Chrysalis Chapter 1728 - Discussing the Divine

Standing within the Dungeon carried a profound holiness. This realm brimmed with endless potential, dense mana, and boundless treasures. Why else would it offer such abundance, if not to aid the ancient races of Pangera who dwelled here long before the Dungeon revealed itself to them?

Having finished his hour of devotion, War Bishop Graham Pearson stood up, his heart echoing with waves of adoration and thankfulness. Even after years immersed in the Church's highs and lows, he felt an unshakeable conviction in his faith right down to his core.

The Dungeon's purpose was to aid the deserving.

Each beast born inside it served as a tribute for those powerful enough to seize it.

“I don’t need to be here,” Grand Priest Vinting remarked from close by, repeating his complaint once again.

Graham, unperturbed, faced the other cleric, his gaze as chilly and azure as ice laced with mana.

“The Path has guided your footsteps to this spot, to this instant,” the War Bishop gently rebuked. “You belong right here. It's not your role to question or reject it, but to reflect and pray on the reason why.”

Anger clenched Alir’s features, yet the War Bishop held no dread toward him. By the rough measure of Levels, Graham far exceeded his peer by multiples. When it came to battle wisdom and prowess, the divide yawned even broader. The sole area where Alir surpassed him lay in his Church hierarchy position.

Graham held no regard for such matters.

“Are you at least willing to meet with the delegates from Green Mountain?” Alir inquired sharply.

Graham could tell the man sought an escape from the Dungeon. If direct demands on the War Bishop failed, maybe he could sway outsiders to force it. Sly as a serpent, Alir proved unfit for the high station he occupied in the faith.

“Of course I am,” Graham answered. “You know that devotion precedes all other duties, right?”

“Naturally,” Alir responded, his face twisting into a grimace.

“Then I fail to see the problem.”

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A short distance from the pair, Graham spotted the waiting group. Hardy warriors, seasoned experts with years battling in the Dungeon, facing hordes and cleansing beasts. Individuals worthy of Graham's esteem.

They comprehended the essence of Dungeon operations, though they failed to understand its deeper significance.

He felt sorrow for their lack of insight. How could they derive true fulfillment from their labors without comprehending the sacred intent beneath? Treading the Path in blindness equaled abandoning it entirely.

Yet, as he drew near, Graham concealed any trace of that compassion on his expression.

“Greetings. I am Graham Pearson, War Bishop of the eleventh Judgement Battalion. Do I have the honour of addressing Marshal Williams and Marshal Selda?”

The pair looked at one another briefly before facing him again and giving a quick bow. Though their armor matched that of surrounding officers without distinction, Graham always committed to memory the visages of key personages he might cross paths with in the Dungeon.

Williams, compact and sturdy in build, projected an aura of command and calm expertise that amplified his presence beyond his modest height. Though bald, his bushy and intense brows lent him a fierce look, nearly humorous were it not for the strength he emanated.

Selda matched that sternness. Her graying locks tied back severely, she appeared slender to the verge of emaciation, but even at rest, she conveyed a sleek and lethal poise. Graham was certain the blade at her waist could reach his throat swifter than a blink.

Junior officers parted as Graham advanced, with Alir trailing a step behind. Marshal Williams shattered the quiet first.

“There’s no need for us to be coy with each other,” he murmured gently, his stare firm and assured, “that’s for the politicians. Do you want our help hunting the monster? If so, we have been given authority to negotiate on parts.”

“What is Green Mountain prepared to offer?” the War Bishop inquired plainly.

“Two thousand soldiers for two parts in ten, or four thousand for five,” came the reply.

“You are mistaken if you believe that your soldiers are the equivalent of a Judgement Battalion,” Alir declared rigidly. “It would be… an insult to the Church to insinuate such a thing.”

Bickering over a monster's remains prior to its downfall proved endlessly frustrating. Still, pursuing the kind of quarry they tracked now made such talks unavoidable. A portion of this creature's remains promised a vast wealth, sufficient to elevate Green Mountain for years ahead.

“Four thousand for four parts in ten,” Graham stated, raising a palm to halt the Marshals, “I will not negotiate.”

Williams and Selda shared another look, conveying thoughts solely through glances.

“In addition,” Graham continued, “all Soul Crystal that is gleaned will belong to the Church. On this point, I will also not negotiate.”

Following a prolonged hush, Williams inclined his head.

“Aye,” he said. “We have a deal.”

Nine thousand soldiers to handle a single ant. That force would prove ample.