Chapter 293

Chapter 293
Chapter 293

“To honor me with a visit on such a hectic day…”

The Archbishop maintained an affable expression as he gazed at Petrick, who had arrived unannounced.

The appearance of Petrick Asteri himself indicated that his calculated maneuver had succeeded, after a fashion.

It justified sacrificing his most treasured possession. He had concluded that without such a sacrifice, the deadlock would remain unbroken.

“Please, take a seat first.”

“Very well.”

Petrick forcibly reined in the boiling fury surging from his depths. His initial impulse was to thrash the man before him so thoroughly that he would never dare attempt such folly again, but that duty belonged exclusively to his grandson. His sole purpose in coming here today was simply to act as a courier.

“I’ll decline any refreshments. I must be on my way shortly.”

“Ah, of course. You do have a rather demanding schedule today.”

Petrick let out a dry, scornful laugh and seated himself.

“It is an irritating predicament, but it should prove to be a valuable lesson for my successor. That reminds me, how is your own successor faring these days?”

“If you are referring to Priest Licht, he remains in charge of communications with House Asteri, as always.”

“I meant whether you have imparted anything to him beyond official duties.”

The Archbishop was well aware of the underlying currents Petrick deliberately chose to ignore.

“You no doubt have your own reasons.”

“Indeed. Much like Lion.”

“I have cautioned you on multiple occasions that such tunnel vision compromises your perspective, yet you are slow to comprehend.”

The Archbishop stared in silence at Petrick, whose composure outstripped even its usual levels.

“You appear rather displeased.”

The man who felt no need to mask his feelings in the presence of others was none other than the Lord Marquis Petrick sitting before him—a comrade of the Former Archbishop and a living legend. With a mere thought, he possessed the capability to bring everything currently in motion to a grinding halt. Furthermore, even the Archbishop himself recognized that he would fall in defeat against such sheer, overwhelming might. Naturally, having ascended to the pinnacle of power, he would not perish easily, but because his grand design required Petrick Asteri, he could not act against him lightly.

Yet, observing him now, the reverse appeared equally true. Petrick was genuinely furious, and Lion Asteri had undoubtedly been unsettled by the gift sent to him. According to the Archbishop’s near-certain deductions, Lion was actively being influenced by the Hero’s relic. The exact mechanism remained obscure, yet the circumstances thus far, coupled with the desperate efforts of House Asteri to conceal information, served as inverse confirmation.

The Former Archbishop had been revered as the Saintess—the sole parental figure who had cherished him like a true child and a younger sibling. The Archbishop briefly drifted back into the haze of that distant era. He recalled her affectionate cadence, a voice as soothing as a gentle tide, and the comforting brush of her hand across his forehead when he fussed against sleep, begging to stay awake a little longer. Even the tales of the Hero she recounted as a legacy for future generations remained etched in his memory. To the nameless child he once was, those words formed his absolute creed, and a true priest never abandons his creed.

* Are you fussing about sleep yet again?
* But I am not tired.
* Heh heh. You will struggle to rouse yourself come morning, you know.

The Former Archbishop would flash a fond smile as she settled into her chair, her slender fingers cool against his feverish skin whenever night brought sudden warmth.

* Then I suppose I must regale you with another tale.

Though his youthful reply was lost to time, he knew he had laughed, prompting her to gift him those enduring stories.

* Did you realize? It is said the Hero was sometimes blessed with the vision of past and future.
* Like when we experience vivid dreams?
* Heh heh. Precisely. And that is the very power safeguarding us now. Still, you will be a good lad and remain quiet while I am gone, won’t you?

Pulled abruptly from the warmth of memory back into the chill of reality, the Archbishop listened as Petrick spoke.

“Archbishop. Did I not just state otherwise? This is not a matter of business; it is a nuisance. Besides, I merely concluded it would serve as wholesome experience for my successor.”

“It seems you view Lion as your successor as well. He has certainly demonstrated his capabilities, whether intentionally or not.”

“He is a remarkably magnanimous boy.”

“I only wish his magnanimity extended far enough to accommodate me.”

“Fortunately for him, he is not quite that generous.”

The edges of the Archbishop’s forced smile grew rigid.

“What exactly did Lion say to warrant such a reply?”

“I simply voiced my perspective. As for the boy’s response…”

Petrick retrieved the vial from his inner tunic and placed it squarely on the table. The Archbishop’s countenance froze at the sight of it, turning ash-pale while his eyes flushed bloodshot.

“What is the meaning of this?”

“It is Lion’s reply.”

“Is that not merely stating the obvious!”

The Archbishop found himself unable to even touch the container, the sheer magnitude of the sealing technique palpable even at a distance—and executed by none other than her hands. A fourth-level seal; no, approaching a fifth-level threshold. If it was truly her, the mortal vessel chosen to manifest God’s own power… what unimaginable sacrifice had been demanded to finalize such a seal?

Yet, horror and fury stemmed from a deeper source. He had long suspected that his family perished while acting as divine vessels, but the tormenting question was *why*. Why must it transpire in such a manner? Was the Hero and the world truly so paramount, leaving those behind to suffer in desolation? The internal dam he had painstakingly constructed breached, letting resentment pour forth—not toward her, but inward. *Why could I not uncover the truth?*

The reflection triggered a fragment from an ancient dream.

“If I may, what was the Saintess truly like?”

The Archbishop dug his fingernails into his own face, distorting his features without a care as blood vessels ruptured beneath the skin under the crushing pressure. Only through physical pain could he arrest his descent into emotional turmoil and regain his clarity. *Pull yourself together. Pull yourself together. Pull yourself together.* He chanted the internal mantra repeatedly until his scattered thoughts coalesced. His dilated pupils vibrated with instability with every constructed thought. Lion Asteri already wielded the power and the relic. He had evidently spent considerable time preparing to shatter the seal, and the moment to break it was rapidly approaching. Given his status as the Hero, it was merely an inevitability—reaching heights a mere Archbishop could never hope to rival.

And he had dared to provoke such an entity. The realization smacked of supreme complacency, an act of astonishing stupidity in hindsight. He had needlessly complicated a path that could have unfolded smoothly.

“Did you imagine that by engineering an era of turmoil, you would unearth a clue regarding the Saintess’s demise?” Petrick inquired, piercing straight through the Archbishop’s introspection. “Your premise was simple: if no natural hero materialized in this generation, you would manufacture chaos and elevate the most viable candidate in their stead.”

Every word hit its mark. It was not merely a shrewd guess by Petrick Asteri. *Ultimately, a clue did surface, did it not?* By voluntarily assuming the mantle of the villain to orchestrate trials for the Hero’s path, an answer had indeed manifested, leaving him alone to shoulder the wreckage.

“Ha… Hahaha.”

The Archbishop let out a hollow laugh. His lacerated face presented a grotesque image, yet Petrick merely regarded him with a look of profound pity. It was not without reason that he privately labeled the man a madman. This was the Archbishop’s true visage; ever since the day the Saintess perished, he had never possessed his full sanity.

“…I have lost.”

“You state the obvious.”

“I am almost inclined to kneel before Lion myself. Ah, to think he could deal me such a devastating blow.”

Before the man could ramble further, Petrick pushed himself up from his chair. Remaining here would only sour his mood further without altering outcomes.

“That vial will be reclaimed shortly.”

“…Indeed. And I shall remain as docile as a slain beast.”

“For a servant of the divine, you lie with remarkable ease.”

The Archbishop would undoubtedly find himself occupied going forward. Had he not witnessed a fifth-level seal firsthand? He would naturally seek to ingratiate himself with Lion, and under the present circumstances, only one path remained to redeem himself: discovering a safe method to dismantle the seal while exercising utmost caution never to offend the young master. And finally—

“Archbishop.”

“Yes, Lord Petrick.”

“…Ponder your next steps carefully.”

Refusing to offer any further counsel, Petrick turned and left. With Lion’s errand concluded, it was time to observe how adeptly his youngest grandson was managing his own affairs.

“…Carefully, indeed,” murmured the Archbishop to himself in the empty room, a genuine, profound smile touching his lips. One fact remained absolute: he would never again engage in any scheme detrimental to Lion. There was no longer any necessity for it.

*Ah, it feels good to have it back.*

Ordinarily, he was not one to derive malicious joy from another person’s utter ruin; empathy usually dictated his disposition. Even so, contemplating the absolute devastation of the Archbishop’s mental fortitude provided a distinct sense of gratification. Lion had committed no wrongdoing, yet the Archbishop had persistently provoked him over a single, absurd grievance—his lineage connecting him to the Hero. *You really should have known when to quit.*

Lion shook his head slightly. Regardless, things were bound to quiet down significantly from this point forward. Should anyone attempt further disruptions here, it might not even be Lion who retaliated; his grandfather might personally descend upon the Temple to cast a meteor strike. Alternatively, Rickshel might track down Licht at the Asteri Mansion and dismantle him first.

“Is something here not to your liking?”

“Hm?”

“You were shaking your head. Shall we proceed in that direction?”

Lion had been systematically collecting rare medicinal herbs across the Black Market wherever his eyes fell. True to Jack’s description, the criminal underworld’s bazaar overflowed with precious commodities. While the proportion of counterfeit goods remained relatively high, Lion possessed the discernment to filter them out effortlessly, transforming the trip into a thorough shopping spree—funded entirely by Jack, naturally. Jack trailed behind him, maintaining a strained, beaming facade while muttering internally that any problem solvable via currency remained the most economical solution available.

They certainly stocked exceptional merchandise. And with an uncanny, almost supernatural intuition, Lion proceeded to request items that money alone could never buy.