The first time Eger saw Arno, his only impression of the city lord was one word: young.

  Unbelievably young.

  This was not to say he had never seen young city lords. In the Orlando Empire, many inherited the title abruptly due to a predecessor’s accident, some as young as ten or even younger. But Arno’s youth was different. After four days in Pramisburg, where he had made inquiries from multiple sources about this lord who had suddenly decided to introduce the Church, Eger’s curiosity had turned to astonishment. Arno’s methods were not sophisticated in the strictest sense; he had exploited the credibility of his noble blood and status, dangling a massive incentive that made Pramisburg’s lawless rogues and scoundrels believe his promises and turn on each other.

  Looking back as an observer, the events might seem overly dramatic, as if each step followed a scripted plot, with every character acting out a ridiculous narrative written by a playwright. Yet incredibly, it had all happened exactly as it seemed, absurd as it was.

  His tact, resolve, and wisdom were rarely seen in someone of his age. Many young people had the ability to execute plans but lacked the strategic vision to control the bigger picture. Others had the vision but lacked the follow-through. Only the experience and insight accumulated over years could orchestrate such a perfect "performance"—something typically seen in cunning nobles over forty.

  Thus Arno’s youth was shocking—alarmingly so.

  Eger bowed politely, his etiquette precise and proper. The Church placed no less emphasis on protocol than the nobility; within its ranks, they saw themselves as servants of the divine, spiritually superior to nobles, and thus adopted noble standards of conduct.

  Arno nodded in greeting, gesturing to a seat not far to the left—here, as in many places, the left was considered the position of honor, and inviting a guest to the first seat on the left was a sign of respect. His pale fingers, illuminated by a permanent light spell, had a smooth, jade-like quality, plump and exuding nobility. His meticulously trimmed nails added to the elegant, refined appearance of his hands.

  "Forgive my curiosity," Arno said, appropriately wearing a look of puzzlement—though it reflected his genuine intrigue. "I’ve heard that bishop-level apostles in the Church have surnames?"

  Surnames were a privilege of the nobility, their emergence and use signifying the birth and continuation of a family. For the common folk, "family" was a distant concept; poverty made it impossible for most to raise many children, as they could not afford the costs. One or two children per household was the norm, making elaborate family structures unnecessary.

  Moreover, surnames and family lineages were the exclusive domain of nobles.

  Eger nodded. "That is correct. We servants of the divine receive surnames from the gods we worship," he explained, seeing no harm in answering. "Take myself, for example. My surname is Suya, and my full name within the Church is Eger Leye Suya. Eger is my given name, Leye is the name of my godfather, and Suya is the surname of the deity I serve."

  This answer raised another question. "You worship the Light God, do you not? I wasn’t aware the Light God’s surname was Suya," Arno said.

  After a moment’s hesitation, Eger decided to enlighten Arno on Church basics. "The Light God is the Supreme Deity, but beneath Him are many other gods," he said. "The divine is not a single entity but a pantheon, much like a family or a nation. Below the Supreme Deity are gods of war, agriculture, and the seasons. Suya, whom I worship, is a powerful god of combat."

  So that was it, Arno thought, unconsciously touching the copper ring on his index finger. He smiled slightly, shifting the topic. "Outsiders call Pramisburg a festering city. Having been here for several days, what is your impression of the city?"

  "Rumors cannot be trusted!" Eger declared, first establishing his stance. "This is a city of miracles, entirely unlike the stories told outside. I see a spirit of progress here, a force powerful enough to create wonders that will astonish the world!" He smiled. "This is what I hope for—to build a great cathedral as soon as possible, giving people a spiritual home. Worshiping the divine does not mean escaping reality; it is a source of spiritual richness, and only when the spirit is satisfied can more miracles be created."

  Arno nodded repeatedly. "You speak wisely, which is why I wrote to the Pope," he said, pausing to organize his thoughts. "I will arrange matters for the church promptly. I will allocate a plot of land in the East District for Church use, and we will split the construction costs equally. However, I have one small request."

  "Please tell me!"

  Arno held up two fingers. "I will need at least twenty priests stationed here—more would be welcome. The people of Pramisburg have suffered enough from illness and pain. Under my rule, I want my subjects to be free of such burdens."

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  "Of course!" Eger replied without hesitation, now ready to propose his own conditions. "Then regarding missionary work..."

  The empire had always maintained a semi-regulated stance on proselytizing, firmly opposing unrestricted religious propagation. It was said that one of the triggers for the fall of the Holy Empire had been the excess of faith, which drove the ruling class to madness. When the royal family lost control, they resorted to violence, sparking the prolonged "Scourge of Faith" that ended with twelve Sacred Bloodline families overthrowing them and founding a new nation.

  Excessive faith could make people lose their grasp on reality, focusing solely on the spiritual and neglecting material needs—something that would cause Arno to lose control of the city.

  But surprisingly, Arno did not hesitate on this issue. "You may preach, as long as it complies with the agreements in the imperial code," he said.

  Eger immediately perked up, standing to bow deeply to Arno. He was slightly agitated with excitement. "I have never seen such generosity and foresight," he said. "I will arrange to report to the Church as soon as possible. Priests will arrive by spring, and I guarantee there will be no fewer than thirty."

  Arno leaned forward slightly in return, then asked, "I heard the Church has a flower that blooms white, with petals forming a round cluster."

  "Do you mean the Pure Flower?" Eger asked. When Arno paused and then nodded, Eger smiled. "Of course—it is one of the Church’s specialties. Do you like this flower, my lord?"

  Arno smiled. "Like it? I especially like it. I need a large quantity of seeds. Can you provide them?"

  "Certainly!"

  Watching Eger leave, Arno smiled and shook his head. The young bishop had oversimplified things. Pramisburg’s reputation as a "city of evil" and "capital of chaos" stemmed not from high crime rates but from the spiritual state of its people. Every resident, no matter how kind, honest, or upright they seemed, had a dark side that could transform them into scoundrels in an instant. Take the siege battle: when the "ruthlessness" in the hearts of Pramisburgers erupted, they had routed elite shield guards.

  They were even willing to sacrifice their own lives to kill their opponents when necessary—a deeply ruthless mindset. Before Arno’s arrival, any seemingly ordinary person might pull out a knife and stab a stranger to feed their family.

  This was a city without faith, and it lacked the foundation for faith. Everyone lived in harsh reality. The Church would gain no followers unless it offered more than Arno’s promises of a better future—they would instead "worship" Arno, not the divine.

  This was the reality of self-interest.

  As the weather grew colder, the snow increased. Moist air from the ocean condensed into rain clouds, releasing water in another form upon the world.

  Even in the depths of winter, Pramisburg bustled with activity. Faced with their rapidly changing home, every resident threw themselves into work with full vigor.

  It was in this deep winter that the empire welcomed Emperor Orlando VII.

  Orlando VI’s health had deteriorated rapidly, his frail life force nearly extinguished, casting an eerie atmosphere over the entire empire. Every imperial succession meant a reshuffling of power. Though there was no saying of "a new emperor brings a new court," the adage held: an emperor elevates those he favors and discards those he dislikes. A political storm was forming in the capital, heavy as the "quilt" of clouds covering the sky, pressing on people’s hearts.

  From the ringing of the New Year’s bell, the storm was unleashed. First came the issue of fiefdom allocations for the emperor’s children. The fiefdom system, established by Orlando I as a national policy, aimed to use allocated members of the Golden Family to suppress nobles still reeling from war. The status of royal and Golden Family members was enough to make bloodthirsty nobles sheath their claws and submit to their rule.

  But from Orlando III to Orlando V, the ills of the fiefdom and noble inheritance systems erupted, as an increasing number of nobles became a drain on the empire. These nobles were like leeches, sucking the empire dry for their own greed. After a massive civil war, the top rulers, led by the Golden Family, established new rules, allowing noble families to war among themselves.

  Each fallen family and power vacuum meant a quiet expansion of royal and Golden Family authority. Some astute nobles saw the royal family’s ultimate goal but were powerless to stop it. Not every noble was wise, nor could they set aside their prejudices and unite against the crown.

  This included previously allocated royal members and branches of Golden Families whose local power, once too great, had broken from central control to rule independently.

  This was why conflicts between "official city lords" and "local lords" had intensified, erupting into clashes from time to time.

  Take the case of Terman Bole’s family: Bell Province claimed they had been attacked by bandits and wiped out, a story even commoners disbelieved. Yet the empire accepted it—because the Boles were "local lords," the kind the empire was happy to see eliminated. Had an "official city lord" died mysteriously, the central government would have dispatched an investigation team and suppressed any unrest by force.

  In this political storm, the ailing Orlando VI surprisingly awoke in his final days, refusing all his children’s demands and granting them only unimportant, less prosperous fiefdoms. Even his favorite son, Konrad, received only a slightly richer but small territory. When one prince protested that these fiefdoms were unworthy of their status, Orlando VII—showing no brotherly mercy—crushed the dissent, jailing the prince with no clear release date.

  The remaining princes and princesses fell silent, leaving the capital under Orlando VII’s intimidation.

  Additionally, the Imperial Chancellor passed the "Imperial Non-Wartime Military Garrison Amendment" in the Imperial Council, shifting from a fixed garrison system to a rotational one. Previously, local garrisons were overseen by governors, who appointed officers and controlled daily deployments. Now, the Imperial Military Ministry would directly order rotations every three years, transferring both officers and soldiers to new locations.

  Governors would lose the power to appoint officers, retaining only advisory, supervisory, and deployment rights. This further limited their ability to amass local power, strengthening central military control.

  Over a dozen noble houses were degraded and exiled, uniting the empire’s top rulers around the new emperor.

  A new chapter had begun for the empire.