Chapter 76 - - 76 - The Weight of Waiting

Chapter 76: Chapter - 76 - The Weight of Waiting

"Lord Lucien," the nun said, bowing respectfully. "The Archbishop is waiting for you."

Lucien exchanged a glance with Celbeth before following the nun inside, his golden eyes gleaming with quiet anticipation. The cathedral’s corridors stretched before him, adorned with tapestries depicting saints and celestial beings, their painted eyes seeming to follow his every step. Incense hung heavy in the air, mixing with the faint whisper of prayers echoing from distant chapels.

He entered the archbishop’s chamber while Celbeth remained outside, standing sentinel by the ornate doors. The room was spacious, filled with the warm glow of candlelight that danced across shelves lined with sacred texts and scrolls. Behind a mahogany desk, a woman sat immersed in paperwork, her quill moving across parchment with practiced efficiency.

So even archbishops have to do paperwork, Lucien mused, a faint smile playing at his lips.

"Lady Arianwen, Lord Lucien is here," the nun announced before bowing and retreating from the room, her footsteps fading into the corridor.

Lucien stepped forward, his dark attire a stark contrast against the room’s pristine white walls. He inclined his head with practiced grace. "Lady Arianwen, it’s an honor to meet you."

The archbishop looked up, her silver eyes meeting his gaze. "Don’t worry, Lucien. We don’t stand on noble formalities here." Her voice flowed like honey, soft and melodic, carrying an unexpected warmth that seemed at odds with her position.

She rose from her chair and approached him, and Lucien found himself taking in her full appearance. She wore a gown of immaculate white that hugged her form, the fabric doing little to conceal the generous curve of her thick thighs. Her cloak, equally pristine, draped over her shoulders, the hood barely covering her face. Her silver eyes sparkled with intelligence, and her short hair framed features that could only be described as angelic. Her lips, full and inviting, were the color of rich wine, a splash of crimson against all that white.

"We may never have met before, but I have heard of you," Arianwen continued, circling him slowly, her gaze appraising. "Your name has spread so far that even the High Priestess wished to meet you personally. Unfortunately, she is not here at present. She will visit in a few days. Until then, you must wait."

"I do not mind waiting, Lady Arianwen," Lucien replied, straightening to his full height. He met her gaze directly, and from an outsider’s perspective, the scene might have seemed a painting of divine contrasts—an angel in white and a devil in black, standing face to face in the candlelit chamber.

Arianwen moved toward a small table where a pot of steaming tea waited, its fragrant aroma already beginning to fill the room. She gestured for him to join her. "Why don’t we converse here?"

Lucien settled into the chair across from her, watching as she poured the amber liquid into delicate porcelain cups. The scent of jasmine and something earthier—perhaps a rare herb from the eastern provinces—reached his nostrils. He lifted the cup, bringing it to his lips, and took a measured sip, his expression betraying nothing.

"Tell me," Arianwen said, her eyes never leaving his face, "what would the famous Lucien Vale want from the cathedral?"

Lucien set the cup down slowly, the porcelain clicking softly against the saucer. "Maybe... salvation."

Arianwen’s laughter rang out, bright and genuine, cutting through the chamber’s solemn atmosphere like sunlight through stained glass. "A noble seeking salvation? And a warrior, no less." She shook her head, still smiling. "Tell me the real reason."

Lucien lifted his tea again, taking another sip as his mind raced. Can I tell her the reason? He considered his options carefully. If I need information, I would have to show her the Divine Key. And if even the High Priestess is a stranger to me, showing another stranger changes nothing.

His decision made, Lucien reached his hand into the void, his fingers closing around the familiar shape of the key. But before he could withdraw it, raised voices from outside the chamber drew his attention.

"What do you mean she’s busy?" a man’s voice bellowed, carrying through the thick oak doors. "We come here every day to ask for help, and she’s always busy! This cathedral is nothing but a sham!"

Lucien’s hand stilled. He withdrew it empty, the key remaining in its dimensional space.

"It seems our conversation will have to wait," Arianwen said, a flicker of weariness crossing her features.

They rose together and stepped out of the chamber, emerging into the cathedral’s main hall. The scene that greeted them was one of tension: a man with a weathered face and rough hands stood arguing with a young priestess. Her clothes were plain, coarse wool that spoke of poverty rather than piety. Her hair was tied back in a simple knot, and her eyes, wide and desperate, held the haunted look of someone who had seen too much suffering.

Lucien recognized her immediately—she must be from that shabby little church he had passed on his way to the cathedral, the one whose roof had been patched with mismatched tiles and whose bell tower leaned at a precarious angle.

He activated his Divine Inspection, his golden eyes flickering with barely visible light as he studied the young priestess.

Hmm. That’s unusual.

His gaze pierced through the superficial layers, revealing the truth of her spiritual foundation. He found a wellspring of potential, vast and untapped, like a lake hidden beneath dry earth. But all her skills remained locked, sealed away as if never accessed. Abilities that should have bloomed years ago lay dormant, frozen in a state of unfulfilled promise.

Could it be she’s not cultivating? But... He delved deeper, sensing the pool of astral energy that swirled within her, pure and potent. She has the energy, the foundation, the capacity. Yet no one has taught her how to use it. How peculiar.

"What’s going on here?" Arianwen’s voice cut through the commotion, sharp and commanding.

The young priestess, Xandra, turned toward the archbishop with desperate eyes. "Lady Arianwen, the village is in a critical condition. Please, send someone to save them!"

"Xandra, I don’t think they even listen," the man beside her spat, his voice dripping with contempt. His name, Lucien noted from the conversation, was Verek. "The voices and pain of the poor fall on deaf ears here."

Arianwen’s expression softened with sympathy, but her words held firm. "Xandra, my child, I have already told you. We cannot help you unless you are part of the cathedral, and you know the conditions."

"But even the children are not safe!" Xandra pleaded, tears welling in her eyes. They spilled over, trailing down her cheeks like liquid silver. "At least save them. Please, I beg you."

Lucien stepped forward, inserting himself into the conversation. He was not the type to meddle in others’ affairs, but Xandra had captured his interest in ways that went beyond simple curiosity. There was something about her—the raw, untamed power lurking beneath her humble exterior, the desperate hope that still flickered despite everything.

"What’s the matter, Lady Arianwen?" he asked, his tone casual but his golden eyes sharp.

The archbishop sighed, weariness etched into the lines of her beautiful face. "This poor child wants us to help her village, but... we can’t."

"Why not?"

Arianwen’s silver eyes met his, and for a moment, he saw something flash in their depths—resentment, perhaps, or frustration. "The cathedral is funded by the Pasha family. They check every record, every resource allocation. Saving an entire village would require significant resources, and if the Pasha family found out, they might withdraw their funding." She paused, her voice dropping. "However, if Xandra joins the cathedral, she becomes part of us. Then helping her village would be akin to helping our own followers."

Lucien nodded slowly, understanding dawning. No matter the world, money is always a priority. No wonder she spends so much time on paperwork—she’s trying to keep this cathedral running despite the leash around her neck. He studied Arianwen’s face, noting the subtle tension in her jaw. But I suspect there’s more to this than simple economics. Politics, perhaps. Or something darker.

"Then how about this," Lucien said, turning to face Xandra directly. "I have resources. I can help your village."

Xandra’s eyes widened, her tear-streaked face lifting with cautious hope. "Why... why would you do that?"

Lucien’s expression softened into something almost gentle. "Because I cannot stand by and watch people suffer when I have the means to help." He placed a hand over his chest, the picture of sincerity. "And because God is watching. If I remain passive despite my capabilities, that would be a sin."

Arianwen’s face went slack with shock. She knew the stories—the rumors that followed Lucien Vale like shadows. The tales of his ruthlessness, his cunning, the blood that stained his hands despite his noble bearing. Nothing she had heard matched the man standing before her, offering charity with such pious words.

But Xandra was too desperate to question his motives. She fell to her knees, her body trembling with relief. "Thank you, my lord! Thank you!"

"Get up," Lucien said gently, reaching down to take her hand. His fingers closed around hers, and he felt the faint thrum of her astral energy, like a caged bird beating against its bars. "I’ll visit the village in a few hours and see what can be done."

Verek, however, was not so easily swayed. His eyes narrowed, suspicion radiating from every line of his face. "Why would a noble want to help? They’re all the same—arrogant bastards who think they’re superior just because they have realm powers."

Lucien’s golden gaze shifted to the man, and for a moment, something dangerous flickered in their depths. Then it was gone, replaced by calm indifference. "Just as all five fingers are not the same length, all nobles are not the same," he said evenly. "I am my own man, with my own code."

Xandra rose, her hand still lingering in Lucien’s grasp for a moment longer than necessary before she pulled away. She bowed deeply, her swaying hips drawing Lucien’s attention despite his best efforts to remain focused.

Nice, he thought, his lips curving into a subtle smile. With this act of charity, my reputation will spread. The High Priestess may be more willing to help when she hears of my good deeds. And if the cathedral was so eager to help these people but was bound by nobility’s strings, then aiding them works in my favor.

He watched Xandra and Verek depart, his eyes lingering on the young priestess’s form as she walked away. And then there’s the girl herself. Beautiful, with a presence that would make any man take notice. And that untapped potential... There’s something there worth cultivating.

Beyond the cathedral walls, a carriage made its slow journey along the winding road. Its wheels churned through the dirt, carrying its passengers toward their destination, still days away.

Inside, the High Priestess reclined against plush cushions, her blonde hair spilling like golden silk over her shoulders. A white crown rested upon her brow, complemented by a matching white headband that held back her locks. Her bosom, generous and full, rose and fell with each breath. Around her, several younger priestesses sat in attentive silence, their eyes fixed on their leader.

A mounted messenger drew alongside the carriage, his horse foaming at the bit from the hard ride. "High Priestess!" he called out, bowing from his saddle. "We have received word that the noble has already reached the cathedral and awaits your arrival."

The High Priestess smiled, a knowing curve that held secrets within its depths. "Very good. Thank you."

The messenger saluted and rode ahead, leaving the carriage to continue its steady progress.

Inside, the younger priestesses shifted restlessly, their curiosity getting the better of them.

"High Priestess," one ventured, her voice hesitant, "why do you visit and stop at every small church and village? Surely there are more important matters that demand your attention?"

Another priestess scoffed. "Idiot. She does this to help as many people as possible. She’s become a ray of hope for those who can find help nowhere else."

"Then why hasn’t she visited any small churches or villages in the past few months?" a third asked, her brow furrowed. "Could she be injured? Or having problems with her cultivation?"

"You all think too much," the High Priestess interjected, her voice carrying a gentle reproach. "I’ve simply been feeling tired these past few months. Now, tell me more about this noble who came to meet me. Is he connected to the cathedral’s current administration?"

"I believe it’s Lucien Vale," one of the priestesses answered.

The High Priestess’s smile deepened, her eyes glinting with a light that held both warmth and shadows. Ahhhh, she thought, her mind drifting back through months and memories. We meet once again.

Her fingers traced the window’s edge as the landscape rolled by, her thoughts consumed by the man she would soon face.

The carriage pressed on, carrying her closer to a reunion that promised to be anything but ordinary.