Chapter 462: The Church’s Plan

They were reopening the laboratories inside the Rebellion Fortress.

To be honest, this idea caught Gawain completely off guard. He looked at Kamail in surprise. “I thought… we’d already cleared out several of the labs in the Rebellion Fortress.”

“We did remove the samples and most of the portable equipment,” Kamail explained patiently, “but I’m talking about the labs themselves. The fortress has a built-in divine power shielding and early warning system fused into its structure. It can’t be dismantled, and it’s still operational. This system uses those mysterious ‘exotic technologies’—it’s highly effective at resisting divine power. When we dissected the corpse of the giant stag Amorn back then, the system proved its worth. We can conduct experiments safely inside its protective field.”

Gawain frowned. “Couldn’t that system interfere with the ‘Divine Judgment’ mechanism? If it blocks the perception of the God of Holy Light, then even if we safely activate the Holy Light runes inside the fortress, it wouldn’t prove the process is safe in the real world.”

A strange resonance echoed from Kamail’s body. “You don’t need to worry about that. The protective system doesn’t block perception—it only provides defense.”

Gawain pondered for a moment, then nodded slightly. “You’re the expert here. I trust your plan. But there’s still one last risk… The Rebellion Fortress is located in the Shadow Realm, a world we can’t freely travel to yet. Right now, only a single Gondor magic gate—over a thousand years old—can open a passage to the Shadow Realm. And we still don’t understand how that gate suddenly reactivated. So if the connection between the two worlds weakens during the experiment and the gate collapses, anyone inside the Shadow Realm will be trapped there forever.”

That was an enormous risk with terrifying consequences. Adventurers, always courting danger, might be used to magical gate collapses, temporal distortions, or ancient seals when exploring ruins—some even romanticize such fateful accidents. But for Gawain, anything unknown, uncontrollable, and beyond technical explanation had to be avoided.

Kamail had clearly anticipated this concern. He answered quickly: “We haven’t fully deciphered the link between the Shadow Realm and the real world yet, but after more than a year of effort, I’ve repaired the monitoring system for the ‘Shadow Portal’ and added an early warning mechanism. By tracking fluctuations in the Shadow Realm’s layers, we can predict a portal collapse at least an hour in advance. An hour is enough time to evacuate personnel.”

As a senior technician who had survived since ancient Gondor, Kamail had a unique attachment to the Rebellion Fortress and understood its technological value better than most. He had been tirelessly trying to salvage precious tech from the heavily damaged fortress, and studying the Shadow Portal beneath it was one of his ongoing projects.

Unfortunately, the territory lacked enough high-level talent. Very few could assist Kamail with this research.

Hearing Kamail’s answer, Gawain exhaled softly. “In that case… let’s proceed. We need to uncover the secrets of divine magic.”

…

In Saint Suniel City, inside the Cathedral of the Holy Light, the aged Pope listened intently as the bishops relayed the latest news.

“…The flames of war have reached the Holy Spirit Plains. The Eastern Legion may break through the kingdom’s defenses before the Harvest Festival and push toward the Great Wood Pass. Refugees displaced by the conflict are wandering across the plains… Our communication with the Eastern Diocese has become increasingly difficult.”

“In the central, western, and northern parts of the Holy Spirit Plains, conditions are better. Fearful commoners and minor nobles are flocking to the churches seeking solace…”

“Cultist activity has not diminished, especially in the eastern plains. The ‘End of All Things’ sect appears frequently. Coupled with the war’s injuries and hardships, local nobles welcome our clergy’s presence…”

“This war is truly lamentable,” Pope Saint Ivan III’s voice echoed through the Great Hall of Light. The elderly pontiff sank deeply into his chair, holy radiance illuminating his compassionate face. “Civil strife, power struggles, greed—innocent people are caught in the flames. The outbreak of this war proves one thing: without the Lord’s guidance, humanity is doomed to be trapped in folly.”

After this somber reflection, the old pope raised his head and looked down at a tall bishop. “Bishop Megor, how is the purge of heresy progressing in the central region?”

“The faith in the central diocese is steadily purifying. Several counterattacks organized by the heretical cults have been defeated,” the bishop called Megor bowed respectfully. “Most fled eastward; the rest retreated into the western forests or southward.”

“Good. Continue your work,” the pope nodded slightly, his somewhat clouded gaze sweeping across the Great Hall. “We must guide people onto the right path. This war has been a warning—divisions in belief have plunged people into power struggles. If there were a unified faith, perhaps things wouldn’t have deteriorated so badly. The heretical churches cannot achieve this. Then it falls to us.”

Veronica Morn, standing beside the pope, glanced briefly at the old man.

“Our influence in the East is minimal,” the pope continued. “Despite centuries of effort, the Loren family still resists the church’s deeper involvement in the East. Especially since the war began, the situation in the Eastern Diocese is worsening rapidly… Recent intelligence indicates Edmond Morn’s attitude toward the church is even worse than the Lorens’. He has begun openly expelling our priests.”

Veronica lowered her head slightly. “I regret Edmond’s actions.”

“That’s not your burden. The prince is blinded by greed and has likely lost all basic judgment,” the pope shook his head. “Given the current situation, I believe it’s time to withdraw the Eastern Diocese’s bishopric.”

The pope’s words sparked a mild commotion in the Great Hall.

The bishops exchanged glances, then whispered among themselves. Clearly, the pope’s decision exceeded their expectations. The holy light surrounding them flickered and swayed, mingling with the “Holy Light Clouds” undulating beneath the hall’s ceiling, emitting a low hum.

Veronica looked up, watching the turbulent holy light. Then she heard the pope clear his throat softly.

The unrest in the light quickly subsided, returning to a steady rhythm. The bishops’ murmurs ceased. One bishop stepped forward as if speaking on behalf of the group: “Your Holiness, after withdrawing the Eastern bishopric… what are your further plans?”

“This war… brings suffering to the innocent,” the pope lowered his eyelids. The holy light around him rose, merging with the clouds above, lending infinite weight to his words. “Only a unified faith can dispel these blind divisions. To that end, we must take more direct action against heresy… The Holy Church’s army will join this war.”

The bishops stirred again, but this time their discussion was brief—they had already sensed this development when the pope announced the withdrawal.

A white-bearded bishop stood. “Your Holiness, will we support the kingdom’s army?”

“The Eastern rebels have expelled our clergy—they are enemies of the Holy Light,” the pope’s voice was low and authoritative. “For the Lord’s cause, we must end neutrality and join the kingdom’s side.”

Silence fell over the Great Hall.

Since Ansu’s founding, religious neutrality had been a fundamental principle. The king ruled the kingdom; the pope led the church. The royal family had no authority over church affairs, and the church did not interfere with royal governance. This was a promise forged by the pioneering leaders and church heads who had braved the wasteland together.

But now that rule was about to be broken. The Holy Light Church, the most militarily powerful sect, would enter the civil war. The Holy Church’s army joining the fight meant the church was no longer a purely neutral institution uninvolved in royal power.

No matter the war’s outcome, the church’s status and influence in Ansu would be forever changed.

Before the civil war, the Ansu royal family would never have allowed this—even if the Holy Church’s army claimed to support the crown—because it meant the church was overstepping its bounds. But now… the kingdom’s forces are faltering under the Eastern rebels’ pressure, and troubling news from the south has unsettled the crown. The two regent dukes in Silverfort, the kingdom’s nominal heirs, will have no choice.

Veronica stood quietly beside Pope Ivan III, her expression unreadable. The bishops could not discern her stance on the matter, nor whether the royal family was behind it. But one thing was clear: the crown did not oppose this.

“Your Holiness, your foresight is profound,” the tall Bishop Megor said loudly. “For the Lord’s cause, it is time for the Holy Church’s army to preach with the sword.”

Another bishop voiced concern: “But then, the clergy and faithful who cannot evacuate the Eastern Diocese may face reprisals from the rebels.”

“We will arrange for the withdrawal of ordinary priests and missionaries alongside the bishopric. Edmond Morn’s hostility toward the church justifies this,” the pope said calmly. “As for the faithful… the Lord will watch over their souls.”

…

The meeting in the Great Hall of Light concluded.

The bishops filed out one by one, leaving only the aged Pope Ivan III and Veronica Morn standing quietly beside his throne.

After a brief silence, the pope’s hoarse voice reached Veronica’s ears. “Veronica, do you also believe the Holy Church’s army entering the war challenges Ansu’s traditional order?”

The Holy Princess was silent for two seconds before answering calmly, “This benefits both sides—the church will further its development, the kingdom’s army may turn the tide, and the two regent dukes will make the right decisions. In my view… times have changed, Your Holiness. Tradition can yield to the demands of the era.”

“Yes, times have changed. New eras bring new threats… and threats come from more than one direction,” the pope sighed, his tone full of resignation. “What of the situation in the south?”

“Shrouded in mist.”

(End of chapter)