EFB Chapter 345 : The Third Year of the New Covenant Era
Chapter 345 : The Third Year of the New Covenant Era
The fifteenth day of the first month, in the third year of the New Covenant Era.In the Kingdom of Greenwood, York City.
Within the first floor of the Clock Tower belonging to the Church of the Sanctuary sat four people—apart from Bishop Landon of the Land of Anathema, they were the remaining four Bishops of the Church.
Bishop Marl’s face bore an unshakable mark of age. Even though his hair had been neatly groomed, the scattered white strands betrayed the years—he looked like a man in his late forties or early fifties.
Bishop Jeven’s face was pale as if he had suffered a grave injury. Wrapped tightly in the thick fur of a Snow Bear, he seemed to be constantly resisting the cold that lingered around him.
Bishop Jeremiah had deep, dark circles beneath his eyes; his expression was weary, as though he had not rested for several nights.
Bishop Claudy’s complexion was rosy—he was the only one who looked his age, just past twenty—but before the other three Bishops, he appeared like a young cleric who had just been formally acknowledged by the Church.
Marl asked, ‘That fool Severus still hasn’t sent the Sacred Relic to you?’
Jeven replied, “Dominic said Severus still needs to use the Relic’s power to open a port. He hopes to borrow it for one more year. By the fourth year of the New Covenant, Severus will deliver the Relic.”
After speaking, Jeven couldn’t help but cough twice.
Marl frowned. “Why don’t you ask the Pope to heal your wounds directly? The Pope has the power to do so—you should know that well.”
Jeven gave a faint smile. “Of course the Pope can do it, but someone has to test how long it takes for such wounds to heal naturally. The Pope once said that unless absolutely necessary, he will not interfere with the natural order of things. My little injury doesn’t warrant troubling His Holiness.”
Marl muttered with some displeasure, “But it’s already been three years.”
Jeven replied calmly, “This state doesn’t hinder my duties.”
Jeremiah interjected, “There are researchers in the Monastery who study such injuries. And after all, you are a Bishop of the Church, not an ordinary man. Your case isn’t universally applicable.”
Jeven countered, “But such severe wounds aren’t common in the first place. The Pope said that since the beginning of the New Covenant Era, ancient deities have begun to return. No matter how much the Monastery studies, they cannot yet reach the domain of gods. My injury was at least caused by a Phantasm that touched upon the divine realm.”
Jeremiah smirked. “You seem rather proud of that.”
Jeven laughed softly. “Well, I did face a legendary dragon and survive. That alone is enough to have my name recorded in The Song of the Northland.”
Marl snorted. “Aen was once under your command. Now that he’s the Supreme King, it’s no wonder he’d include you in The Song of the Northland. But they erased every trace of the Church’s existence from that work. They intend to sever ties—with both the Church and the Faith in the Lord.”
Jeven defended him. “At the end of last year, after The Song of the Northland was completed, Aen came to the Great Cathedral of Rod to seek my pardon. He said he had not forsaken the Faith, but after testing with Zeke, they found that Faith cannot spread in the Northland the way it does in Greenwood.”
“The Northland is far too barren, and its climate unbearably harsh. Only by keeping their blood hot can the Northlanders survive. Realistically, only distributing the Sacrament could help them embrace the Faith—but the Northland lacks the resources to sustain that.”
Marl asked, “So that’s why he erased the Church from The Song of the Northland?”
Jeven answered, “Am I not in it? I am a Bishop of the Church, after all.”
Marl sneered. “Shall I read the part about you, then? ‘The Sage Who Passed Through the Northland’?”
Jeven merely smiled, unbothered. “So it seems you’ve read all twenty-one volumes of The Song of the Northland.”
Marl remained silent.
Jeven continued, “Since you’ve read it, you should understand the Northland better now. What Aen and Zeke wrote was the result of three years of trials and studies in that land. Surely you’ve noticed—the Northland and Greenwood are like two opposite beings. The Faith that thrives in Greenwood cannot take root there.”
“In Greenwood, you can suppress nobles by closing trade routes or mobilizing Knights. But in the Northland, the people would rather fight to the death than submit—because if they don’t fight, they’ll starve. Greenwood’s peasants can still survive on what the earth yields; the Northland’s cannot.”
“Even taxation works differently. In Greenwood, taxes are collected reliably each year, despite the occasional disaster. In the Northland, even in good years, the harvest often fails to meet the villages’ needs, let alone pay taxes.”
Jeremiah added, “The Woodlands are much the same. The trees grow too thick there—Knights can’t maneuver well. The Rangers, whom they call ‘Windwalkers,’ are far more vital. They can pierce a Knight’s armor with a single arrow, killing in one shot.”
“So their Faith is rooted in the forest and nature itself. Only within that environment do they find strength. The forest’s fruit sustains them, so they see it as the Mother of All Things.”
“After the publication of the New Covenant Scriptures, I spoke with Marquis Shalier of the Principality of Valorian. He didn’t openly mock it, but he distrusted the Genesis within the Scriptures. He said that in the Woodlands, the forest—not the Lord—is the Mother of All.”
Jeremiah sighed. “That’s why the Church’s Faith never truly takes hold there.”
Marl replied, “But Marquis Gregor has already secured the inheritance rights of Shalier’s domain.”
Jeremiah said, “Marquis Shalier’s fourth daughter, Camilla, is a clever girl.”
Marl frowned. “But she’s only thirteen, while Gregor’s eldest son is much older.”
Jeremiah shrugged. “What can I say? Greenwood’s nobles now favor marrying pure young girls. The Woodlands don’t share that custom. If Gregor married a woman lacking purity, he’d lose face.”
“And I should clarify—it’s not just Shalier’s domain. Through Camilla’s bloodline, Gregor now has a claim to the entire Principality of Valorian. Her mother was the third daughter of the current Grand Duke.”
Marl asked, “Wasn’t Shalier’s wife from a Viscount’s family?”
Jeremiah smirked. “A bastard, of course. You know how chaotic noble affairs are. But Camilla’s blood is real. Marquis Shalier loved her mother deeply, so he cherished his daughter too. To him, marrying her to a strong Marquis like Gregor was a worthy match.”
“Though the old Marquis believes we don’t know who Camilla’s mother is—she herself has no idea either.”
Marl asked, “And besides that?”
Jeremiah smiled slyly. “Beforehand, I had Gregor express clear disdain for Shalier’s other daughters. When I later spoke to the Marquise, I mentioned Greenwood’s latest ‘trend’ of marrying pure maidens, suggesting it disrespects noble dignity.”
Marl added, “I suppose the old Marquis seeks to use Gregor’s power—perhaps even to challenge the Grand Duke’s position.”
Jeremiah replied, “He lacks the bloodline within three generations of the current Grand Duke; he has no legitimate claim.”
Marl sneered. “Inheritance rights are easily forged—especially when you bed a Duke’s widowed daughter. A Marquise’s sudden death isn’t all that rare, after all.”
Jeremiah chuckled. “As expected of you, Bishop Marl. Even from the heart of Greenwood, just from these rumors, you can discern the Marquis’s schemes.”
Marl grumbled irritably, “Don’t mention ‘the heart of Greenwood.’ I’ve never seen such fools. The nobles know the Church is reclaiming Holy Relics, and even the King Pegira’s Personal Guards have begun surrendering theirs. Yet that idiot Hobert went and acquired one himself! A mere Tier Four Knight meddling with a Sacred Relic—absurd! When we elevated him to Baron from the ranks of mercenaries, I didn’t think he’d be this stupid.”
Jeven said gravely, “That should be Councilor Puniel’s failure.”
The tone in the room grew serious. Since the Pope had declared that the gods would soon return, both Sacred Relics and Holy Relics—artifacts that drew upon divine power—were dangerous.
Marl pressed his temple. “Puniel told me that, at the time, Hobert was the most cooperative and shrewd of the mercenaries who met the standards.”
Jeven suggested, “Then perhaps the Relic has corrupted his mind.”
Marl snorted. “No—he’s just plain stupid. Any noble with half a brain would never hide a Sacred Relic privately.”
“In the past, at least, there were Churches to guard such relics, Priests to watch over them, Scholars and Mages to study them. But now, only the Church’s clergy remain in Greenwood; Scholars are confined to academies, and all Mages belong to Adrian Academy of Magic.”
“Besides, weapons like Magic Cannons and the arms developed by the Monastery now rival the destructive power of Relics. They are no longer supreme on the battlefield. That fool only sought greater strength for himself—that’s why he touched the taboo.”
“He probably thinks he can hide a Sacred Relic right under my nose.”
Jeven narrowed his eyes. “It seems he still hasn’t learned to live like a noble.”
Marl nodded. “Exactly. His territory is practically a mercenary camp. Were it not swarming with mercenaries, I would’ve already sent that idiot Richard to seize the Relic.”
“Hobert represents the mercenaries’ interests. Seizing his property outright would cause political uproar and harm the Church’s image. We must wait until his heirs come of age. By then, the Relic will have consumed him completely—but if I act prematurely, nearby nobles would gladly exploit my misstep.”
Jeven sighed. “Who told Richard to offend so many nobles?”
Marl said bitterly, “If those nobles weren’t so good at pretending, I’d have had Richard butcher them all. But that idiot somehow managed to offend every noble in three years without killing a single one!”
Jeremiah quipped, “Perhaps killing a few would’ve earned him some fear.”
Jeven replied, “Yet it’s that restraint of his—the refusal to kill without reason—that earns respect.”
Marl waved it off, unwilling to continue the topic.
Jeremiah asked, “Then what if Hobert were to die of illness or an accident?”
Marl answered, “I’ve tried. Even arranged slow poison in his meals—but the man’s years as a mercenary made him far too cautious. Or maybe it’s the Relic’s power protecting him.”
Then he turned to Jeremiah. “When will you move against the Woodlands? Send Hobert there. A battlefield accident would solve everything.”
“He’s not bound to any diocese, but mercenary greed only needs the faintest lure. He’d go willingly—after all, his title was earned through war. Fighting in the Woodlands would earn him slaves, and that’s what Greenwood’s nobles crave most these days.”
Jeremiah protested mildly, “I never planned to seize the Woodlands—just some dealings with Marquis Shalier.”
Marl said sharply, “By ‘dealings,’ you mean you’ve already taken Valorian’s inheritance, haven’t you?”
Jeremiah chuckled. “At first, I was only interested in Camilla herself. Discovering her bloodline’s claim to the old Grand Duke’s house was an unexpected bonus.”
Marl opened his mouth to reply—but suddenly froze, standing upright with solemn reverence.
The others—Jeremiah, Jeven, and Claudy—followed, rising to their feet.
From behind a small wooden platform appeared Bishop Corleon, wearing the white robes of the Pope.
At his right stood Olivia, now fourteen, dressed in an elegant princess gown crafted specially for her by the Adams Family, adorned with silver and gemstones. Yet her face showed only discomfort.
At his left stood Phil, just five years old, his round face still childlike but filled with solemnity as he stood slightly behind the Pope.
Bishop Claudy, who had been engrossed in the Bishops’ discussion, finally realized what was happening. He hurriedly rose and bowed with the others, all of them saying in unison,
“Praise be to the Pope.”