Chapter 110

The king’s arrival forced the ongoing selection process to an abrupt halt.

Judging by the expressions of the bishop and the king as they departed, it was clear that a confrontation was imminent.

“The Knights?” The king’s tone was neither good nor bad, his palm gripping the cane tightly to steady himself, trying not to sound accusatory, “Eugene, we didn’t agree to this.”

They were positioned slightly to the right rear of the garden, not far from the crowd. Tall trees shielded them from most sightlines, but they still needed to keep their voices low and emotions in check, ensuring no one could discern their intentions. The king silently reminded himself, the gem on the cane’s pommel pressing into his palm, a discomforting reminder.

“Agree?” The bishop’s tone remained calm, in stark contrast to the king’s deliberate nonchalance. His calmness seemed natural and sincere, “I don’t believe I need your special permission for anything.”

“Including organizing a new military force?” The king’s words carried a warning, “Eugene, you’re overstepping.”

The bishop turned his face slightly. Their cheeks almost touched, appearing intimate yet on the brink of confrontation. The bishop’s deep emerald eyes gleamed with a cold light. “Randes, there are no boundaries.”

The king chuckled, a mocking tone creeping in, “No boundaries?” The skin on his cheeks tensed gradually as he exerted pressure, “Eugene, I thought there were some unspoken rules between us.”

“Coincidentally, I thought so too, but it seems we have different understandings of what remains unspoken.”

“I allow you to exert influence in the spiritual realm. You can rule over people’s spirits, and wield religious influence—I can accept that greatness on that level. But as for anything else,” the king’s tone turned ice-cold, ensuring the bishop understood this was unlike any of his previous concessions, with no room for compromise, “I will never permit it.”

“Then you overestimate your own power.” The bishop’s tone matched the king’s coldness.

“You think you’ve gathered the power of religion? That you’ve allowed me to be great? Randes, you’re mistaken. That power is like a snowball. Once you push it, it grows larger and never stops. Even you have no power to stop it.”

The king pointed with his cane to the side, “I could announce right now for them to disband and return home. Do you think they would obey me?”

“They will obey you,” the bishop replied calmly, “though, in Lecy, I may appear influential, much of that depends on your concessions and compromises. If you force them to choose between us, any sane person will understand how to choose—” The king’s expression softened considerably, but the bishop’s tone shifted mockingly, a smirk curling his lips, “You probably believe that which is why you think you have the authority to dictate my actions.”

“Listen, Randes, I’ve already explained to you that the power of religion will revive across the entire continent. Lecy will be the starting point, the center. Unfortunately, you misunderstood my words, thinking I was simply offering you the power of religion as a gift, a means to help you unify the continent, yes?”

“Yes, part of it indeed,” the bishop continued ruthlessly, leaving no room for mercy, almost as if lecturing the king, “I chose you—it’s your honor, not mine.”

“Randes, one of your major flaws is being emotional. I’m not saying you made many concessions out of love for me; on the contrary, you use love to adorn your rational choices, packaging everything as romantic gestures to preserve your good reputation. It’s hypocritical.”

“Let’s be clear. Can you stop the establishment of the Ecclesiastical Court? You can’t, because the urban courts and the royal court are watching you closely. Many among them would love to bring you down, to prove you unfit to be king. The Ecclesiastical Court will stand by you. I don’t deny that I’ll support you; that’s indeed what we agreed upon. So, when I pardon Barnett in court, how can you possibly refute me? Unless you want all your hidden enemies to see you as a joke, exposing your weaknesses.”

“Now that Barnett has been pardoned, talents like him should be reinstated. I restored his noble status. In fact, you should be pleased. You know the role he can play in Lecy. Once Barnett returns to his noble status and steps back into the territory he betrayed, to defend his noble interests, it means he must handle the remaining revolutionaries properly. Moreover, he’s a conscientious man. You owe his son a debt of life, and he will certainly handle this task impeccably.”

The bishop’s nose twitched slightly, giving him a somewhat fierce look. “Randes, every choice you’ve made benefits yourself as well. You don’t have to attribute them all to your magnificent love.”

“This is just like our cooperation. What is cooperation? It’s about you gaining something and me gaining something, not you taking everything and then condescendingly deciding what to bestow upon me.”

“Listen well. You can dismiss them all now, forbid a single one from joining the Knights, and I will leave Lecy myself. Please restrain your impulse of a romantic, this is by no means a threat based on emotional ties. What I mean is, I will seek a new monarch, one who understands what they should give in exchange for religious power, instead of constantly feeling they’ve given so much, thinking themselves tolerant and affectionate.”

The bishop spoke rapidly, words flowing together, his tone low and resolute, turning the long speech into a passionate address. He left no room for the king to interrupt, bombarding him with words like a continuous stream of bullets, heating the king’s cheeks and reddening his eyes. He wanted to shout, wanted to lift his cane and break it over his knee, or else he couldn’t release the raging anger inside him!

It was too harsh, too cold-hearted…

After experiencing so much, after countless sincere confessions, the bishop’s assessment of him was unbearable. His feelings were belittled, including himself—hypocritical, self-righteous, and arrogant…

The muscles on the king’s face trembled. The tip of the cane held in his hand plunged deep into the ground. His arms trembled and shook, enveloped in blazing fury. Even though most of it was concealed by the trees, the group of young men watching felt the atmosphere was on the brink of exploding.

The king adjusted his breathing and began to speak, yet there was no hint of the anger that was welling inside him.

“There are many things you’ve done without consulting me, starting from sneaking off to see Barnett after leaving Lecy. You think it’s your freedom, yes, of course, you don’t have to inform me about everything. But you keep saying we have a cooperative relationship, have you ever treated me as a partner in cooperation? Forgive my frankness, but compared to cooperation, this sounds more like exploitation.”

“Perhaps in your eyes, the essence of our cooperation is mutual exploitation, or to put it more bluntly, mutual calculation. But I believe cooperation should be just the opposite. I believe we should be open with each other, discuss everything extensively, and combine our strengths to form a greater and stronger force.”

“I don’t know why, but from the very beginning, it seems you’ve treated me as an imaginary enemy. You say I look down on you, but what about you? I ask you to ask your own heart, do you treat me as an equal individual? Aren’t you scheming to stand higher than me?”

“I cannot allow you to build military forces. It’s too burdensome for Lecy at this stage and would raise alarms in other countries. Your actions are too frequent. This, in itself, is not the most appropriate for enhancing the influence of religion. The timing is not right. Since I am, in your eyes, a hypocritical romantic, you should also know that what I’m saying is objective, not based on any emotional factors.”

“Also, King Brady of Roque invited you to visit. You can go and see if he is the wise monarch you idealize.”

The king gave the bishop a deep look, lifting the cane in his hand.

“At the same time, I suggest you select a small number of young men as knights to ensure your safety on your journey. Rest assured, this is also a rational suggestion, not a concession born of your presumptuous affection.”

The king turned away, his shoulders brushing against the leaves around him, making a crisp, clear sound.

The bishop stood still, his face turning in the direction the king had left.

The king walked through the crowd, leaning on his cane. The young men saluted him, but he ignored them, getting into the carriage in one go. Harlan jumped onto the carriage, taking hold of the reins. He addressed the king inside, “Your Majesty, it seems the conversation didn’t go smoothly?”

Silence filled the carriage. Harlan shrugged, his lips downturned. According to his study of history, the struggle between the monarchy and religion was never a simple matter.

The bishop emerged from the depths of the garden.

“Bishop,” Bunier greeted him, stepping forward. “How did it go? The king seemed quite angry?”

The bishop brushed past with the same reasons he had given before. “The king has always had a terrible temper.”

Bunier whispered, “The king’s temper isn’t that bad, though.”

The bishop completed the ritual of drawing crosses with holy water on the chests of knights, recruiting fifty young men from noble backgrounds who were strong in body.

By the end of the recruitment, dusk was approaching, and the setting sun cast its glow on the Cathedral, turning the entire structure, along with the neatly arranged plants, into a beautiful painting.

The bishop sat by the window in his room, propping his head with one hand, lost in thought.

Today, Randes seemed genuinely upset.

At some moment, he even felt the ebb and flow of world powers.

It was intentional, deliberately portraying Randes so unfavorably, dismissing his love and everything about him. The reasons behind it were much more complex.

Did he want to make him sad? To torment him? To test how resilient his love truly was, how much it could endure? Or was it because their relationship was becoming increasingly conflict-ridden, so he deliberately sought to disrupt their increasingly harmonious relationship?

…

The bishop let his hand fall, idly playing with the pen on the table. Randes’ words before leaving weren’t particularly emotional, yet they left a deeply resonant impression on him, each word echoing in his ears as if with a long-lasting reverberation.

The pen was pushed away by his fingers, rolling forward with a clatter, only to be caught again and rolled back.

This tedious game continued for a while. The bishop set the pen down, crossing his arms on the table and resting his face on them.

In theory, he had gained the upper hand today, causing Randes to undergo intense emotional turmoil because of him. There should have been much joy in that.

There was joy, but unfortunately, only a little.

The bishop muttered to himself in the room, “I have evolved.” He spoke with certainty, characterizing his own transformation.

Meanwhile, the king was in conversation with his diplomats. He sprawled drunkenly on the sofa, his clothes loose and unkempt. Holding a glass of whisky, he declared to himself, “Harlan, I am a madman, a fool, a masochist.”

Harlan exclaimed, “Wow,” taking a sip of sweet wine. “Your Majesty, that assessment seems a bit harsh.”

“No, not at all,” the king wagged a finger. “It’s just about right.” He took another big gulp of whisky, much of it spilling on his collar. “I’m a madman because I fell in love with a devil. I’m a fool because I thought devils could love too. And I’m more of a masochist because I knew none of the above should have happened, yet I let them all happen… like the rising and setting of the sun, they just happened…”

The king murmured to himself, a tear escaping his eyes. In fact, he had already shed tears alone after returning to the palace, blinking hard to hold them back, his hand pressed against his forehead. “I love him, you know, I love him so sincerely, but he…”

“Oh, forget it, you don’t know anything, no one does, not even God…”

“Is it the bishop?”

The king suddenly moved his hand, sharpness gleaming in his deep brown eyes.

Harlan replied calmly, “Looks like I guessed right.” He seemed very composed, as if he had long understood the peculiar relationship between the king and the bishop.

“… How did you know?”

Harlan shrugged. “Firstly, the bishop is very beautiful. He has the innate advantage of being loved. Secondly, well, your attitude after entering the garden today, and your unmistakable jealousy. And more importantly, your behavior after coming back,” Harlan shrugged again. “Who hasn’t been heartbroken?”

“Heartbroken…”

The king muttered, “Am I heartbroken…”

“It seems like it.”

The king’s expression grew extremely melancholy. “I’m heartbroken…”

After repeating it several times, the king stood up. “No,” his body swayed slightly, but overall he was still steady. “I am not heartbroken!”

The bishop finished his bath, his mind still occupied by the day’s argument. His thoughts were somewhat scattered as he walked out of the bathroom and sat on the bed, about to lift the covers, when suddenly he heard a “thud.” He turned his face towards the sound—another “thud.” Someone was throwing stones at his window.