Chapter 20: Negotiation (Part Two)

Linde hurried to catch up, and the two of them made their way toward the exit of the Parliament Building district, where a carriage was waiting for them. They had declined to join Warrenheit for lunch, intending instead to visit the Radiant Church's cathedral in Valencia, where they would stay the night. Before negotiating with Warrenheit, they had spoken with several parliamentarians inside the Parliament Building. In two days, Childe would return to give another address on behalf of the Church as part of the lobbying efforts before Randia convened its Parliament.

Warrenheit’s Secretary of State had been waiting for the two distinguished guests at the exit and, under his guidance, they were ushered into the carriage. Several elite soldiers from the Special Corps were dispatched as their escort—among them was Raven.

Inside the carriage, Childe sat with his eyes closed. Linde could not help but ask, “So, what should we do during this period? Are we simply to wait?”

Childe slowly opened his eyes. A silent second-tier divine spell, “Soundproof Barrier,” was cast to ensure their conversation in the carriage remained private.

“Of course not. If that were the case, I wouldn’t have risked having someone disguise themselves as you and me while you and I slipped into Valencia ahead of time for a secret meeting with the opposition leader of Randia. Linde, we must not only strike Warrenheit with an iron fist from without; we must also attempt to sow discord within, create trouble for them. Consider it: if they are threatened by powerful enemies from outside and plagued by dissent within, will Randia not be more likely to yield? Even if they don’t, internal turmoil in their ranks will be to our great advantage.”

“Quite right. The College of Cardinals couldn’t have made a better choice than sending you this time,” Linde praised. “But do you really think this Mr. Kidd can do much for us?”

“That depends on how hard he’s willing to try,” Childe replied. “We’ve made our support clear. Even if it's only the Church’s faithful voting in the Randian elections, he’ll still gain a substantial number of votes thanks to us. However, according to my information, the Democratic Party’s influence in Parliament is far less than Warrenheit’s Freedom Party. To expect Kidd to secure more than half, let alone two-thirds, of the votes for the Holy Alliance Treaty is, frankly, optimistic. In the end, it may still come down to war to make Warrenheit understand what is right.”

—

Suddenly, the carriage jolted to an abrupt halt. Linde frowned and slid open the small window to ask, “What’s going on? Why have we stopped?”

From outside, Raven replied, “Sirs, there’s a public demonstration blocking the way.”

“A demonstration? For what reason?” Childe opened the carriage door.

Outside, a large crowd indeed barred their path. The people waved their arms and shouted, “Give us back our land!”

“Abolish church privileges!”

Childe’s expression shifted. He had remained composed even in his confrontation with Warrenheit inside the Parliament Building, but now he seemed unsettled.

He stepped out of the carriage, standing on the footboard, and called out, “What do you want? Send someone to speak with me on your behalf.”

A young man emerged from the throng, gestured for silence, and strode forward with confident steps, meeting the Church’s envoy with fearless eyes.

“Hello, my name is Martin. I am one of the faithful of the Radiant Church—many here are as well. Yet we all believe the Church is in need of reform.”

“Reform?” Childe was taken aback. “Reform what? In your view, what should the Church change?”

This young man named Martin glanced back at the crowd as if drawing courage from their presence, then declared in a loud voice, “We believe that every person can attain salvation through sincere faith, not by purchasing indulgences from the cathedral in Valencia. The Church must cease this money-grabbing behavior, which only allows thieves, robbers, adulterers, and murderers to find shelter after their crimes—only to commit them again, untroubled, under the cover of night.”

“What are they saying?” Linde emerged as well, crowding the footboard. He happened to catch Martin’s words, and his face darkened. Yet, it was the truth: the sale of indulgences was a scheme devised by a certain Cardinal to enrich the coffers. Though the Paladins mostly opposed it, the Cardinals’ response was always to ask for understanding, for the sake of maintaining the dignity of the Divine. After all, the Church’s army alone consumed astronomical sums each year. This rationale left the Paladins speechless; they could only look the other way, letting their sense of justice lapse, however temporarily.

“Every believer should be able to become a priest, a bishop, even an archbishop or cardinal,” Martin went on, emboldened by the crowd. “We are all children of the Divine. If so, why is it that only a privileged few may enter the Church’s inner circle, to become archbishops and cardinals? In Randia, everyone is equal. I believe the Lord of Radiance regards all his faithful without distinction.”

Childe’s face turned ashen. He himself had once spoken such words—that the Lord made no distinctions among his children—back when he was newly ordained and serving in a small local church. Never again had he uttered anything of the kind since he became a bishop.

“Let me show them what power really means,” Linde muttered under his breath.

Martin raised his arm and cried, “We do not want unjust privileges! We want a clean Church, a Church that belongs to Randia! Let every believer become a priest! Sincere faith alone can save us!”

With each phrase Martin shouted, the crowd behind him echoed in a thunderous wave, their voices surging toward the two envoys with the force of a tempest.

“Please relay the voices of us ordinary faithful to His Holiness the Pope and the College of Cardinals,” Martin pleaded earnestly with Childe and Linde.

“I will deliver your message. But before you hear any reply, I doubt you’ll have another chance,” Linde sneered, leaping from the footboard and reaching for Martin.

But a hand stopped him. Linde struggled fiercely but could not break free; a milky-white glow flickered intensely from his palm, yet the hand gripping him remained firm as a rock.

“Who are you?” Linde demanded, astonished at the one restraining him. Their hands radiated opposing lights, holy energy clashing fiercely. Martin, realizing something was wrong, quickly retreated into the crowd.

“My name is Raven,” the man replied. “I am under orders to escort you both back to the cathedral, but not to assist you in harming the citizens of Randia.”

The sacred, milky-white aura on Linde’s hand flared brighter, momentarily overwhelming the fiery red radiance from Raven’s grip. Linde wrenched himself free, fixing his gaze on Raven. “Are you truly a soldier of Randia? I will remember you.”