Chapter 112

The bishop, accompanied by the final selection of sixty-two guards chosen from Kinsberg, embarked on a diplomatic tour across the fragmented nations of the Auston continent.

This journey received strong support from King Randes and his followers, who managed to raise substantial funds. The knights, all nobly born, gleamed in their armor atop their splendid horses, exuding an air of nobility and elegance. The bishop himself rode among them, cheered on by crowds lining the streets. From a window in a nearby building, King Randes watched the procession until their figures vanished from sight. Turning to his diplomat beside him, he said, “Let’s go.”

Harlan lowered his crossed arms and briskly followed, commenting, “It seems you’ve found peace.”

The king remained silent, but his expression betrayed a sense of reconciliation.

Their late-night meeting a month ago had been the king’s final private encounter with the bishop. Since then, their interactions had been purely official, with Harlan present on most occasions. That day, Harlan had been called back urgently from an errand outside to witness the discussion on tax matters between the king and the bishop—a discussion where calm, rational efficiency prevailed. They smoothly determined the noble’s donations to the church and the corresponding tax reductions, based on fair benefits. After concluding their conversation, the king bid the bishop farewell with courtesy and had a servant see him off.

Once the bishop departed, the peculiar scrutiny in Harlan’s eyes didn’t elicit any extra reaction from the king. He simply said to the diplomat, “You may leave.”

During the coldest time of winter, the former Crown Prince Sharman was brought back from Maredo Island.

After the revolutionary party surrendered, Barnett spent considerable effort persuading all revolutionaries to accept their fate. What shamed him was that others were not as fortunate as he was; most had to face judgment. However, the religious court’s punishments focused mostly on faith, requiring repentance and helping the poor.

Regarding Sharman’s fate, King Randes initially hesitated but ultimately followed his father’s wishes: forgiveness without absolution. Acting on the bishop’s summons after forming the knightly order, Barnett returned to his duties. Sharman requested to accompany Barnett back to the capital, but his request was denied, and he fell ill on Maredo Island. In the midst of illness, he wrote a lengthy plea for help, which finally drew the king’s mercy almost at the brink of despair.

Sharman returned to the capital, accepting the title of Duke bestowed upon him by the king, along with a remote mansion.

This decision sparked some debate within the royal court. It was well known that King Randes had not held a good reputation even as Prince of Auston. His treatment of his kidnapped brother—especially when even the leader of the revolutionaries received religious pardon—earned him the harsh epithet of a cruel tyrant.

Moreover, due to his past social connections, many came to visit Sharman. His appearance had changed significantly; his skin was dark and dry, his figure gaunt. Gone was the noble and elegant demeanor of the aristocrat, which left visitors in shock and sympathy, tinged with an instinctive disdain towards those who didn’t possess attractive looks. This disdain quickly transformed into public criticism against the king for his neglect of his useless former crown prince.

Visitors expressed their sympathy for Sharman’s plight and harsh criticism of the king’s heartlessness. Weakly, Sharman noted that Randes’s focus on governing the country justified his neglect of this useless prince.

“Well,” Harlan smirked, “Congratulations on showing potential to be a tyrant amidst such discussions.”

“I don’t care how they judge me,” the king replied coldly. “Such trivial matters need not be brought to my attention in the future.”

Harlan rubbed his chin and deliberately dragged out his words, “Then, Mr. Field’s letter…”

“Bring it to me.”

Indeed, the king, who seemed to have completely returned to his former proud and aloof demeanor, immediately behaved unusually upon hearing news about the bishop.

From behind, Harlan produced an envelope. The king calmly accepted it, opened it, and read two lines. His stern gaze immediately shot towards Harlan.

Suppressing a smile, Harlan said, “It’s indeed a bit unfamiliar. Bill has reverted to his own surname, and I’m also trying to get used to it. Starting verbally first, Your Majesty, you wouldn’t mind, would you?”

It was not a letter from Barnett Field but from Bill Field.

The king’s gaze carried authority. Even from the perspective of Harlan, a knowledgeable man in matters of the heart, mocking the king, a novice in such affairs, regardless of their identities, the king gradually straightened his face, restraining his teasing that was merely to probe, and took out another letter from behind, placing it on the table seriously. “A letter sent from Roque by Barnett Field.”

After finding his son and having the privilege of attending his son’s wedding, Barnett felt no more regrets in his life. He responded to the bishop and the king’s efforts to help him find his closest relative with the utmost sincere loyalty, willing to give his life.

Therefore, after receiving the king’s secret instructions, Barnett faithfully fulfilled his promise to the king, writing letters every few days to report on the bishop’s general situation.

Educated and emotional, Barnett’s phrasing in the letters was exceptionally elegant, vividly describing everything the bishop did upon arriving in Roque and whom he met, making the scenes and people depicted almost tangible through his words…

Before reading the letter, the king dismissed the diplomat, and after reviewing the letter alone, he set down the paper, placing his hand on his thigh, his gaze fixed on the floor-to-ceiling window ahead. The words from the letter floated through his mind, the image of the person who occupied some important part of his soul still vivid before him.

Even Harlan, with his inside knowledge, the king did not want to let him glimpse his current state, observing the emotions he displayed, like a miser hoarding all details of the bishop for himself.

A sense of sorrowful longing lingered within him, different from the passion of love, more serene yet deeper. The king sat quietly for a while, picking up the letter to read it again.

“…Roque’s weather is truly cold, the lake surface has turned into light blue ice. The King of Roque invited the bishop to ski, but the bishop cannot ski. Out of politeness, he had to glide on the ice surface guided by the King of Roque, nearly stumbling. The knights rushed forward to protect him. None of them could ski, and they all fell on the ice surface…”

A faint smile appeared on the king’s face, a gentle warmth in his eyes, mingled with an unshakable sadness. Gradually, the king’s smile faded, replaced by a bitter twist at the corner of his mouth.

After reading the letter again and setting it aside, the king’s thoughts drifted completely, as if he were in Roque, right beside the bishop.

This imaginative longing tormented him, and in a daze, the king felt this longing was familiar, as if long ago, he had been separated from it, only able to know its state through letters… This strange thought flashed through his mind, impossible to grasp, leaving behind endless yearning.

Yes, he missed him. It was not nostalgia for old times but a genuine, ongoing love.

But what about him? Did he miss him too?

Behind all his feigned calmness, was the bishop’s calmness genuine, coming from deep within, or was it like his own, masked by strong self-control?

The king’s gaze gradually became distant. After a brief wander, his eyes settled, slowly concealing those emotions that had surfaced again. He placed the letter in a drawer, locking everything away. Once again, he returned to his role as king.

When the weather warmed, the bishop returned to Lecy. The knight’s team, originally sixty-two men, had grown to a hundred. The bishop had achieved great success in Roque, not just through religious power but through tangible deeds. He brought grain purchased from Rensburg, doctrine accompanied by bread, swiftly winning the hearts of the people.

In the turbulent continent, no one had treated them so selflessly. It was as if God had sent the bishop to bless them. In just three months, the bishop had become one of the most popular figures in all of Roque. Over seventy young nobles from Roque voluntarily joined the knight’s order. The bishop left some of them behind, and those people followed the bishop back to the church in Rensburg.

Lecy’s climate is much warmer than Roque’s, and signs of spring are showing here. Trees in the church have begun to bud anew. The congregation at Rensburg Church continuously embraces and kisses the bishop’s fingers, elevating the prestige of even newly joined knights.

The bishop ordered the knights to return home, leaving members of the Roque Knights behind for a formal ceremony at Rensburg Church—Roque’s church had not received recognition from the bishop. The King of Roque, about the same age as the old king of Lecy, was very anxious and promised to build a new church that would be recognized by the bishop next year.

After the formal ceremony, the bishop had Buñuel arrange for these knights and monks to stay together to experience the baptism of faith.

Barnett bid farewell to the bishop, “Bishop, I must also go back now.”

“Are you not going to the palace first?” the bishop asked lightly.

Barnett nervously replied, “Bishop…”

“Rest assured, I do not blame you,” the bishop reassured him.

Barnett sighed in relief, “Thank you for your understanding.”

Both the king and the bishop were his benefactors, and he could not choose between them.

“You may go,” the bishop called out to one of the departing knights, “Adonis, come here.”

A young brown-haired knight turned his face, “Bishop.”

“Come.”

Adonis jogged over. He was a tall, handsome standard Roque-type man, born in the cold regions, which always seemed to produce such extraordinarily fair and noble handsome men.

“Bishop,” Adonis saluted, “What are your orders?”

“Barnett, you may leave,” the bishop said first, then turned to Adonis, “You will not stay with them; you will reside in my building.”

“Understood.” Adonis had no objection, showing a pure smile. He made eye contact with Barnett and nodded sincerely, and Barnett nodded slightly in return.

*

“Everything is fine.”

Barnett described the bishop’s journey in Roque to the king like this.

The situation in Roque was slightly worse than in Lecy because of its geographical location in the northwest of the entire continent, where much land was unsuitable for cultivation and the climate was terrible, so it was generally poorer. In poor places, religion could exert greater appeal.

“The bishop is extremely talented in speaking. I can say he has already conquered all of Roque, spiritually.”

Unlike the rest of the Knights’ team, Barnett was absolutely loyal to the bishop, but he was not blind. He knew that the bishop was winning people’s hearts through religious influence and his personal charisma to achieve political goals.

“Very good.”

The king nodded calmly behind his desk.

“Before leaving Roque, the bishop received an invitation from Basel. The bishop of Basel wants to debate the legitimacy of Lecy’s religious body with the bishop. The debate is set for May 25th.”

The king nodded again, saying calmly, “He will win.”

Barnett smiled slightly, “Yes, I believe so.”

The smile quickly disappeared from Barnett’s calm face; evidently, there were more important things to report. The king also returned an inquiring look.

Barnett took a deep breath before slowly saying, “The bishop has recruited thirty-eight new members to the Knights in Roque.”

This was not a significant matter. After a brief reflection, the king understood the bishop’s skill in greatly reducing the perceived threat of this force by recruiting Knights from different countries and making people think that the Knights were only an honorary group.

“You must protect your position,” the king told Barnett, staring at him, “Protect the bishop’s safety.”

“Of course, I will protect the bishop with my life.”

Barnett grasped the sword at his waist, hesitated for a moment, and said, “But Your Majesty…”

The king realized Barnett was about to mention something important. His brow furrowed slightly, listening attentively.

“One of them is named Adonis. He’s a very likable young man, good-natured and handsome, in every respect,” Barnett shrugged, “The problem is…” He paused for a moment, his strong face furrowing, “His surname is Brady.” The king’s eyes flashed, and Barnett nodded, “Yes, he is a member of the royal family of Roque, a prince.”