A servant announced.

  Though in no mood to deal with trivial visitors, courtesy demanded he receive him. The Duke waved a dismissive hand. "Have him meet me in the study."

  In the study, the Marquis stood silent, head bowed and face grim. After seeing his son half-dead, even this normally irresponsible father was deeply affected.

  "Youth is too impulsive," the Duke sighed sympathetically. "I have summoned the capital's finest physicians, along with the best priests and healing mages from the Magic Academy. They will surely save his life."

  The Marquis remained silent, head bowed, seemingly lost in thought. Just as the Duke prepared to politely dismiss him, he suddenly looked up. "Your Grace. As you know, I am rarely in the capital and cannot oversee my son. I must ask—how do you intend to arrange for him?"

  The Duke paused, surprised. His focus had been elsewhere these past days; he hadn't considered such a simple question. Arrange for him? Naturally, he would heal him... But a full recovery was impossible. The right wrist that once wielded a sword was horribly mangled. Even if he survived, he might never hold a spoon again. His ribcage was shattered beyond repair. Even if his life was saved, he would be a cripple for the rest of his days.

  How to arrange for a cripple? The Duke paused again. He had no experience disposing of waste. Everything and everyone in his service had a purpose. Useless things weren't worth his precious energy.

  Clovis was indeed waste now. His greatest utility had been expended. With the Erney family now an empty shell, a cripple could never lead a Paladin Order squad, let alone inherit Commander Roland's mantle. He could no longer benefit the Duke in any way, make any contribution.

  Moreover, this was a dangerous sort of waste. He knew too much, had been involved in too much...

  Realizing this, the Duke remained impassive, stating the obvious: "Naturally, we will heal him first, then allow him time to recuperate."

  "I implore you to spare his life," the Marquis said, his gaze pleading.

  Even the Duke's composure faltered for an instant. He quickly recovered, his smile as amiable as ever. "What are you saying, Lord Marquis..."

  But the Marquis remained unmoved by the friendly smile, his tone flat. "Though I never involve myself in the capital's political struggles, I understand many things... I know he knows too much. And now he is in your hands."

  The Duke's trademark smile vanished. He couldn't help but raise an eyebrow. He had indeed underestimated this profligate in-law. After all, the Marquis had once been the capital's most celebrated romantic talent. Though indulgent in pleasures, his mind was sharp. Even if he'd never "eaten pork," he understood how the "pig walked." Moreover, according to Cuthbert, the "wolf in sheep's clothing" Bishop Ronis was his close friend. It wasn't surprising that he understood the Duke's methods and secrets.

  "I know that even if I appeal to Bishop Ronis now, if you truly wish to kill my son, I am powerless," the Marquis's voice was heavy with sorrow. "But he is my only son. I cannot let him die. I beg you—whatever you ask, I will agree."

  "You jest, my lord," the Duke smiled again, though this time with more mockery. In an instant, his mind calculated the in-law's value according to his own standards.

  What right or leverage did a wastrel, a fallen libertine, have to make requests? At most, he knew a little magic and dabbled in what the Duke considered nothing more than excrement—so-called "art." In terms of political capital, his noble title was mere decoration. His greatest political asset was his friendship with that old man, Bishop Ronis. Which brought him back to the point—this was another piece of trash who knew too much and must be eliminated. Heh... wait, Bishop Ronis's friend?

  The Duke's narrow eyes closed. When they reopened, they brimmed with delight. "Rest assured. I guarantee Clovis will heal safely. I only ask that you do me a small favor in return."

  "What favor?"

  "A very small one. Just shake hands with an old friend of yours. But hold tightly. Hehe."

  Having arranged this perfect, unexpected ally, the Duke was considering how to approach Great Divine Officer Cuthbert when the man arrived unannounced.

  The Great Divine Officer ushered the Duke into the study, carefully closing and securing the doors and windows. After scanning the room, he turned to the Duke with a grave, solemn expression. "I must ask a favor of you, Your Grace."

  "What favor?"

  "A great one that will benefit the people. I know you will be eager to assist." Great Divine Officer Cuthbert's tone was weighty, his expression severe. His large, bulging eyes were bloodshot.

  "Benefit the people? Very well. I will help you," the Duke replied with righteous fervor. Rarely did his expression match his words so perfectly. His face was grave, but inwardly, he was elated. The Great Divine Officer's ugly face, with its protruding eyes, made him resemble a praying mantis—one poised to strike, radiating murderous intent.

  He wondered if he himself looked like the oriole. The Duke hadn't felt this pleased in a long time.