Chapter 523 - v3c301 (1/2)

“Miss Magadal.”

Even though the Anderla Cathedral was battered brutally by storms, it did not affect the solemn quietness of its halls one bit. Normally, the hall would be used to conduct silent prayers and meditations. But there would be occasions where it would be required to hold up to thousands of people, which was why the interior was designed so magnificently. The curved roof of the cathedral was supported by twenty-eight grey stone pillars; long rows of chairs facing the central altar which created a fan-shaped s.p.a.ce. It was truly a sight behold.

A large number of subordinate workers are responsible for cleaning the cathedral daily. When they saw Princess Magadal walking inside, they rushed to greet her with respect.

Magadal was a high-level priestess, a princess, not to mention that she was even a student of Archbishop Wood. In addition, after Archbishop Wood’s departure, her status rose and she was recognized to be in charge of the place temporarily.

Magadal stopped and nodded her head lightly in return to the workers. Although she was born as a princess, there is little to no glimpses of arrogance and sn.o.bbishness in her. Though it may be because of her education, the main factor caused was that she was originally gentle in nature.

Well known for her social relations, the Nun Princess was praised both inside and outside of the cathedral.

“Is the Archbishop in?” she asked.

“Miss Magadal, The Lord Archbishop……is still unwilling to meet outsiders.” The minister replied.

“Is that so…” Magadal sighed, although this was expected, she still felt a sense of despair. She contemplated on this and later asked again, “How about Lord Moros?”

She referred to Wood as Archbishop Wood but she referred Moros as Lord Moros. And everyone knew why: Moros was a cold, serious ‘foreigner’ that was not accepted by anyone in the cathedral.

“Lord Moros seems to be meeting a guest,” a worker answered.

“A guest?” Magadal replied with a slight shock. How could there still be guests at this late hour? “Who is this guest?”

“His name is Marquis Yoakam accompanied by another guest which we don’t recognize.” Another worker answered.

It’s him? Magadal knew that Marquis Yoakam supported Duke Seifer, but he was not closely tied in relations with the Northern Alliance. What’s the reason for his visit to the cathedral? Is it something urgent?

Magadal frowned and felt nauseated when she thought of the past. A worker observed her expressions and immediately went forward to attend to her, saying, “Your highness, do you want to go take a look?”

“No, it’s fine,” Magadal replied, shaking her head decisively. Her face was filled with disgust.

The workers exchanged glances. The rumor that there was bad blood between The Nun Princess and Marquis Yoakam seems to be true.

However, little did they know that her face was burning from guilt and her palms nervously sweated. Would Marsha forgive me for lying to the public?

But no matter what, this was the path she had chosen, a path that she cannot regret.

“O great Marsha, please grant me success.” Magadal prayed silently in her heart.

Marquis Yoakam’s POV

There was a flickering candle in the cramped room, s.h.i.+ning bright and dim while occasionally bursting out small sparks.

Brendal knew that Ampere Seale’s current Archbishop, Moros, was a famous villain in history. The difference between him and Amman was that although Moros was insidious and cold, he is much disciplined, he lived a simple life and had no materialistic desires – literally like a monk.

Although this image of him could be a façade, it had been engrained in the minds of people he was involved with. And he was not cold towards the n.o.bles of Aouine either, although his opinions did favor the Kirrlutz a little, he still had a pa.s.sable relations.h.i.+p with the Aouine royalty.

But that was history. Brendel caused a b.u.t.terfly effect that steered history off course, and even the current Archbishop’s personality was vastly different from the original.

This small and cramped room was a guest room in the side hall of the grand Anderla Cathedral. As the Anderla Cathedral rarely receives guests, there were not many guest rooms, and most of them were very simple. It’s been a while since Archbishop Wood handed his power over the cathedral to Archbishop Moros. But the new Archbishop insisted on staying here, showing just how lacking his desires were.

But the two men seemed a little restless, especially Marquis Yoakam. Although he may act like a rascal, his pursuits for a lavish lifestyle was unlike the others. This room felt like a slum house, and despite how clean the table was, he still felt as if there was a layer of dust on it.

He only sat there for a brief moment before he had the illusion that an ant was crawling on him. Not to mention that he was still burdened heavily with the ‘important matter’ in his heart – time was even boringly slow.

Before the arrival of the master, both of them dared not to make trouble.

Finally, there were sounds of footsteps approaching, but in less than a moment, Moros’ cold face appeared outside the door, with his prominent hawk-like nose, he was wearing his daily routine red-golden robe. His face was serious and strict.

He always had this expression on his face, which led to the Aouine players nicknaming him as ‘Iron Face’. This was not meant to compliment his strictness and selflessness, but it was meant to just tease his lack of expressions.

Yoakam dare not conceive such a thought. Even if he could disregard this person before him, he could not ignore the person backing this man up. Although the Aouine people had defeated the Kirrlutz centuries ago, the Aouine n.o.bles were one of the groups that feared the Kirrlutz people the most.

You can’t say that it’s not a type of insult –

Both of them stood up and greeted Moros, but Moros only nodded his head in return, revealing a slight glimpse of arrogance. Yoakam did not find that peculiar, as if he had expected that. The Kirrlutz people had been prideful people all along, thinking that everyone in Aouine was underneath their feet.