Chapter 132 – Cardinal Ferriji
Saint Cassow Cathedral in the royal capital was awe-inspiring at first glance. Yet after only a brief moment of taking it in, the group was quickly ushered inside under Zachary's lead.
The instant they passed through the cathedral's main doors, Connie—who had been walking beside Charles—turned to him with an apologetic expression.
"Sorry, Charles. I need to go to the Communications Office to write a letter to my father. I can't accompany you any farther."
"It's fine," Charles replied.
After watching the girl depart, he turned to Zachary, who was already looking at him in silence.
"Where are we going?" Charles asked.
"To the Tranquility Chamber on the cathedral's top level," Zachary answered. "Archbishop Ferriji should be waiting there."
With that, the two continued forward.
---
Beyond the cathedral's entrance lay a vast hall of immaculate white. The space was enormous and open, with rows of pristine angel statues standing silently along both sides. At the far end, emerging from the wall itself, loomed a colossal Thorned Cross sculpture.
As in the plaza outside, the hall was populated by many white-robed clerics. None paid Charles much attention, though a few nearby monks turned at the sound of footsteps. Upon recognizing Zachary, they nodded politely.
"May the Thorn endure. May the Lord bless you."
Zachary returned the gesture in kind. After the brief exchange, he led Charles onward.
Above them, the domed ceiling was covered in ancient frescoes. Beneath their feet, the floor gleamed—white as jade, pure as the finest marble. Though their shoes were still stained with dust and mud from the streets, not a trace of filth appeared where they stepped.
[Sanctified Lightstone flooring infused with special magic.
Self-cleansing effect.
Extremely high cost.]
The message from the Eye of Reality flickered silently before Charles, prompting an inward sigh at the sheer extravagance of the place.
In truth, it wasn't just the floor. The pillars, the paintings, the sculptures—everything here had been imbued with minor enchantments. They held no offensive power, yet ensured perpetual cleanliness and preservation.
Passing through the main hall, the pair entered a side chapel beside the Thorned Cross sculpture, then moved on through the sermon hall, the prayer chamber, and the baptismal room in turn.
Only then did they reach a staircase leading upward.
Second floor.
Third floor.
Fourth floor.
At last, they arrived before a single door located in the cathedral's highest section.
Beneath their feet stretched a sunlit white corridor. At its far end, sheer white curtains swayed gently, offering a view of the plaza below. Along the walls hung murals depicting angels and the Lord of Thorns.
Two middle-aged men in white tailcoats stood guard on either side of the door. When they saw Zachary, they nodded respectfully—then raised their hands to stop him.
"Archbishop Ferriji has instructed that only he may enter."
Their tone was firm, devoid of warmth. Yet Zachary showed no sign of displeasure. He merely acknowledged the order and turned to Charles.
"I'll wait for you outside," he said.
Charles was momentarily surprised that Zachary had been barred entry, but this was no time for hesitation. He nodded, then stepped forward as the guards opened the door.
And with that, he entered alone.
After stepping inside, Charles quickly realized that what lay beyond the door was not a room, nor a hidden chamber.
It was a hall.
A spacious hall flooded with light, framed by two towering floor-to-ceiling windows.
The massive arched windows were crystal clear, as though made of nothing at all. From here, one could look down upon the pristine white plaza outside and the surrounding buildings beyond it.
Sunlight streamed in unobstructed, spilling across the dark wooden floor and casting sharp, luminous patches of gold.
Beyond this bright expanse, at the deepest end of the hall, stood a woman in a long white robe. She faced a colossal oil painting, hands clasped behind her back, motionless—as though absorbed in silent contemplation. Only when she heard the sound of footsteps did she turn toward the entrance.
When her gaze fell upon Charles, she smiled.
[Ferriji Misel — Cardinal of the Thorn Church, Archbishop of Dulin]
[Estimated age: 30–35]
[She holds a degree of goodwill toward you]
…
"Welcome, Cranston," she said gently as Charles approached.
Golden hair fell loosely over her shoulders. She was tall and slender, roughly his height, her posture composed and dignified. Pale blue eyes regarded him calmly, their gaze steady and unhurried.
Wasn't she supposed to have wings?
Charles recalled Connie's earlier words, faintly puzzled. Still, he maintained proper decorum and bowed.
"Greetings, Archbishop Ferriji."
She pressed her lips together in a faint smile, studying him with a tranquil, knowing look.
"Has Brother Zachary explained things to you?"
Her voice carried a peculiar warmth—similar to Brother Vossi from Pita City, yet softened by a distinctly feminine gentleness.
"Not in detail," Charles replied.
"He only said I would come here to advance my Circle. He never explained why."
The question still troubled him. He had no idea what standing an outsider god—or one touched by such power—might hold here.
Yet she seemed in no hurry to answer.
"You'll understand soon enough," Ferriji said softly.
She turned once more toward the massive painting at the far end of the hall.
It was a grim tableau of death.
Dark storm clouds smothered the sky, while at the center, radiant divine light tore through the gloom, revealing the faint silhouette of a god vast enough to span heaven and earth.
Below lay a battlefield of corpses. Countless bodies were scattered along a winding river, their eyes wide open, fixed on nothingness—as though unwilling to accept death.
Most striking of all was their blood.
Every corpse bled a pale, golden fluid. Under the dawning light, the pooled blood shimmered like gold leaf, slowly flowing into the river and staining its waters.
After a long silence, Ferriji spoke.
"What do you think of my Lord?"
"He is great," Charles answered.
"And?"
"He is the protector of the world."
He did not know why she asked, but caution dictated measured words.
Ferriji said nothing more at first. She simply gazed upward at the painting. After a while, she asked,
"Have you read Blood of Inheritance? Brother Zachary gave it to you, didn't he?"
"Yes."
"Our Church possesses every bloodline described in that book," she said calmly.
"If you wished, you could inherit one of them this very moment."
She turned back to him, her eyes intent.
"But I advise against choosing that path."
Charles frowned slightly, puzzled.
"You are special, child. Exceptionally so," Ferriji said quietly.
"Under the Lord's blessing, you will find a path uniquely your own."
Without waiting for his reply, her gentle expression faded. She stepped forward, standing before him, her voice turning solemn.
"Now then—are you willing to accept my Lord's gift?"
"Yes," Charles replied.
Many things were still unclear, but hesitation no longer seemed an option. He had awaited this advancement for far too long.
"Very well," she nodded.
"Then we shall begin."
She gestured solemnly for Charles to kneel on one knee before her. Her warm hand rested lightly upon his forehead—
And then—
A soft wind swept through the hall.
Bathed in sunlight pouring through the windows, shadows slowly gathered upon the floor. Behind the archbishop, a pair of immaculate white wings unfurled in silence.
(Special thanks to _GMS_ and dragonNEET2567)