"The intelligence came through their Inquisition, and the orders were issued by the archbishops. We're just the executors of those orders. Even if the Holy Court discovers something amiss and investigates, the blame won't fall on us. As for sending Saint-tier operatives to carry out the siege—did their Inquisitorial Knights get involved? Did any high-ranking archbishops act? Let them fight among themselves. In the end, who benefits? That's not so easy to guess."
"Ah… this…"
Hearing Arlanta's analysis, the other two emperors fell silent.
'Seems… she might be right,' they thought.
The Three Great Empires had long struggled against the Holy Court. If they could use this opportunity to weaken the Church's influence within their territories, it would be a clear advantage.
"But what about the orcs…" Niklaus began, hesitating.
If the Inquisition lost too many high-tier operatives within imperial lands, they might withdraw the Saint-tier defenders stationed at the Watchtower. If that happened, the entire frontier could be at risk.
But when he spoke, the expressions of the other two emperors turned oddly neutral.
The Knight Empire's forces were already crippled after their royal court, the Aira Court, was destroyed; there was no chance of mounting a proper counterattack in the short term. The Sorcel Empire was in the western continent, bordering the Elf Forest. Over millennia, they had maintained friendly relations with the elves, so there was no border pressure.
The only empire facing any real frontier threats now was the Ymir Empire, confronted with the Aiworet Court.
Although the two other emperors knew they had the advantage, they remained outwardly calm.
Arlanta comforted Niklaus:
"The Saint-tier operatives are the backbone of the Watchtower. The Church isn't foolish enough to pull them out. As for the transcendent individuals below Saint-tier, the Church may redeploy them, but our Sorcel Alchemists have recently developed some potent new alchemical weapons. We call them Mage Bombs and Alchemy Airships. These are extremely effective against the orcs, who rely on massed troops. The downside? They're expensive. Of course, for the Ymir Empire, which controls most of the wealth of the southern continent, this is trivial."
"Naturally." Niklaus said, though inside, his heart ached.
As a born-and-bred Ymir noble, he shared the common trait of his peers: stinginess and an obsession with wealth. Whereas the nobles of the Knight Empire were reckless brutes, the nobles of Ymir were constantly counting the gold in everyone else's pocket.
Convincing them to part with money was practically a death sentence.
Niklaus knew, however, that this was a necessary expense.
Meanwhile, in the cathedral of Ymir's imperial capital, the Ymir Archbishop hunched over his desk, preparing letters to the archbishops of the other two empires.
The letters were small—about the size of a pinky finger—and inscribed with dense, tiny characters using his spiritual energy on sheets of golden foil.
"I have confirmed with the Holy Court's envoy in Savant City. The so-called envoy York in Wendem is actually an impostor from hostile forces, meant to tarnish the reputation of the Inquisition in the Three Great Empires. Now, the envoy orders us to eliminate this criminal within three days, regardless of cost or expense—only the result matters."
Once written, he copied it onto another foil sheet and placed the two sealed letters into special metal tubes.
These would be transmitted via a special teleportation array to the other two archbishops. The process took only a few seconds. For this reason, both the letters and their containers were made of extremely costly magical materials.
After carefully sealing the tubes, a young nun approached, a sly smile on her lips. Without ceremony, she snatched the two letters from the archbishop and walked away without looking back.
The archbishop simply chuckled helplessly at the scene. He then picked up another document from his desk and began reviewing it.
Perhaps he did not even notice the flicker of violet-black light that passed through his eyes at that moment.
In the capital of the Garden Nation, Gordon City—a city outfitted with costly perpetual climate arrays, making it eternally spring—two uninvited visitors arrived.
They were two plump, foolish birds, one black and one white: the avatars controlled by Hel and Niv, respectively.
The white dove could control others but could not erase memories. The black crow could erase memories but could not control others.
To carry out her plan, Hel had dispatched both avatars.
Luckily, it was still summer break. Hel found a convenient excuse to send her Lyco avatar away from Savant City.
Perched on a tree near Gordon Castle with her two bird avatars, Hel hesitated.
'Previously in Verdant City, we tried opening the sealed land. Two conditions were needed: First, royal blood; second, activation permissions. Royal blood is easy to obtain, but who holds the activation permission? That's the problem.
Also, the sealed land's barrier was made using a Saint-tier's mindscape, containing elements of divine and corrupted domains. That's outside my knowledge. Forcing it open is impossible.'
Hel frowned and communicated secretly with Niv.
Seeing Hel struggling in the comical body of a dove, Niv couldn't help but chuckle.
'Master, why not just take control of the king here and ask him directly for the location of the person with permission?'
'No, you don't understand. What if there's a Saint-tier nearby? What if the castle has wards capable of detecting us? We can't act recklessly. Everything must be done step by step.'
Hel extended her wing and gently patted the bird's head in a teacherly gesture.
Niv felt slightly embarrassed.
'As expected, my master is still too cautious.'