The Sacred Shield Council and the King’s Obsession

On the night of June 23, A.S. 1082, deep beneath the Royal Capital of Lucien, within the most clandestine chambers of the Heretical Inquisition, a secret council was underway—a gathering poised to determine the very trajectory of humanity’s future.

At the head of the long table, Archbishop Lucien, Albert Morel, sat with an unshakeable stillness, his deep purple robes accentuating the austere lines of his face.

Along the table’s length, the attendees were sharply divided. To the left sat the cardinals, their scarlet vestments proclaiming the supreme divine authority of the Northern Ecclesiastical Province. Opposite them, on the right, were the highest echelons of the Inquisition, alongside its most seasoned inquisitors, their black robes concealing an aura as sharp and chilling as a drawn blade. Each person present was, without exception, a member of the ‘Inner Circle,’ entrusted with the Church’s most profound secrets and the stark truth of humanity’s impending end.

Projected onto a colossal screen at the far end of the table were the Primate of the Southern Ecclesiastical Province, Archbishop Leon, Augustine Richelieu, and his accompanying Southern delegates.

This venerable man, with his snow-white hair and benevolent countenance, stood in stark opposition to Lucien’s rigid demeanor. Indeed, had he not been clad in the deep purple vestments reserved for archbishops, one might have easily taken him for a genial grandfather who had simply stumbled into a rather serious affair.

If Archbishop Lucien embodied the monarch, wielding supreme authority to command awe and intricate stratagems to preserve the Church’s very existence, then Archbishop Leon was the quintessential shepherd, soothing hearts with profound theological wisdom and shaping the Church’s soul with boundless compassion.

Their contrasting temperaments offered a perfect complement, together forming the bedrock upon which the Church’s prosperity and stability were built.

Noting Archbishop Lucien’s grave expression, Archbishop Leon offered a warm smile, his voice as gentle and refreshing as a spring breeze. “Albert, you’ve shed quite a bit of weight lately. Are you, too, embracing the latest trend among the youth and adopting a vegetarian diet?”

“Prolonged vegetarianism isn’t beneficial for one’s health, you know; you ought to trust in science. The Lord provides all things to nourish our bodies. You must consume more meat; only with a robust physique can you truly dedicate yourself to the Lord’s service for a full century!”

Archbishop Lucien’s lips twitched almost imperceptibly. “A hundred years?” he retorted. “Half of my old bones are already in the grave; why would I wish to linger for so long? Are you attempting to torment an old man?” Though his tone remained gruff, the taut atmosphere in the room softened ever so slightly under the weight of his old friend’s playful jest.

With the final cardinal settling into their seat, Archbishop Lucien subtly gestured to the meeting’s facilitator, Victor Soren, a seasoned inquisitor within the Heretical Inquisition, signaling him to commence the proceedings.

Victor, a man of resolute features and eyes as piercing as an eagle’s, served as Archbishop Lucien’s most trusted and capable lieutenant. Save for two particular instances where Allen de Laval had managed to vex him, his demeanor remained, for the most part, consistently composed and dependable.

Victor rose, his voice resounding with steady authority. “Gentlemen, in adherence to the sacred tenet, ‘Holy Fire Unceasing, Judgment Eternal,’ this ‘Sacred Shield’ council is now officially in session. We shall now proceed to the first item on our agenda…”

The initial item on the agenda was the presentation of the investigative report concerning the attack on the de Laval household. Victor meticulously recounted every detail of the incident for the assembled members: the assault by the Scarlet Spiral Cult, Allen de Laval’s prescient warning and subsequent struggle, the discovery of the heretical stronghold beneath the slaughterhouse, the extermination of the False Mark Knights, and the comprehensive intervention by the Heretical Inquisition. His account also delved into Allen de Laval’s rather anomalous conduct during his time within the Inquisition’s custody.

Upon hearing these astonishing narratives, all inextricably linked to Allen de Laval, a profound silence descended upon the chamber, enveloping everyone present.

As Victor recounted Allen’s unlikely business venture—a partnership with a street vendor for iced beverages—the previously silent Lucien abruptly interjected, “Has the recipe he provided been verified?”

“It has been successfully replicated, Your Grace,” Victor confirmed. “The ice cream recipe he provided yields a product whose form and texture are perfectly consistent with the ‘ice cream’ described in the lost ancient texts.”

Archbishop Lucien pressed on, “The afternoon he departed the Inquisition, he was ambushed by mercenaries who blocked his entrance and splattered paint. Has that incident been thoroughly investigated?”

The investigation had indeed yielded clarity, yet the findings were of a delicate nature. Consequently, Victor’s gaze instinctively sought out the Grand Master of the Inquisition.

The Grand Master, grasping the unspoken cue, rose to speak. “Your Grace, we have thoroughly investigated the genesis and progression of this affair. The ‘Dogs of War’ mercenary company was contracted for the operation, with the presumed objective of a bloody purge of the de Laval household. This commission, having passed through multiple intermediaries, ultimately traces its origins to… the Royal Palace.”

Archbishop Lucien’s brow furrowed deeply. “Is this connected to His Majesty?”

The Grand Master paused, choosing his words carefully. “We dare not indulge in such speculation, Your Grace. This incident bears no relation to the heretical attack; it is presumed to be a mere coincidence, an unfortunate collision of events at the same temporal juncture.”

“Another coincidence?” Archbishop Lucien’s frown deepened, etching starker lines across his brow.

Albert Morel and the aging King Louis Durand had once been fellow students, having both pursued their studies within the same monastery. Louis’s elder brother, gripped by the fear that Louis might one day usurp his power, had stripped him of his inheritance and banished him to the monastic life.

In his early days, Louis Durand was far from a devout monk. Upon his initial entry into the monastery, he was notorious for shirking chores daily and, when boredom struck, for flirting with the nuns. Yet, owing to his unique status, no one dared to intervene. It was only the inherently severe Albert Morel who stepped forward, delivering a scathing reprimand.

The stark contrast between his former life as an imperial scion and his new existence as a monk had already left Louis Durand seething with resentment. As the saying went, ‘a tiger fallen into the plains is bullied by dogs.’ Coupled with Albert’s sharp rebuke, a furious rage erupted within him, culminating in a fierce brawl between the two men.

Yet, once the dust settled from their altercation, they found themselves regarding each other with an unexpected sense of camaraderie, and thus, a deep friendship was forged.

Louis Durand, despite having received the finest education and mastering an array of ancient texts, possessed but one notable flaw: an undeniable penchant for idleness. Albert Morel, conversely, was frequently tasked by the monastery with resolving various complex matters, which naturally curtailed the time he could devote to scriptural study.

Louis tutored Albert, while Albert, in turn, spurred Louis onward. Through this symbiotic relationship, they ascended together, eventually earning a place within the Inner Circle and gaining access to the Church’s most closely guarded secrets.

Those dark, onerous secrets irrevocably transformed Louis Durand. He became increasingly taciturn, guarding his thoughts with an impenetrable secrecy, never easily betraying his true intentions.

Gradually, he succumbed to a fascination with peculiar research and began to exhibit an astonishing hunger for power, rendering him virtually unrecognizable from the man who had once so abhorred inconvenience.

Albert observed these profound changes in his friend, yet he could do little more. Almost every member of the Inner Circle suffered from debilitating anxiety, and Albert was no exception. Indeed, each year, several Inner Circle members were forcibly committed for psychological treatment, overwhelmed by the sheer mental strain of their duties.

In comparison, Louis Durand’s eccentricities were, at the very least, categorized as the most innocuous.

Subsequently, Louis’s elder brother suffered a sudden, violent demise, compelling Louis, as the last legitimate heir of the Durand family, to ascend the throne. With Louis Durand no longer a formidable contender, Albert Morel smoothly assumed the mantle of Archbishop Lucien.

Two decades had quietly slipped by, transforming Louis and Albert from intimate confidants into monarch and subject. The chasm between them had, by then, grown unfathomably deep.

Even Albert himself could no longer discern whether his old friend had simply succumbed to despair and apathy, or if he was, in fact, meticulously orchestrating some grand, unseen conspiracy from behind the scenes.

This monk-turned-king appeared utterly indifferent to the millennium-old glory of the Durand family. For the sake of his enigmatic plans, he seemed prepared to shatter his own crown into a thousand pieces.

He had single-handedly instigated the kingdom’s current political turmoil. In the eyes of the populace, the once-revered sagacious monarch had devolved into an aging, seemingly deranged king.

Was he truly mad? Archbishop Lucien remained uncertain.

This king, whose mental state was a source of grave concern, would, after every audience with the Archbishop, obsessively pose the same question: “Has the Nirvana Plan been initiated?”

The Nirvana Plan represented the Church’s most closely guarded secret, conceived as the ultimate contingency against the functional extinction of humanity. Once activated, this plan would plunge humanity’s current cycle into a desperate, minute-by-minute countdown.

The execution of the Nirvana Plan demanded a price beyond human comprehension. Whoever dared to activate it would bear the crushing responsibility for all of humanity. Who could possibly shoulder such an immense burden? No one. No one, save for a messenger of God.

Upon his ascension, Louis XI had severed all ties with the Church. His persistent probing into the Church’s most sacred secrets was, without question, a flagrant breach of the ancient divine covenant: ‘The Temple belongs to the Divine; the Crown belongs to the Monarch.’ Archbishop Lucien, therefore, found it impossible to respond to his inquiries.

The Archbishop’s unwavering refusal to answer only exacerbated the old king’s growing obsession.

Perhaps it was precisely for this reason that he sought to shatter established norms, intending to make an example of a minor viscount like Bernard, thereby igniting an even fiercer confrontation between the hardliners and the moderates.

Allen de Laval, first targeted by cultists and then seemingly by the King himself, presented a situation that, at first face, appeared to be a string of unfortunate coincidences. But could matters truly be so straightforward? As a seasoned inquisitor, Albert found the entire affair growing increasingly suspicious. The de Laval family, it seemed, was rapidly becoming the eye of a gathering storm. Behind these seemingly disparate events, he suspected, lay the machinations of an unknown orchestrator.

Archbishop Lucien pondered for a moment before posing his next question: “Has the origin of Allen de Laval’s notorious reputation been uncovered?”

The Grand Master, evidently well-prepared, responded, “The primary instigator is his father, Bernard de Laval. Furthermore, criminal syndicates have exploited his name to commit various illicit acts, thereby exacerbating his already tarnished reputation.”

“Criminal syndicates?”

“It is merely a minor, low-tier gang, comprised of refugees, orphans, vagrants, and other marginalized individuals from the city’s underbelly.”

“Do they possess any direct connection to Allen de Laval?”

“It appears so, though the likelihood of them merely attempting to exploit his name for their own gain is considerably higher.”

‘Bernard de Laval…’ Archbishop Lucien silently repeated the name to himself. He found himself unsurprised by the findings of this investigation. In fact, he and Bernard had crossed paths on one occasion years prior.

Many years ago, to temper his own character, he had served part-time as a confessor at Saint Eliot Cathedral. Bernard, at that time, had just become a viscount. Unaware that the man on the other side of the confessional screen was a high-ranking Archbishop, he had calmly recounted his sins, offering a heartfelt confession of his profound sorrow for his deceased wife and his unfortunate son.

‘The sorrow of a parent for their child.’

Recalling that distant memory, Archbishop Lucien now understood Bernard’s motive for slandering Allen. It appeared the viscount had intentionally tarnished his son’s reputation, all in an effort to protect him. In doing so, the notorious Allen de Laval would be unable to inherit the title, instead becoming a commoner—

A commoner free to escape the confines of the Royal Capital.

Indeed, the Royal Capital of Lucien had, from its very inception, been a cage crafted by the royal family for its nobility!

The nobles of the Royal Capital enjoyed the kingdom’s most exalted status, constantly basking in royal favor. This singular privilege, however, was both the source of their pride and the shackles that bound them.

Royal Capital nobles could not easily depart the city. Should a noble leave without explicit permission, they would be stripped of their status, their fiefdoms, assets, and noble titles confiscated by the Crown. Furthermore, noble children were forcibly enrolled in the Saint Nora Heraldry Academy, where they received a loyalist education, groomed to become faithful servants of the royal family.

This extreme system, which restricted the personal freedom of the nobility, was known as the ‘Imperial Favor System.’

For the ‘robe nobles’ (those serving in administrative or courtly roles), the Imperial Favor System was largely inconsequential. However, for the ‘sword nobles’ (those holding military or landed titles), prolonged absence from their fiefdoms would inevitably lead to a gradual loss of control over their lands.

At such times, the royal family would ‘thoughtfully’ offer a ‘stewardship’ service for the sword nobles’ fiefdoms. Tax collectors and officials would then assume the duties of collecting taxes and governing the territories on behalf of the absent nobles.

This arrangement allowed sword nobles to remain in the Royal Capital, enjoy their revenues, and avoid the arduous task of managing their estates. With such a ‘good deal,’ why wouldn’t they indulge in their leisure and pleasures?