Chapter 45 Doubts
Percy's pupils shrank, and he stared in disbelief at his brother, the brother whom he deeply admired, envied, feared, yet tried to get close to. His thin, bloodless lips had a cold, sharp curve, as if he was born without softness, without emotion, and would never fall into confusion and helplessness. He always knew what he was doing.
"If you get too close to me, someone will intervene and you might die." The other person looked at him calmly, and seemed to turn sideways inadvertently, revealing Bishop Miller surrounded by the crowd.
His deepest fears were confirmed. Young Brody looked like he was about to cry, but he finally maintained the dignity of a nobleman and raised his chin to his cousin in an unprecedented cold tone: "...I understand what you mean."
Losing the title meant that the descendants of this bloodline would gradually lose their Silver Blood privileges. Some of the declining bloodlines would even be reduced to the status of lowly civilians, relying on hard and dirty work to barely make a living. So what little Bateman said was right, he was a despicable robber and a shameless thief - but under the push of fate, either Nova Brody would become a stepping stone in Percy Brody's life, or Percy Brody would be completely reduced to a sinner of the family bloodline.
He was thinking too naively. His cousin was not as harmless as he thought. They were probably two embryos fighting and digesting each other in the mother's body.
Percy Brody left, his voice trembling a little, but his back was extremely determined, leaving only one sentence behind.
"Between us...this is how it should be."
Nova looked at the gray figure that seemed to be about to break apart. He was silent for a while, then suddenly asked the people around him, "Does he really understand?"
"I don't think so," the God-Favored One replied gently. Glancing at his nemesis' increasingly bewildered expression, he sighed and couldn't help but gently pinch the back of his neck.
His professor was extremely intelligent and an undisputed genius in almost every field, but he knew nothing about this little issue of interacting with people.
Bishop Miller said something incoherent, and everyone finally left reluctantly. He cast a complicated glance at the two "chosen ones"—yes, two of them, two of them—but they had been beaten to the punch by those damned pagans. Fortunately, the cardinal managed to maintain composure, not revealing too much emotion, though his gaze inevitably grew gloomy.
Becoming the Chosen One meant embarking on a difficult and painful path, but at the same time, the other party was also under the watchful eye of the gods. Killing the Chosen One directly was tantamount to declaring war on the gods—except, of course, for those deranged lunatics of the Sacrifice Cult. Miller half-closed his eyes and let out a soft breath. He didn't want to see those two troublesome creatures right now, but someone clearly didn't want to be considerate of his feelings.
"Mr. Miller, I have something I would like to discuss with you privately."
Troublesome One stopped him expressionlessly, followed by Troublesome Two. The other had changed his clothes, wiped his face clean, and looked like he had recovered from his shock. A breathtaking, gentle, and sacred light seemed to emanate from his features.
A natural born clergyman, especially suited to the consistent style of the Glorious Church.
If you want to be a clergyman, your face also counts. A priest with handsome features is naturally more likely to gain the trust and love of believers than one with a rough face. Of course, it is best if the temperament is also gentle and amiable. No matter how good the face is, it will not suit a person with the aura of a lonely, eccentric, cold and strict scholar like Mr. Brody.
...It's even more heartbreaking.
Was Virgin Etilo blind? She chose someone so out of place—and where in the world did this follower of the Storm God come from?
But he couldn't say a word of this to anyone present, so Miller had to keep smiling and gently gestured to the other party to talk in another place - but soon the smile on his face slowly disappeared.
"...You mean to say that Bishop Lagasha has some...shocking dealings with the pagans in private?"
The cardinal looked at the other person with an unfathomable expression, half of his face hidden in the shadows, and the corners of his mouth were tightened, revealing a cold arc.
"This is a very serious accusation, Mr. Brody," he said softly. "I need you to understand that."
"The Scarlet Bazaar possesses a comprehensive anti-tracking array capable of blocking even your spells." His speech was incredibly rapid, steady, and uneven, as if he had no idea his words were likely to cause a major uproar. "Bishop Lagasha not only participated in the illegal slave trade, secretly leaked the Glorious Church's array system, and embezzled public funds to resell church resources, but it was also far more than that."
"He has maintained long-term cooperation with certain people, including the followers of the God of Love and the God of the Sea. Especially the followers of the God of Love, they provide him with channels, manpower, technical means and other conveniences for making money, and he will provide some...special information." The pair of smoky gray pupils were sharp and bright, as if all the cold light in the world was flowing in them.
"—For example, the Chosen One."
In the cardinal's pupils that shrank instantly, the black-haired young man calmly uttered a term that he should not have known at all.
"He didn't understand what it was, or what the pagans were looking for. Perhaps in his mind, he had merely revealed the whereabouts of some important figures within the church, and that his dealings weren't limited to pagans."
The Cardinal's voice was inarticulate: "What evidence do you have?"
"My head, and my ears." The other man raised his eyes coldly and arrogantly, and naturally uttered a reason that sounded absurd to others: "Do you expect me to immediately hand over the massive amount of evidence I found in Bishop Lagasha's room? I'm just an ordinary person who was inexplicably affected."
Even if there was, the cardinal would not believe it - it was too quick and looked too much like a deliberate frame-up.
The black-haired young man looked him straight in the eye. "This is not something I should get involved in. However, because you are a fair and benevolent sir, I am willing to give you a few words of advice."
The Cardinal was not angered by this man's self-righteous arrogance. He gave him a deep look and said, "...I will send someone to investigate this matter."
"That would be the best." The other party nodded coldly and reservedly, then left without looking back and walked towards the foreign boy who was waiting at the door.
Regardless of the Cardinal's complex feelings, the two newly chosen ones returned to the room side by side. After the door closed, Azuka was silent for a moment, then suddenly asked, "Is what you just said true?"
Although Miller had set up a spell to prevent eavesdropping, it was of little use to him. If Bishop Lagasha was also related to the Chosen One, perhaps he needed to "talk" to him in person.
"Nine lies and one truth," another person said lightly, describing the terrifying situation. "But Bishop Lagasha has no way of defending himself. Even your unique interrogation spells can't do anything about it. After all, he really did something, and I'm just guiding Miller's thinking in a sensitive direction."
Because the cardinal, who was furious with the pagans, happened to run into a traitor who colluded with the pagans, and because the gods were involved, Bishop Lagasha was doomed to die.
"I see." The God-Favored One nodded slightly and gently and considerately changed the subject: "You didn't get much rest last night. Do you want to sleep for a while?"
"No." The man sat in a chair, legs crossed, rubbing his forehead. His pale face looked slightly tired, but his eyes, when he looked up, were surprisingly bright. "Right now, there's a very, very serious issue, one involving the most fundamental trust between you and me."
Azuka was silent for a moment, then suddenly made a gesture, and then Nova realized that all the sounds around him had faded away, leaving only the clearly audible breathing of another person.
"It's safe now, please speak." He said softly.
"...Do you remember the mark between the eyebrows of the High Priest of Poseidon and the mark on the neck of the Virgin Etilo? I originally thought they were decorative tattoos or something." The black-haired young man looked at him calmly: "What are they?"
"That's a divine seal," Azuka explained. "It's usually a symbol of a god's love and respect, but it's actually a mark of slavery that the god carves into the soul of a believer."
When talking about this, his expression was a little cold, and it was unknown what he was thinking about.
"Sounds familiar." The other person, seemingly unconcerned about the other's feelings, tapped the table lightly with his fingers. "Your tribe members once inadvertently revealed that certain patterns suddenly appeared on your chest."
"That's right."
The one favored by God calmly unbuttoned a few buttons, revealing a slender, white neck with light-colored lines swirling and flowing like a whirlpool in a storm, winding all the way up to the chest, appearing strange and beautiful.
"The seal of Utoska, the God of Storms," the professor repeated softly. "That makes sense now."
His expression gradually became gloomy.
Is the Divine Seal connected to the fragments of the God's soul? Does the God observe the world through the Divine Seal? Is everything they plan within the Storm God's expectations?
...More importantly, do those favored by God know this?
His sense of security was shattered, and his fingers subconsciously pressed against his lips, anxiously wanting to nibble at them. Countless dark speculations and the possibility of betrayal and abandonment struggled uncontrollably in his mind. Nova began to feel his breathing quicken, and everything around him seemed to be moving away from him.
This is a sign of an anxiety attack.
Nova closed his eyes tightly, forcing himself to maintain his breathing rate, to keep his brain thinking and judging, instead of blindly imagining the worst possibilities - this was not fair to the other person, he could not allow the darkness and suspicion in his nature to destroy all the good possibilities.
...Even if all this was just a complete conspiracy, there was no time for him to feel sorry for himself.
He heard himself answering a little tiredly: "Then, our conversation is not safe for the time being, you——"
"The Storm God Utoska is completely dead. I killed him with my own hands."
The God-favored One interrupted him rudely, which was rare.
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