Chapter 102

The bishop did not intend to inform anyone, including the king, about his meeting with the revolutionaries. He and the king were merely “partners” to a certain extent, in politics and in bed. Even in these matters, the bishop still retained his calculations. He naturally liked to occupy the high ground, to oppose people, to make them uncomfortable, so it was impossible for him to have any truly harmonious relationship with the king, nor was there any need for it.

The bishop came to inform the king because the king was clinging to him too tightly. To avoid any uncontrollable accidents, the bishop decided to use the pretext of traveling and studying to deceive the king.

The king immediately felt that the bishop was lying.

Strangely enough, the king felt that the bishop almost never lied to him. Since their meeting, the bishop had never concealed his fatal flaws, perhaps because he thought it was impressive.

The king said, “Traveling and studying? Eugene, do you think I’m one of those poor people praying for God’s help at the church door? Those people believe whatever you say. I’m sorry, but I haven’t learned to be that blind yet.”

“So, do I need to spend a lot of time convincing you?” The bishop pulled away from the king’s hand, turned around, and faced the king with those deep green eyes. “Landes, do I owe you that responsibility?”

The passion passed in an instant, leaving lingering traces in the air. The bishop’s face was flushed, evidence of the pleasant time they had just shared, but the bishop’s expression had clearly turned cold, ready to fight at any moment.

The king also felt anger. “Even if I haven’t gained your love, shouldn’t I have at least gained your trust? Can’t I know what you’re going to do?”

“I told you, traveling and studying.”

“…”

The king sneered, “Fine, if you’re going to travel and study, then I’ll have someone follow you all the way,” he lifted his chin arrogantly, deliberately correcting his wording, “No, protect you.”

In response to the king’s arrogance, the bishop said, “Go to hell.”

“…”

The king’s face turned red. Most of the time they spent together, the bishop always managed to drive him crazy, whether in bed or out of it. The king forcibly suppressed his anger and said in an extremely calm tone, “Thank you, I just visited heaven.”

The bishop walked straight out. The king remained in place, only hitting his desk in frustration once the study door was closed.

He always made him furious, yet he still loved him so much.

How infuriating.

Harlan knocked on the open door, “Your Majesty?”

The king turned around. Harlan touched his nose, “Why does it seem like there’s a strange smell?”

“What is it?” the king asked coldly.

“I was going to say, there seems to be some disturbance north of the border. It looks like there are immigrants coming in. Also—” Harlan raised both hands, making an exaggerated expression, “My God, is he really a bishop? He’s so beautiful, those green eyes are stunning.”

“Harlan,” the king’s voice was extremely cold, “Bill is going back to Oss to get married. Do you want to go back with him?”

“It’s his wedding, not mine. I’m not going back. I love the capital.” Harlan had quickly adapted to the bustling city and was ready to make a name for himself here.

The king raised his eyebrows, “If you make me angry again, I’ll send you back to the capital. Bill will have a new house, and you can sleep in the sheepfold.”

Harlan’s eyes widened. He opened his mouth to argue, but under the king’s glare, he closed it again.

Alright, he needed to quickly adapt to the fact that his lord had truly become a devout believer and would not allow anyone to offend the young bishop.

*

The financial situation in Lecy was a mess. The king worked through the night, handling state affairs with great focus. Only occasionally did his thoughts drift to the bishop.

The bishop could have left without saying a word, but he chose to inform the king first, even if it was with a perfunctory lie. It showed that the king still held some position in the bishop’s heart.

“Or maybe he just finds me annoying.”

The king muttered to himself. Ink seeped from the tip of his pen, and he lifted it, shaking it off before smiling to himself.

Where could the bishop be going? What exactly was he going to do?

The king’s thoughts wandered, causing his attention to waver and his efficiency to drop. He put down his pen and focused on thinking about the bishop. His heart was filled with alternating feelings of resentment and sweetness, his facial expressions changing accordingly. He softly called the bishop’s name, feeling the enduring sense of longing.

When would he start feeling the same emotions as I do?

The king fell into deep thought.

The king imagined himself as a figure from myth, one punished by the gods. He envisioned himself standing at the foot of a scorching mountain, enduring the relentless sun, pushing a boulder up repeatedly. To others, this might seem like an extremely painful and desperate situation, but the king felt a sense of what could be called religious emotion. He suddenly understood the monks’ long journeys for pilgrimage and their persistent ascetic practices.

“My Lord, my God, my Father…”

The king kissed the ring on his little finger and murmured in the dark.

By the time morning came the king’s emotions had completely settled. Despite not sleeping all night, he still looked energetic. He was a natural leader, and his vitality was a significant advantage.

The king first gathered a few ministers and made some important decisions with an unyielding attitude. Most of these decisions were related to fiscal taxation, affecting the interests of many great nobles. The ministers wanted to argue, but due to the king’s firm stance, they could only silently curse the decisions with their eyes and facial expressions.

“I am not like my father. What I want to do, I will achieve,” the king said, looking around at everyone, a non-deliberate pressure making them feel instantly stressed. “Whoever opposes me will pay the price.”

After the intimidation, the king took out some documents, which contained some insignificant compensation clauses. If the nobles behaved honestly, these documents would take effect. For those who did not, these clauses would be useless, and the king would grant them a scenic burial ground — this was what the ministers gathered from the king’s expression, and they understood accurately; this was exactly what the king meant.

After handling affairs, the king finally had something to eat and took another bath. Although the bishop could not see him, every time the king met the bishop, he would always dress up a bit. Sometimes, the bishop would sniff him, his nose at the king’s neck like a small animal. After smelling, the king felt the bishop seemed very satisfied, either kissing or biting his neck, depending on his mood. During such moments, the king felt the bishop did have some feelings for him, contrary to what he claimed.

The king, in high spirits, took a carriage to the church.

Father Bunier received the king. He always had mixed feelings about the king, as the king had not yet made any further response to Bishop Enoch’s death.

“Bishop?”

Facing the king’s kind inquiry, Bunier said, “The bishop has already left.”

In the morning, a monk who went to tidy the bishop’s room found the note the bishop had left.

The king’s expression immediately changed, “Left?! Where did he go? When did he leave?”

Bunier, overwhelmed by the storm of questions, could only answer honestly, “I don’t know when the bishop left. He… he said he was going traveling and studying…”

The king got hold of the note the bishop left, which was as perfunctory as the words he had told him.

“I went traveling and studying — Eugene.”

That’s all.

The king and the bishop communicated through letters, even though it wasn’t him replying. The bishop’s handwriting was very distinctive, a miracle created by a blind man.

Gritting his teeth, the king interrogated Bunier again, finding out that no one had seen the bishop in the Tesburg church since yesterday afternoon.

Bunier watched as the king cursed in a tone he couldn’t understand, “Damn it.”

“You don’t need to worry,” Bunier said. “The bishop is very capable; he can take care of himself. With the bishop’s current reputation, everyone will welcome him.”

The king didn’t doubt the bishop’s ability to travel freely across the Auston continent. He believed in his ability to protect himself. No, the bishop was extremely aggressive; others wouldn’t even have the chance to harm him. Yet, the king was still very angry and anxious, as if his other leg had suddenly been injured as well.

The king silently took away the bishop’s note.

The fatigue of the sleepless night hit the king, giving him a headache. He told the chief guard, “Brune, send someone to look for the bishop, in the direction of the Horse Island.”

*

The bishop had shed his bishop’s attire. Dressed plainly and simply, he covered his head with a scarf to hide his dazzling blond hair and left the capital under the cover of night.

The king never expected him to leave so quickly. The bishop had spent a bit of money to hitch a ride on a cart, lying in the hay and enjoying the moonlight.

He knew very well what he was going to do this time.

But he was uncertain about the meaning of it all.

The word “meaning” itself had a certain impact on him.

Mo Yin had never contemplated the so-called “meaning.” What was the meaning of a mission? What was the meaning of defeating the protagonist? And even more deeply, what was the meaning of his own existence?

These were questions Mo Yin had never considered. It wasn’t that he deliberately avoided them; the thought simply never crossed his mind. Now, naturally, it did.

In fact, Mo Yin had found life uninteresting for a long time, though he hadn’t realized it. He only felt that it was hard to please himself, and perhaps happiness itself was difficult to obtain.

Boredom, tedium — these feelings often entangled him.

He accepted the Alliance’s task training not because he had any desire to contribute to the Alliance, but because life was uninteresting, and it was good to find something to do.

Fortunately, he found a sense of joy in the mission world.

Destroying those powerful energies made him feel excited and happy.

But Mo Yin had never delved into why such actions made him happy.

Once he started thinking about this, more questions immediately followed, like opening a valve and letting the water seep out more and more, soaking him. Mo Yin felt a bit annoyed and realized that his “annoyance” stemmed from ignorance.

Yes, his understanding of himself was actually “ignorant.”

Where did he come from, and where was he going?

He didn’t even know the names of his biological parents, just like the bishop.

In every world, the roles he played also had no parents.

Mo Yin tapped his fingers on his lips, trying to organize his thoughts.

When thinking about other issues, he could quickly go from one to two and then surpass others. But when thinking about himself, his thoughts slowed down. Too many mysteries shrouded him, and strangely, he had never noticed their existence before…

Soon, the day broke.

Sunlight warmed his body.

The natural man hid his thoughts and casually chewed on a piece of hay.

Besides seeking pure amusement, he decided to try finding the so-called “meaning of life” for this role as well.

A meaning that belonged solely to the bishop, unrelated to the protagonist.

The cart stopped, and the bishop embarked on his journey. He had agreed with Achill on a special place — Clay.

*

Compared to many years ago when Eugene left Clay, the place had become even poorer and more dilapidated. The bishop could sense the air of decay.

There were few pedestrians on the street. The bishop wrapped himself up tightly, attracting no attention. Or rather, the pedestrians had no interest in looking at passersby; all their thoughts were focused on making a living and finding food.

The bishop did not underestimate the king’s sharpness. Perhaps the king would guess he wanted to meet with the revolutionaries, so he took a detour. Using his sensing abilities, he knew no one was following him.

The journey was very smooth. He rented a carriage, encountered robbers, and pointed out that the coachman and the robbers were in cahoots. He revealed his blond hair and blue eyes, gently imparting the teachings to them. They obeyed, kneeling and kissing his hand in tears. In the hearts of the people, the bishop’s status was much higher than any official’s. Besides, he dressed so plainly, looking like a good person. The bishop was pleased. Their repentance saved him from pulling out the knife hidden in his sleeve and sending them to heaven.

The bishop also encountered some minor incidents, nothing serious, just robbery and theft. Like a true ascetic monk, he used gentle words to influence them. Without exception, he succeeded. Perhaps it was the power of his mind, or maybe he inherently possessed this strength.

The bishop arrived at Clay on the appointed day.

The familiar scent of the countryside filled the streets. The bishop walked along, stopping at the Clay Monastery, the place where he had once been abandoned.

The nuns of Clay Monastery were overjoyed and tearful upon seeing Eugene. The usually reserved nuns even let out loud screams.

Eugene had never returned to the Clay Monastery after leaving, nor had he sent any news. The nuns, however, bore no grudge. They showered the bishop with kisses, expressing their longing and asking about his well-being, continuously blessing him and feeling immense joy over his elevation to bishop and his role in crowning the king.

It was as if Eugene suddenly had a dozen mothers. He responded perfunctorily, saying he was a bit tired and wanted to rest.

An older nun, holding his hand, said, “Come, Eugene, I’ll take you to rest. It’s so far from here to the capital. I always prayed for your health and happiness there. Never return impulsively, especially alone; it’s too dangerous.” She kissed the back of his hand, her gesture more affectionate than the reverent kisses of the faithful, and rubbed her nose on his hand. “Little Eugene, you’ve grown into such a fine young man.”

The nun led Eugene to his old room, unchanged since he left. There was a small bed, once suitable for lying down, now only for sitting.

She sat him on the bed, her hands holding his, kissing them repeatedly as tears fell. She was the nun who had originally found Eugene and was now nearly fifty. Though the bishop wasn’t as emotional, he admitted he felt touched.

In this small room, the bishop had spent his entire childhood. It was here that his anger and curses had originated, fueled by his belief that God had treated him unfairly and owed him everything.

After the nun left, the bishop noticed the pleasant scent in the room. He grabbed the sheet, sniffing the combined fragrance of soap and sunlight.

“Bishop.”

A man’s voice came from outside. The bishop had sensed his presence long before and turned calmly, his emotions now under control. “Mr. Field.”

Barnett Field, leader of the revolutionaries, was a fallen noble with remarkable military talent and a confused idealist.

The bishop quickly labeled him but kept it hidden.

Barnett had arrived a day earlier, learning about the bishop from the nuns under the guise of a pilgrim. As Achill had described, the bishop was a kind and noble person, somewhat reducing Barnett’s disdain.

“Let’s get to the point,” Barnett said, leaning against the door, “You insisted on meeting me. What do you want? To make me surrender? I advise against it,” he added sarcastically, “I haven’t sworn fealty to anyone.”

The bishop was unfazed by this mild sarcasm; the king was much more adept at it.

“I seek your help.”

“Oh?” Barnett was surprised by the unexpected response and raised an eyebrow. “My help?”

“Yes, only your help will do.”

Barnett felt intrigued, warning himself to be cautious. He feigned calmness. “What? Do you need me to take off your boots or something?”

The bishop smiled. “Perhaps.” He stood, his plain gray clothes somehow adding to his imposing and dignified presence in the small room. “Barnett, I want you to help me restore the glory of the Holy Knights.”