CHAPTER 108: CRUMBLING TRUTH

Aric sat alone in his study, a candle casting shadows across the high walls, lighting his face in a strange mixture of soft glow and deep shade.

His hand rested on an open ledger, and a faint, contemplative smile traced his lips as he read through the notes he had made.

He had been preparing for this moment for days.

The Church of the Holy Flame was an iron fist wrapped in the silken robes of righteousness, capable of swaying the masses and manipulating the nobility with a single word.

But now, Aric had found the cracks—and he intended to dig until the Church collapsed.

The door creaked open. Viscount Kael entered first, followed by Old Man Hitoshi. They walked with purpose—Kael’s steps brisk, Hitoshi’s steady, like a man who had seen centuries of schemes rise and fall.

Both paused, offering brief bows before Kael spoke.

"Your Highness, the first emissary has returned with promising news. High Inquisitor Levos accepted the ’gift’... quite eagerly. He hardly asked questions, though I suspect he knows better than to."

Aric leaned back in his chair, nodding. "Good. That man’s greed is his weakness. And what of High Priest Dorim?"

"Dorim is... cautious," Hitoshi replied, folding his hands. "Skeptical, yes, but temptation gnaws at him. The offer of debt relief is difficult to refuse for a man with his extravagant habits."

The prince chuckled, low and amused. "Good. I don’t need his trust, only his desire."

He gestured for them to sit at the table, where a map of the imperial city lay spread wide. His finger traced along the borders, lingering on symbols that marked estates of families loyal to the Church.

"Kael, I want rumors seeded among the nobility—begin with the lesser houses, crushed under debts to the Church. They’re desperate, disillusioned, eager to believe the Council of Saints cares more for silver than salvation."

Kael’s lips curled into a wry smile. "Play on their bitterness?"

"Precisely." Aric’s eyes gleamed, sharp with cunning. "The nobility will believe what they already suspect. Show them glimpses of hidden indulgences, and let their imaginations do the rest."

Hitoshi inclined his head. "A wise strategy, Your Highness. Once rumors take root, they’ll grow into something the Church cannot silence without betraying its own nature."

Aric slid a goblet of wine across the table toward Kael, a quiet mark of trust. "And if the Church retaliates," he said softly, "we’ll see that it stumbles over its own sins. It won’t take much to show how much silver lines their holy robes."

For a moment, silence filled the room. Then Aric broke it.

"Tell me, what’s the next step with Dorim?"

Hitoshi leaned forward. "Dorim values prestige as much as wealth. If we tempt him with promises of greater influence—perhaps even a subtle endorsement from a prince—he may abandon his alliances."

Aric’s mouth curved. "That would be valuable indeed. Arrange a meeting—nothing formal. An exchange. Send an anonymous invitation with a costly gift, something ornate. If vanity drives him, he’ll come."

---

That night, under a cloak of darkness, two figures moved swiftly through the city streets. One was a young servant, recently drawn from a lesser noble house; the other, a gray-haired emissary chosen by Hitoshi for his discretion.

They slipped into alleyways until they reached the cathedral’s rear entrance.

A guard spotted them but, recognizing the mark on the emissary’s letter, let them pass with a smirk. Among guards, the Church’s dealings with nobles were an open secret, though few dared speak it aloud.

In a dim antechamber, the emissary waited, clutching the sealed letter tight against his chest. A heavy purse of gold weighed hidden beneath his cloak—insurance for wandering eyes.

At last, High Inquisitor Levos entered, his face taut with irritation and expectation. Of middling height but heavy build, his small, calculating eyes gleamed beneath gaudy flame-embroidered robes meant to signal rank.

"You brought this message?" Levos asked, voice low and dismissive.

The emissary bowed and extended the letter. "A token of goodwill, Your Grace."

Levos broke the seal, scanning the words with growing satisfaction. His irritation faded into smug delight as he pocketed the purse without hesitation. "Very well. You may tell your benefactor that I am... open to continued discussions."

The emissary bowed again. "I shall convey your words faithfully." He vanished into the night, task complete.

---

Days passed. Subtle ripples spread across the city’s noble circles. Murmurs of the Church’s indulgence threaded through estates, whispered at dinners, spoken behind closed doors.

The lower nobility muttered openly of hypocrisy, resentful whispers that drifted like smoke into every corner of the capital.

Aric watched with cold satisfaction. Each meeting with Hitoshi and the Ashen Covenant brought brighter reports. High Inquisitor Levos had already loosened ties with House Rothval, dodging their envoys with polished excuses.

High Priest Dorim, meanwhile, seemed enthralled by lavish gifts and gilded promises, his allegiance tightening like a coiled rope.

One amber evening, Aric summoned his intelligence leaders. The room brimmed with anticipation.

"The rumors have taken root," Hitoshi reported. "The lower nobility speak openly of the Church’s greed, and even commoners begin to see clergy as wealthy puppets, not holy men."

Aric’s gaze swept his council. "Good. That will shake the nobles’ loyalty. If faith no longer sways the people, the nobles will question the value of their allegiance."

Kael leaned forward. "And our next move, Your Highness?"

Aric’s eyes hardened. "We double down. Spread more whispers. Turn the people’s eyes to corruption. Keep Levos and Dorim indebted, bound by gold and vanity."

Hitoshi gave a sharp nod. "The lower nobles will soon grow bold enough to question decrees openly. Their debts fuel their anger."

Aric exhaled slowly, satisfaction burning in his gaze. "We’re close, gentlemen. The Church is cracking already. Now we press harder—until it falls into our hands."

As the others departed, Aric lingered at the window. The city sprawled before him, faint voices of discontent rising from its streets.

He pressed a hand against the cold glass, lips curling into a smile.

Soon the church’s might would be his—its authority bent to his will, its strength reforged into his blade.