The Theological Debate and an Unexpected Withdrawal

The antechamber has been prepared; we shall hold the theological debate there.

Doron, leaning on his crescent staff, watched as the grand doors leading to the sacred antechamber slowly swung open before him.

“Esteemed guests, the rules for this session stipulate that only the candidates and one designated companion may participate in the debate. We, the voters, will ascend to the second floor, taking our places in the gallery directly above you. From behind tightly sealed doors and windows, we shall observe the entire debate through the designated openings.”

“Once the assessment commences, no one is permitted to enter the antechamber and disrupt order, nor are they allowed access to the second-floor gallery where we will be situated.”

Unlike the preceding two trials, this theological debate is a ‘wen dou’ (TL Note: A civil contest, emphasizing intellectual or verbal skill over physical confrontation), meaning the candidates within will rely solely on their eloquence, with no risk of physical injury.

The Church’s primary concern, therefore, is to entirely prevent any collusion or cheating, both within and outside the antechamber.

As per Doron’s instructions, the upper gallery and the lower antechamber would effectively become two sealed chambers, isolating them from all external interference. Only once the theological debate concluded would all the voters gather to declare their chosen candidate. At that moment, the antechamber’s grand doors would also open, allowing curious citizens from outside to enter and witness the results alongside them.

All in all, Vero City was poised to welcome a new church official this very afternoon.

Bishop Doron turned, his expression grave, to face the expectant crowd gathered behind the doors.

“Furthermore, I have another announcement to make—”

Paresha Greystone rose onto her tiptoes, glancing around anxiously.

Aivy had not yet arrived, nor was Phillo anywhere to be seen.

“Aivy isn’t here yet, huh… They wouldn’t still be in their rooms, would they?”

“Paresha, no whispering down there!”

“Ugh!”

Chastised by her own father, Paresha Greystone clamped her lips shut, lowering her head with a disgruntled sigh.

Doron cleared his throat, then turned back to the crowd and continued:

“Before Miss Aivy retired for her midday rest, she specifically sought me out to inform me of her withdrawal from the official selection process.”

“What?!”

The crowd immediately erupted into an uproar, particularly the joint representatives of the City Alliance, who were responsible for the voting. Having invested two full days in this selection, Aivy’s sudden withdrawal, without so much as a word, rendered all their time and effort utterly wasted.

Feeling profoundly like fools, the City Alliance representatives clamored to Lucius for an explanation.

“What exactly are we doing here, then?”

“Indeed, Lord Lucius, what is the meaning of Aivy’s actions?”

“That woman isn’t even truly a member of the Weinshield family! I warned you she was unreliable from the start!”

Aivy’s withdrawal dealt the most significant blow to the Weinshield family; her actions were tantamount to a blatant betrayal of Lucius, severely undermining his and their family’s prestige.

“Silence, all of you!”

Lucius’s face had turned an ashen gray, and he abruptly raised his voice, silencing the clamoring crowd.

“Bishop, is she all right? Was her injury from this morning too severe?”

“Rest assured, Aivy’s physical condition is not grave. I believe… the child has simply had a change of heart.”

“That’s good to hear…”

Unexpectedly, Lucius displayed no hint of resentment towards Aivy. Instead, he raised both hands, waving them vigorously in the air, and launched into a fervent speech:

“Members of the City Alliance, did we truly participate in this official selection merely to campaign for our recommended candidate?! Such a thought is utterly disgraceful! We are here not to vie for personal gain, but for the sake of damned fairness! To elect a truly worthy official for Vero! What say you?!”

“Aivy’s withdrawal is, in fact, a blessing! Now, our votes can be cast with even greater impartiality!”

As the direct heir of the Weinshield family, Lucius proved his quick wit, instantly concocting a perfectly respectable excuse. This not only silenced his disgruntled allies but also allowed him to project an image of righteous integrity, earning him a measure of goodwill from the onlookers.

The joint representatives ceased their questioning, offering a round of perfunctory applause.

Lucius removed his hat and bowed deeply to the crowd.

“Bishop, please proceed. The City Alliance has no objections to your announcement.”

Indeed, with Aivy out of the picture, Lucius could still pin his hopes on Dalia Aurelius; he had not yet been defeated.

“Therefore, the two remaining candidates, please designate your chosen companions and enter the antechamber now.”

“I’ve made my choice!”

Dalia Aurelius immediately raised her hand, bringing forth a middle-aged man dressed as a noble from beside her. Upon receiving Doron’s permission, she stepped through the grand doors of the antechamber.

In contrast, Paresha Greystone found herself in a somewhat difficult predicament regarding her choice.

Kaelan pulled Paresha Greystone and Saranya aside, her stance decidedly firm:

“Take me inside, and let Little Ya wait outside.”

“Take me! Master, you’re not skilled at this!”

“Oh?”

“Please, I’m truly exceptional at it!”

Saranya’s tone was a blend of playful pleading and firm conviction.

She was not boasting. After all, she was a transmigrator, and though she hadn’t exactly thrived in either world and was a bit clumsy, her mind still retained some vestiges of compulsory education. In this godforsaken place, where the average populace’s education seemed to begin and end with prenatal instruction, her level of knowledge was practically that of a highly educated scholar.

While Kaelan, that ancient being, had indeed lived for a great many years, she had spent the majority of her existence in seclusion, dedicating herself to magical cultivation. Consequently, she sorely lacked experience in communicating with others—a fact Saranya had gleaned from their long association.

How many times had her Master, relying on her magical prowess, rushed headlong into trouble, only to be restrained by Saranya herself? Such instances were far from few.

Given her Master’s notoriously short temper, allowing her to participate in a debate would likely result in an argument erupting after only a few sentences, quickly escalating the ‘wen dou’ into a ‘wu dou’ (TL Note: A physical contest, the opposite of a ‘wen dou’).

“Besides, most of our true opponents are waiting outside. Even if something unexpected arises, inside it will, at most, be a two-on-two situation between us and Dalia Aurelius’s side. Dalia is already my defeated foe, Master; do you still lack confidence in me?”

“Er…”

Her Master puffed out her cheeks, her beautiful eyes darting about, an expression of hesitation clouding her features.

Noticing Kaelan wavering under her persuasion, Saranya seized the moment, adopting a meek demeanor and launching a fresh wave of her endearing charm offensive.

“Onegai! Please, Master, trust Little Ya just one more time. Little Ya will do anything for you…”

“Really? Very well then, do remember your words, won’t you~”

Kaelan’s demeanor softened. She leaned in close to Saranya, whispering a soft breath against her ear.

Saranya nodded, a sly smile gracing her lips. She had known her Master would succumb to her charms.

As for the price, well, she might have to endure a little hardship tonight…

****

With their choice confirmed, Paresha Greystone straightened her posture and, alongside Saranya, approached the antechamber.

“This is the final trial. You can do it, Paresha. You must, for Father, for Brother. You must become a church official…”

Paresha Greystone continued to murmur words of encouragement to herself, bolstering her resolve.

The moment they passed through the doors, Doron’s tense expression seemed to soften. The wrinkles at the corners of his eyes deepened slightly as he offered Paresha Greystone a gentle smile.

It was a father’s smile to his daughter—sincere, pure, and utterly devoid of anything but tender affection.

“You’ve done well.”

Doron made no sound, merely mouthed the words.

Paresha Greystone choked back a gasp, her eyes welling up. She quickly feigned a yawn, using her hand to discreetly wipe away the tears gathering at the corners of her eyes.

****

“Wait! Wait! Miss Paresha Greystone!”

By the time Phillo’s voice rang out from behind them, Saranya and Paresha Greystone had already crossed the threshold and were beyond the doors.

The divine guard’s clothes were disheveled; he wore casual attire, its fabric wrinkled and creased. The neck-cord of his shirt remained untied, and even his belt was undone, suggesting a state of extreme haste.

According to the Moon-Marked Sect’s regulations for its clergy, formal attire was mandated throughout the sacred hall, excluding only the living quarters. Walking posture was to be impeccable, and loud disturbances without cause were strictly forbidden.

Phillo had violated every single one of these rules. What was worse, as the highest-ranking Silver-Armored Divine Guard and the leader of all divine guards, he was flagrantly setting an example of misconduct, appearing utterly unconcerned by his transgression—a truly egregious offense.

“Hey, big brother, don’t run like that, your pants are about to fall down!”

“Hahahahaha—”

The crowd burst into laughter.

Lucius folded his arms, his gaze sweeping over Phillo. In an instant, he discerned that Phillo had unequivocally not been engaged in anything ‘good’ during his midday break.

Of course, Lucius had no way of knowing exactly what Phillo had been doing, or with whom, during his break. Nevertheless, he aimed an arrogant taunt at the disheveled guard:

“Hmph, Bishop Doron, it appears the etiquette of our divine guards still requires considerable reinforcement… Brother Phillo, it truly takes a special talent to wear your clothes in such disarray. Forgive my bluntness, but on a day of such paramount importance, one truly ought to maintain control over their… lower half.”

Witnessing his own Silver-Armored Divine Guard make such a disgraceful spectacle, Doron’s brows furrowed tightly, and he erupted in anger.

“The assessment has already begun! Phillo, are you an imbecile, or simply incapable of dressing yourself? What sort of conduct is this?! You are forbidden from entering the antechamber, from ascending to the second floor, and from remaining in our presence! I am revoking your spectator privileges; this assessment now holds no bearing on you whatsoever!”

“No… please, just let them wait a moment—ow!”

Several divine guards escorted Phillo out of the room. Simultaneously, the grand doors of the antechamber groaned heavily, slamming shut with a resounding thud.

Saranya turned her head, facing the silent, cavernous hall ahead.

“I can’t shake this feeling… a sense of unease.”