章 46: Two envelopes
Father Marco gently set down the quill in his hand, his gaze still focused as he carefully reviewed each word written on the paper, ensuring that the content was flawless.
His eyes scanned the meticulously chosen phrasing, double-checking for any omissions or errors.
With precision, he folded the letter slowly, aligning the edges perfectly.
Every movement was deliberate. He reached for a clean envelope from the box on his desk and slipped the folded letter inside with great care.
Beside him, an ornate wax seal awaited.
The seal bore the emblem of the Holy City's Grand Cathedral — a symbol of the Church's authority, solemn and sacred.
Marco took the wax and carefully let a few drops fall onto the envelope's flap.
The molten red wax quickly solidified, and with steady hands, Marco pressed the seal into the wax.
Moments later, the symbol of the Church was perfectly imprinted on the envelope.
As he gazed at the carefully sealed letter, a shadow of seriousness crossed Marco's face.
"Deacon," he called out in a calm but commanding voice.
Soon, a deacon clad in black robes entered, bowing his head respectfully as he approached the desk.
His hands clasped together in front of him, waiting silently for the priest's orders.
Father Marco handed the sealed letter to the deacon, his tone stern and unwavering.
"This letter must be delivered personally to the Archbishop.
Ensure that no one intercepts or opens it along the way.
You know the consequences of failure."
The deacon flinched slightly, clearly sensing the icy threat underlying Marco's words.
He bowed deeply and responded promptly, "Yes, Father. I will fulfill my duty without fail."
With great caution, the deacon took the letter, securing it inside his robe before backing away with reverence.
He turned and exited the room, leaving Father Marco alone once more.
Marco watched the deacon's figure disappear through the doorway, but his thoughts remained active.
The letter contained detailed information about the latest military arrangements, specifically highlighting the decision to move Father Raphael from his peripheral role to command the central forces.
The letter also documented Father Raphael's true power.
In past battles, Raphael had demonstrated a proficiency in light magic that far surpassed that of most priests, even making some of the more seasoned clergy feel threatened.
Marco had conducted a thorough investigation into Raphael's background and discovered that, despite his humble origins, Raphael's innate talent was unmatched by many in the clergy.
Additionally, the letter contained the latest intelligence on the Celestoria Mountains.
In that mysterious and dangerous region, magic beast activity had become increasingly frequent, and recent scouting missions had uncovered disturbing signs.
The actions of these magic beasts no longer seemed to be driven by mere instinct but followed a pattern, almost as if an unseen commander was directing them.
Every time the beasts launched an attack, the timing was eerily precise, making it appear as though these otherwise mindless creatures were obeying strategic commands.
This unusual phenomenon complicated matters even further, raising questions about whether something far more terrifying lurked deep within the Celestoria Mountains Range.
In the final portion of the letter, Father Marco, with his usual cautious tone, reminded the Archbishop to take care of his health amid the unpredictable situation.
As a key member of the Archbishop's faction, Marco was acutely aware of the fragility of power.
Should the Archbishop fall from grace, not only would Marco's future be ruined, but he could also face being purged entirely.
Having navigated the internal politics of the Church for years, Marco knew the brutal nature of power struggles.
A pawn that loses its usefulness is discarded or even destroyed.
If the Archbishop were to fall, the entire power structure of the Southern Province would be reshuffled.
Factions within the Church were already stirring, eager to seize more influence.
At that point, Marco would be seen as a "remnant of the previous regime," and become the target of everyone's animosity.
He had witnessed many priests like himself who had quickly fallen into obscurity following their superiors' downfall, losing their power, status, and sometimes even being exiled from the Church.
Such individuals often ended their days either crushed by the new powers or forced into hiding, never to return to the heart of authority.
It was precisely for this reason that Marco had carefully chosen to grant Father Raphael, with his formidable abilities, command over the Celestoria campaign.
Despite his lack of trust in Raphael and his longstanding skepticism toward this stubborn and silent priest, Marco knew that in such dire circumstances, Raphael's formidable power might be their only hope for survival.
Raphael's strength was extraordinary, and it had been witnessed by many colleagues and subordinates.
If not for the deadly peril posed by the Celestoria Mountains, and the fact that even the Pope himself was closely monitoring the outcome of this campaign, Marco would never have allowed Raphael to take command of such an important military operation.
But this time, Marco had to set aside his personal prejudices.
He understood that if the operation failed, the responsibility wouldn't solely fall on Raphael.
Marco, too, would be dragged into the whirlpool of blame, with no chance of recovering.
"I won't rise any higher in this life," Father Marco sighed inwardly, fully aware that his path to further power had reached its end.
There was no longer enough time or opportunity for him to pursue higher positions.
What had once been his ambition had now been worn away by the grind of reality and the passing years.
His goal had shifted from seeking more power to merely holding on to what he had.
Each step had to be taken with utmost caution, as even the slightest misstep could cost him everything.
Letting go of these complex thoughts, Father Marco took a deep breath, trying to calm the anxiety that gnawed at him.
His gaze steadied, his brow furrowed slightly as he considered the next necessary actions.
Raphael's success or failure would directly affect both his and the Archbishop's fates.
"I have to ensure everything goes according to plan…"
This campaign against the magic beasts would be no easy task.
Any error in its execution could unravel the entire operation.
He needed to make sure the front-line forces reached the Celestoria Mountains as soon as possible so that Raphael could assess the situation and plan his strategy accordingly.
With renewed focus, Marco picked up the quill on his desk once more.
He dipped it in ink and began to write a new letter, each stroke of the pen deliberate and forceful, conveying a sense of urgency that left no room for misinterpretation.
This letter would be sent to the front lines, urging them to hasten their march and reach the Celestoria Mountains without delay.
The sooner they arrived, the better they could control the situation, leaving no opportunity for their enemies to exploit.
Marco quickly finished writing the letter, reviewed it for any mistakes, and then folded it neatly before placing it in an envelope.
Once again, he carefully sealed it with the church's wax seal, marking it with the symbol of the Holy See to ensure that no one unauthorized could open it.
"Deacon."
The same deacon appeared promptly at the door, standing respectfully at attention.
"This letter must be delivered to the front lines without delay, and given directly to Father Raphael."
The deacon immediately accepted the order, taking the letter with a bow before hurrying away.
Marco watched the deacon disappear from sight and then fell into a moment of silent contemplation.
He had placed all the pieces of his plan as carefully as possible, each step laid out meticulously, leaving no room for carelessness.
But some things were now beyond his control, and what happened next would depend solely on fate.
From this point on, all he could do was hope that the intricate game of power and survival would unfold in his favor.
Father Marco slowly rose from his seat, feeling the weight of an invisible pressure bearing down on him.
Every move had become so perilous, and he could no longer rely on mere cunning and strategy alone.
This campaign was not just a battle against magic beasts—it was a struggle for power and destiny.
He moved away from his desk and walked with heavy steps toward the altar of the church, kneeling before the statue of Alkis.
The statue of Alkis hung at the center of the sanctuary, with the figure's face partially obscured by long hair.
Marco gazed into those eyes, which seemed to see through everything, and a surge of complex emotions filled his heart.
With his hands clasped tightly in front of him, he bowed his head and whispered a prayer.
"My Lord, may Your grace descend upon this land and guide us through the trials ahead."
His voice was low, filled with a reverence that bordered on desperation.
"Grant me the wisdom and strength to fulfill this vital mission, to preserve my faith, and to protect all that I hold dear."
No matter what came next, he knew he had no choice but to wait.
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