Chapter 461 - 424: Bloated Holy Light

Chapter 461: Chapter 424: Bloated Holy Light

Cardinal Moros didn’t wait for the Prince’s reply. His unusually bright eyes swept over the surroundings, his gaze finally landing on the commoners wolfing down their food. He heaved a theatrical sigh, his tone thick with condescending pity and unconcealed smugness.

"Behold, Your Highness. This is the power of faith." He gestured to the eating crowd, a smile he seemed to think was benevolent spreading across his face. "When the nobility could not fill the people’s hungry bellies, it was the Church that produced real gold and silver. These humble souls retain their human form entirely through the grace of the Holy Light. Don’t you agree that this, rather than those fleeting decrees that die with the men who make them, is the true art of governance?"

This was both a boast and a warning. Normally, when faced with such an aggressive posture from the Church, Prince Willandar would choose silence or a diplomatic retreat to maintain a semblance of peace.

The Prince instinctively glanced to his side. Velin was gently swirling his wine, and through the crimson liquid, he cast a calm and resolute gaze. That look seemed to say, ’Let him dance. The stage is set.’

A sense of calm settled over Prince Willandar, and his previously tense shoulders relaxed. He offered a faint smile, one that held a strange, profound meaning.

"The Cardinal is absolutely right," the Prince’s voice was steady and strong, tinged with a hint of mockery. "The Church’s ’generosity’ is indeed impressive. However, I’ve also heard an old proverb—a feast too rich is often followed by nightmares. Let’s hope that after enjoying this banquet, these poor souls will remember exactly what grace is."

The smile on Moros’s face froze for an instant. He narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing the prince, who was usually so reserved and low-key.

’What happened to the gentle, refined Prince who always deferred to the greater good?’ The hidden edge in his words sparked a strange sense of discord and unease in Moros.

’Is it because of that young Count beside him?’

Moros glanced at Velin, but the young man was merely sipping his wine with lowered eyes, looking utterly harmless.

"Your Highness enjoys a jest," Moros scoffed, forcibly suppressing the strange agitation stirring within him. "There are no nightmares under the Holy Light. Only those with guilty consciences fear the dark."

With that, he turned with a flick of his sleeve and strode toward the head seat. Though his gait remained steady, he felt as uncomfortable as if he’d swallowed a fly.

’Willandar was uncharacteristically firm tonight.’

But he soon pushed the doubt to the back of his mind.

Perhaps it was the success of having presided over such a grand ceremony, but a wave of euphoria surged through his veins, making him feel invincible. He sat back down in the gilded, high-backed chair and raised his glass again, preparing to savor his moment of triumph.

The banquet officially began.

Melodious music filled the air, and the atmosphere in the square grew increasingly festive.

Of course, at the head table at the very heart of the affair, the atmosphere retained the nobility’s characteristic restraint and decorum.

Although these dignitaries had tables laden with exquisite delicacies, no one was truly indulging. For them, the food was secondary; socializing and trading favors were the main course.

"Cardinal, your sermon was truly powerful," a senior councilman in charge of the budget said, raising his glass with a fawning smile plastered on his face. "Those slanderous rumors about the Church will surely crumble to dust before your brilliance."

"Indeed, especially that nonsensical talk about ’monsters’," a Marquis beside him chimed in, dabbing the corner of his mouth elegantly with a napkin. "Only the foolish masses would believe such things."

Moros smiled and nodded in acknowledgment.

At first, he maintained the decorum befitting a Cardinal, listening to their flattery while delicately sampling the foie gras before him.

"Cardinal?" The senior councilman was in high spirits, about to ask for guidance on the budget for next year’s church renovations, but he found that Moros wasn’t responding.

Moros was eating.

His movements were still technically proper, but the pace was a little too quick. Cut, fork, lift, chew, swallow. The sequence was fluid and not without a certain grace, but... it carried an indescribable sense of wrongness.

The small piece of foie gras was gone.

Without pausing, Moros immediately reached with his fork for the nearby roasted suckling pig.

"Er... the Cardinal has quite an appetite," the councilman chuckled awkwardly, attempting to break the strange silence. "The recent ceremony must have taken a lot out of him."

Moros ignored him.

He didn’t even glance up at anyone else at the table.

His eyes were fixed on the suckling pig.

Tearing, chewing, swallowing.

Gradually, the other diners at the table—leaders of local factions and high-ranking generals—fell silent. They exchanged glances, each seeing the same bewilderment reflected in the others’ eyes.

Moros began to eat faster and faster. At first, he used his knife and fork, but then, apparently finding them too slow, he simply grabbed a greasy pig trotter with his bare hand, shoved it into his mouth, and began to rip at it with his teeth.

Dark red sauce dribbled from the corners of his mouth, dripping onto his pristine, sacred red robes and blooming into jarring stains.

"Cardinal..." a Marchioness stammered, covering her mouth in horror. "Are... are you all right?"

"Ngh... hungry..."

An indistinct growl rumbled in Moros’s throat, like a wild beast guarding its food.

The food before him was gone, swept clean. But in his now-turbid eyes, the flames of hunger had not been extinguished. Instead, they burned even more fiercely.

To him, eating was a ritual, a path to the divine.

He devoutly savored every nuance of flavor, chewing meticulously until the food became paste, as if he were dissecting a divine grace.