“Northerners, I am Teresia, Archbishop of the Imperial Church and the first servant of the gods. I have questions for you—answer only with the truth.”
As soon as Crown Prince Canbraman granted permission, Archbishop Teresia launched into her interrogation.
“What is this new unified faith of yours, the Renslet Order?”
Her tone was more accusatory than inquisitive.
“It is a sacred and noble faith, born from the union of the ancestral spirits of the North and the fervent spirit of the Renslet ancestors,” Gard replied calmly, as if he had anticipated this line of questioning.
“Ha! That’s nothing more than a heretical, barbaric cult!”
“You’ve always thought of us that way, haven’t you?” Gard countered with a wry smile.
The relationship between the Imperial Church and the North was as fraught as that between the Imperial family and the North.
“If you expel the witches, the Imperial Church will bring divine blessings to your lands at once,” Teresia declared.
“No need. We’re quite content with the blessings of the Renslet ancestors,” Gard replied, his smile growing sharper.“Do you really think that heresy of yours will grant you divine power?”
“It already has. Mary’s Blessing is proof enough, is it not?”
“Fools! Gullible fools! That fraud will be exposed soon enough!”
“Your words are unnecessarily harsh, Archbishop.”
“Renounce your heresy at once! Burn the witches alive! I will send the Church’s paladins and inquisitors to assist you!”
Her fiery words bordered on fanaticism, her demand escalating from a sermon to outright threats.
“Oh, our Father in the heavens, please do not descend to this world. Woe to us, our Savior has come!”
The Northern envoys, unbothered by her outburst, responded with equally pointed sarcasm.
“How dare you! Heathens forsaken by the gods! Cursed barbarians who worship mere ancestors! Guards! Bind these insolent savages to the wheel—”
“Escort the Archbishop out!”
Canbraman, unable to bear it any longer, ordered her removal.
“Unhand me! Your Highness! These heretics must be burned at the stake!”
Ignoring the echoes of her protests, Canbraman turned to the Northern delegation with a look of exasperation.
“I extend my deepest regrets.”
“And as you are aware, this matter has no connection to the Empire or its Imperial family,” he added.
“We understand. But perhaps you might add a little more gold to compensate,” Gard replied with a grin. This was precisely why they had endured Teresia’s tirade without escalating the situation.
“Fine,” Canbraman said with a weary sigh, pressing his fingers to his temples as he mentally calculated how much to charge the Church for this debacle.
“You’re dismissed. Enjoy the banquet this evening—I insist you stay this time.”
“Understood, Your Highness.”
Thus, what had nearly escalated into a full-blown confrontation ended with relative civility.
After the Northern envoys departed, Canbraman’s expression grew icy as he summoned his ministers.
“Chancellor, Ricard,” he called.
“Yes, Your Highness?”
“Begin selling Eastern porcelain to the North—cheaply.”
“At low prices?”
“Yes. And raise the prices once it becomes popular.”
“As you command.”
“Remember, we cannot allow the North to grow prosperous. They must be kept impoverished—just enough to survive, never enough to thrive.”
“We will ensure your orders are carried out, Your Highness.”
As the crown prince issued his commands, his thoughts raced.
That so-called blessing of theirs… it’s already increasing their arable land. That means their population will grow!
The idea of the Northerners expanding their population—of them becoming stronger—was intolerable. At the very least, this had to be delayed until he ascended to the throne and gained full control of the Empire.
Until he could stand unchallenged as the Emperor.
And, most importantly, until he could face Marquess Havana with pride.
“Contact the Demon’s Maw again,” Canbraman ordered abruptly.
“The Demon’s Maw? The Church won’t like that,” Chancellor Karaso cautioned.
“Oh? Are you so sure?”
Canbraman smirked as he spotted Teresia returning to the chamber, her eyes glinting with unbridled fanaticism.
“Very well. I’ll make the arrangements immediately,” Karaso replied, understanding the prince’s intent.
The Empire’s machinations against the North were underway once more.
***
Daisy’s father was a retired soldier, a survivor of the ill-fated Northern Expedition led by the late Grand Duke Baikal Rune Renslet.
He had lost both arms in that campaign, becoming a disabled veteran.
“Dad, look! I made this one last night!”
“You’ve worked so hard, Daisy. It looks wonderful,” he replied with a warm smile.
Daisy, her small hands still dusty from carving, proudly displayed her latest wooden figurine to her father.
“Alright, sweetie. Help me remove the prosthetics—it’s time to get to work.”
“Okay! But don’t sell them for less than three coppers each, okay?”
“I promise. Who made them, after all?”
Her father chuckled as Daisy carefully removed his makeshift prosthetic arms.
“Should I carry the box for you?”
“No. If I carry it, more people will notice. Go ahead and hang it around my neck.”
“…Alright.”
Daisy helped her father fasten a wooden box filled with her handcrafted figurines. Inside were 14 pieces, each meticulously carved.
She was a talented child, her skill evident even at a young age.
Even the prosthetic arms her father wore were creations of her tiny, dexterous hands.
“Let’s go!”
“Okay!”
They smiled at each other as they prepared to leave.
“Wait, let’s say goodbye to Mom first.”
“Right! Mom! We’re heading out!”
Before departing, they bowed their heads to a small box in the corner of the room. Inside were the hair and keepsakes of Daisy’s late mother.
Has it been three months already?
Three months earlier, Daisy’s mother had been killed by a monster outside the city while foraging for weeds to use in Arad salt.
“Goodbye, my love,” Mark said, paying his respects before stepping outside with his daughter.
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