The Holy Church Begins with Bestowal of Blessings

Chapter 353 : In Name

Afterward, the discussion went on until noon before they finally decided on the establishment of eleven guilds.The Warriors’ Guild was placed under the charge of Councilor Puniel, which had originally been his authority, though it was now greatly diminished.

The Merchants’ Guild went to Councilor Bevan, who had always been in charge of commerce—naturally, he was the first to seize that slice of the cake.

Councilor Jeffrey took charge of the Scholars’ Guild.

There had once been a Scholars’ Association, but it was flattened during the Unification War. Later, as the renown of the Monastery spread, scholars began to yearn for it, and the old association vanished entirely. Since Jeffrey was responsible for overseeing the academies, it was only natural that he would form a Scholars’ Guild.

The Rangers’ Guild was proposed by Councilor Julian, who managed the warriors and the military campaigns. He argued that the army needed scouts and that the flexible rangers among the mercenaries should be absorbed into the ranks.

The Thieves’ Guild was assigned to Councilor Hastin—a decision made by Priest Agamemnon himself. His reasoning was that, when managing the Personal Guards, there were always matters that could not be resolved by force alone, and since thieves within the city could never be completely eradicated, it would be better to organize and regulate them. Who knew—they might even become useful.

No matter how reluctant Hastin was, faced with a six-to-two vote, he had no choice but to accept.

Councilor Fenrir proposed and took responsibility for the Assassins’ Guild. As the one overseeing taxation, he claimed that some “matters behind the sunlight” required handling, and he was willing to do the dirty work.

The reasoning was flimsy, yet after much thought, Agamemnon still nodded in agreement.

Even so, that decision only barely passed the vote—five to three.

Councilor Yorn Berg, who managed currency exchange, was placed in charge of the Bard Guild. Among all the councilors, he had the least influence.

Now that York Gold Coins had completely circulated throughout the land, his role hardly mattered. Taking a risk, he proposed the formation of a Bard Guild.

In response to that proposal, even Councilor Puniel raised his hand in agreement—for after all, the bards led by Dean Oscar had no concept of honesty.

They were bold beyond measure, and all eight councilors, except for Agamemnon himself, had been slandered by them at least once.

These fellows, seeking attention, deliberately used those of great authority and high standing as their creative material.

So if this proposal could actually be realized, it would indeed be a matter worthy of the Kingdom of Lundex’s annals.

Just thinking about having to face Dean Oscar of the Monastery, Councilor Yorn was already trembling and sweating profusely—even before the session ended.

He did not fear Oscar’s retaliation. Rather, he dreaded those bards inventing absurd tales about him and tarnishing his name.

If his reputation were to be ruined, Yorn wasn’t sure whether he would still retain his seat as councilor.

Priest Agamemnon, as the presiding governor, chose to establish a Lawyers’ Guild. He intended to cultivate interpreters of law who could share in the duties of the priests.

As for the three guilds that had sparked the initial discussion—the Beastmasters’ Guild, the Mages’ Guild, and the Knights’ Guild—Agamemnon stated that he would find specific, suitable individuals to lead them.

Those who had already received their share of the “cake” had no reason to object, and the solitary dissent of Councilor Puniel carried no weight.

However, in their hearts, many of them quietly wondered whether these three important guilds were meant to be handed to the unseen King.

Agamemnon, of course, cared nothing for their private thoughts. He concluded, saying,

“Although authority has now been delegated to each of you, if the guilds fail to be managed properly and the kingdom’s order is not upheld, this authority shall be reclaimed, and I will appoint others more capable in your place.”

The councilors, preoccupied with schemes of how to wield their newfound power, voiced no objection.

The opportunity had been given—if they failed to seize it, then they deserved to lose it.

——

For the next day and a half, discussions revolved mostly around population, taxation, public order, and education throughout the kingdom.

Most of it was general review—so long as no major issues arose, things would continue as planned. The only concerns were potential noble uprisings or those harboring thoughts of breaking away from senatorial control.

Not until the third day did Agamemnon reveal the session’s greatest announcement.

“To attack the Woodlands?!” Councilor Puniel’s spirit revived at once, his eyes shining again.

War was cruel—but for those at their level, war also meant new profits.

“It is not an attack,” Agamemnon corrected firmly. “The people of the Woodlands wish to come under Lundex’s rule.”

Though in truth, war would still be waged, its name must be righteous.

After all, from here, it was only a half-hour’s carriage ride to the Great Cathedral of York, seat of the Church of the Sanctuary.

Under the gaze of the Lord, all their actions had to be justified—even in name.

Moreover, since the Monastery had reduced the cost of paper and ink, those bards who longed to cry, “Let the whole world look at me!” would never ignore such a fine subject.

Those bards feared not death—they only feared being forgotten by history.

When that time came, the Senate would likely be portrayed as demons bent on destroying the world, with the eight of them as demon lords.

Even though Agamemnon knew that Oscar himself could neither write nor speak lies, he also knew that those bards whom Oscar deemed praiseworthy were never decent folk.

“Yes, the people of the Woodlands wish to come under Lundex’s rule—to bask in the Lord’s protection,” Puniel hastily corrected himself, even pulling a cross from his chest for emphasis.

Councilor Julian, responsible for external warfare, was not as eager. Frowning, he said,

“The terrain of the Woodlands is unsuited to the charges of knights and cavalry. Even if they are weak, conquering them will not be so simple.”

Councilor Hastin wanted to join the conversation, but as he was responsible only for internal security within the York Territory, he had no say in such matters.

Agamemnon replied to Julian, saying,

“In truth, one reason the people of the Woodlands seek our rule is as I said—but more importantly, a deity has returned.”

“And now that it is the New Testament Era, the Lord has promised to leave the world to mankind. Those deities belong to the Old Testament Era—they are chaos itself, and they loathe everything of this new age. Therefore, they must be destroyed.”

Agamemnon spoke solemnly, but every man present was a seasoned politician—none of them believed it.

What they heard instead was this: they were about to go to war with gods.

The thought alone chilled the chamber, as though some divine gaze had fallen upon them.

They had never seen a deity before, yet they all knew that the power of Holy Relics came from fragments of divine will—and they had witnessed that power firsthand.

If a mere shred of divine will was so overwhelming, what of a true god?

The hall fell silent until Julian, still frowning, finally spoke:

“By midyear, the First Legion will be able to field ten Type-III Magic Cannons. Each one’s destructive force rivals that of a marquis’ or earl’s Holy Relic Liberation. They can fire three full volleys in one minute.”

“That is the Legion’s greatest destructive strength.”

Julian’s words made several councilors’ scalps tingle.

He had long aligned himself with the Church of the Sanctuary and rarely attended noble gatherings. Thus, they only had a vague sense that the army’s strength was “great.”

But now, hearing this, it seemed that those ten cannons could blast the Northwind Mountains clean in two—connecting the Northland and Greenwood.

Julian ignored their stunned looks and continued,

“Even so, I do not believe such power can kill a god—for that is still a god.”

Agamemnon nodded. “Indeed, such destruction cannot slay a true deity. But these gods have only just returned.”

He cleared his throat habitually before continuing,

“Now is the New Testament Era. The Old Gods can only crawl out from the depths of past time. But upon returning, they are gravely weakened—no longer whole. Remember, this age belongs to mankind.”

After speaking, Agamemnon’s expression turned wistful. Looking around the chamber, he went on,

“These gods are not in their prime. In fact, Bishop Marl of the Church has already discovered one deity reviving in Greenwood. Based on power assessment alone, it is merely equivalent to a Tier Five being.”

This did nothing to calm the councilors.

Aside from Julian, most of them knew that in Greenwood, only the two heroes and King Pegira’s seven former guards had ever surpassed Tier Five.

“But it is still a god,” Julian said. “And divine power, I believe, cannot simply be measured by tier.”

“Correct,” Agamemnon agreed. “If it were truly only Tier Five, Bishop Marl could have handled it alone. But according to him, rash action might indeed banish the deity—yet it would also render a portion of Greenwood uninhabitable, much like the wasteland beside Wallace Territory.”

Julian mused, “So, the battlefield is to be moved to the Woodlands…”

“Not only that,” Agamemnon said. “The power of Holy Relics originates from the gods themselves. When a god seeks to return, the relic becomes their gateway.”

Julian’s expression darkened. “Then, every relic corresponds to a god behind it?”

Agamemnon nodded. “That is why the Church gathers relics—to seal the gods.”

The tension in the Senate eased slightly.

Councilor Puniel asked, “Then how did this deity in Greenwood come about?”

Agamemnon glanced at him with a smile that made Puniel’s entire body go cold.

“Because someone ignored the Church’s command and secretly hid a sacred artifact taken from a dark creature. Such things, like relics, contain stolen divine power,” Agamemnon said.

Puniel dared not ask further—but Agamemnon never left a story half-told.

He continued,

“The one who possessed that sacred artifact and awakened the god within it was Baron Hobert Miffel, who earned merit in the Eastern Crusade of the Crusaders and rose from a mere mercenary to a noble baron.”

At that, Puniel’s face turned deathly pale.