Chapter 357 - 349: A Method to Resist the Church

Chapter 357: Chapter 349: A Method to Resist the Church

In March, the last vestiges of winter’s chill were scattered by a sea breeze from the south.

Minas Tirith Port was busier than usual. The docks were a clamor of voices as newly painted wooden cranes creaked, hoisting one crate of cargo after another from the ships’ holds to the shore.

Ships from the Dawn Territory had become a common sight here. A dozen or so merchant vessels, flying the crest of the Dawn Territory, were queued up to unload their cargo. Their crews haggled with local workers in the continental common tongue, their words tinged with southern accents.

Crate after crate of sealed goods were carried off the ships, their destination marked as the Newly Cultivated Land.

The windows of the city hall overlooked the port. Velin stood before one, watching a fleet of merchant ships flying the dual banners of the Golden Sail Commerce Association and the Thorn Flower slowly sail out of the harbor. They were bound for the recently stabilized Southern Islands, carrying supplies needed for order and reconstruction.

"My Lord," Tristan’s voice sounded from behind him.

Velin turned around. Tristan was placing a neat stack of documents on the oak desk in front of him.

"This is last month’s financial report, along with the final draft of the spring planting plan for the Newly Cultivated Land," Tristan said, his voice even. "Our grain reserves are ample, and the new batch of farming tools has been distributed. Everything is proceeding as planned."

Velin picked up the report and began to flip through it. Every income and expenditure was listed, precise down to the last of the Copper Leaves. Population growth, tax revenue, resource consumption, the number of newborns... Tristan had used numbers to paint a picture of a flourishing territory.

Yet, Velin’s expression showed little joy.

He set the report down, his fingers drumming unconsciously on the tabletop.

"Tristan, have you heard anything from the Church lately?"

"They’ve been very quiet," Tristan replied. "Too quiet. The Church hasn’t reacted at all since our operation in the islands. My agents in the Royal Capital haven’t picked up any noteworthy intelligence either."

"’Behaving themselves?’" A cold sneer touched Velin’s lips. "That’s not their style. It can only mean they’re preparing something we don’t want to see. Something far more troublesome than minor provocations."

This silence was, in itself, the greatest anomaly. Velin worried about how much the Church truly knew about the Southern Islands—especially whether they knew the resistance leader was a Priest from the True Origin Association. He was uncertain what the Church had discovered, and that uncertainty dictated the potential force of their impending counterattack.

Velin hated this feeling of passively waiting.

"Where’s Elias?"

"At the temporary clinic by the port. He’s treating the wounded who were evacuated from the islands."

"Bring him here. Starting today, he is to live in the city hall. He is not to leave without my permission," Velin commanded. "Also, tighten the screening of everyone entering or leaving the port, especially any who claim to be clergy. I don’t want any more Church spies sneaking in."

"I’ll see to it at once." Tristan nodded, understanding Velin’s caution.

Elias was now the key figure connecting the Grey Marsh Territory to the Namiya people, making him the Church’s most likely target. Protecting him meant protecting the foothold they had gained in the Southern Islands.

’Besides... the True Origin Sect? An organization outside the Church’s authority that can still wield the Holy Light?’

A flicker of excitement flashed in Tristan’s eyes. ’Very interesting, isn’t it?’

After Tristan left, Velin’s gaze drifted back to the window.

’Defense, in the end, is a reactive strategy.’

He needed a way to resolve the threat from the Church at its root.

It wasn’t that he hadn’t considered breaking ties with the Church completely, even using military force to expel their influence from his lands.

But that was unrealistic. The Church’s roots were embedded in every corner of the human world, its influence extending far beyond the military sphere. A village Priest could sometimes command more loyalty than a noble lord.

’Military force can’t eradicate faith, but political power can.’

If his political standing were high enough—high enough to deal with the Church as an equal, to even influence the rules of the game—then their threat would transform from a sword hanging over his head into a negotiable bargaining chip.

Promotion to Count!

The thought crystallized in his mind.

According to the Duchy Coat of Arms Law, a Count held the rights to urban autonomy, the establishment of a high court, and the construction of a Magic Tower!

This meant he could establish an independent judicial and magical system within his own domain. Then, even if the Church wanted to cause trouble—to try Elias for "heresy"—they would first have to contend with the laws of his earldom!

He returned to his desk, spread out a fresh sheet of parchment, and began to draft a document.

The Grey Marsh Territory, the Newly Cultivated Land, and the Southern Islands—each was equivalent to a large barony. Combined, their value and strategic importance far exceeded that of a typical Earl’s Domain. He had already reached the threshold for the title of Count.

But consolidating these disparate territories and achievements into a convincing justification for his enfeoffment was a delicate art.

Perhaps he needed some professionals—experts in heraldic law and territorial administration—to help him handle the consolidation of his titles.

For now, however, gaining support was more important.

He took another sheet of parchment and began writing to his uncle, Count Leman of Green Vein City. He needed a political ally with enough influence within the Duchy to champion his promotion.

In the letter, he succinctly described the situation in the Southern Islands and its future commercial value. He then bluntly stated his desire to be promoted to Count, and concluded by inviting Count Leman to inspect the Grey Marsh Territory in person at his convenience.

He believed that once Leman saw the potential here, he would be sure to make the most pragmatic choice.

’Uncle,’ he thought, ’the value of the Grey Marsh Territory has already exceeded your initial investment. Now, it’s time to reap the next round of returns.’ He folded the letter and sealed it with wax.

But Count Leman alone was not enough. Velin thought for a moment, then took out another sheet of parchment. This time, the letter was addressed to Countess Diana of the Dawn Territory.

The Countess was a newly ennobled peer with shallow roots in the Royal Capital, but she represented a rising power and faced similar pressure from the traditional aristocracy and the Church. They had a natural basis for cooperation in their opposition to the old guard.

"Esteemed Countess Diana..."

He elaborated on the value of the new sea route to the Dawn Territory, hinting that they could form a closer alliance to jointly face the challenges from the Royal Capital. He was confident the shrewd Countess would read between the lines.

After handing the two letters to a courier, Velin felt a wave of exhaustion wash over him.

This was far more complex than commanding a naval battle. His enemies were no longer savage but straightforward pirates, but the hidden faces in a web of power. Every confrontation was fraught with countless calculations and compromises.

But he had no other choice. To protect his accomplishments and his followers, he had to win the final victory on this chessboard.