CHAPTER 110: RELICS

Members of the Fourth’s court sat in the corner of his private chambers, the warm glow of a single oil lamp left faint shadows on the stone walls.

Around him, his trusted gathered as they so often did now.

Aric tapped his fingers against the armrest of his chair, a soft rhythm that matched the cadence of his thoughts.

"The people are talking," he said finally, his voice steady but low. "Rumors are one thing, but to truly shake the Church’s power, we need something tangible. Something they can see with their own eyes."

Serina turned her gaze back to him, a faint smirk curling her lips. "You want a spectacle."

"Precisely," Aric replied, his tone sharpening. "A public incident—but it must appear accidental. A relic exposed for what it truly is. The commoners need proof that the Church’s foundation is hollow, and we will provide it."

Viscount Kael snapped the book he had been engrossed in shut, now interested. "And how do we orchestrate such a spectacle without implicating ourselves? If this points back to you, the Church and the Iron Circle will descend like wolves."

Aric’s smile was faint, but it carried a dangerous edge. "Leave that to me. The Church has planned a grand blessing for the upcoming Feast of Ascension. The streets will be packed with commoners eager to witness the unveiling of a new relic—a so-called blessed blade. All we need is the right push."

---

The plan moved swiftly.

In the days leading up to the feast, Serina and Kael coordinated with Maxim’s spies, ensuring the groundwork was laid.

Word spread among the market stalls and taverns about the miraculous blade to be revealed.

The people, hungry for hope and desperate to believe in something greater than themselves, latched onto the story eagerly.

On the day of the feast, Aric arrived early to the cathedral square, his cloak drawn close around him. He wore a plain hood, blending seamlessly into the throngs of commoners that packed the streets.

Vendors hawked roasted meats and sweet pastries, their voices competing with the clang of distant church bells.

The air vibrated with anticipation as families pressed closer to the grand dais where the relic would be displayed.

Serina stood near the eastern edge of the crowd, her sharp eyes scanning the square for any sign of trouble. She wore a simple dress, her usually commanding presence subdued into something unassuming.

Across the way, Viscount Kael lounged near a vendor’s stall, pretending to haggle over a trinket while keeping an eye on the proceedings.

Hitoshi was nowhere in sight, his absence part of the plan—his role would come later.

At the center of the square, the Church officials gathered in full regalia. Their robes, heavy with gold embroidery, caught the midday sun as they moved with practiced precision.

High Inquisitor Levos stood beside High Priest Dorim, their expressions solemn as they addressed the crowd. Behind them, the relic was hidden beneath a crimson cloth, draped over an ornate pedestal.

Aric watched with quiet intensity as the ceremony began. High Priest Dorim’s voice boomed across the square, invoking the blessings of the gods as he extolled the virtues of the Church.

The crowd listened raptly, faces alight with awe and reverence.

"Brothers and sisters," Dorim intoned, raising his hands theatrically. "Today, we unveil a relic of unparalleled holiness—a blade imbued with the divine strength of our ancestors. Let it stand as a beacon of faith in troubled times!"

The crimson cloth was pulled away, revealing a gleaming sword that seemed almost too pristine, its hilt encrusted with jewels and its blade etched with careful patterns.

Gasps rippled through the crowd, followed by scattered cheers.

Aric’s lips curled into a faint smile. It was time.

The plan hinged on a single moment.

Among the commoners gathered near the dais stood a man whose pockets had been generously lined by Maxim’s network—a disgruntled former craftsman whose debts to the Church had driven him to near ruin.

His face was lined with anger and desperation.

As the High Priest continued his sermon, the man suddenly shouted, his voice cutting through the reverent hush.

"Lies!" he bellowed, pointing a trembling finger at the blade. "That sword is no relic—it’s a fraud!"

The crowd erupted into murmurs, some turning to shush him while others leaned forward eagerly, curiosity piqued.

High Inquisitor Levos’s face darkened as he stepped forward, his voice cold. "Who dares disrupt this sacred gathering?"

The man stepped closer to the dais, his movements erratic but purposeful. "I was a smith once," he cried, his voice cracking. "I know fine steel when I see it—and that blade... it’s no divine artifact. It’s a forgery, crafted to deceive!"

Before the guards could move to silence him, the man surged forward upon the dais and grabbed the sword from its pedestal.

Gasps of shock echoed through the square as he raised it high, his hands trembling.

"This is what you call holy?" he shouted. Then, with a swift motion, he brought the blade down against the edge of the dais. The metal shattered on impact, the fragments scattering like shards of glass.

A stunned silence fell, broken only by the clatter of steel on stone.

The man turned, his voice hoarse but defiant. "This is what they ask you to believe in—false relics and empty promises!"

The square erupted into chaos. The crowd surged forward, whispers turning to shouts of anger and disbelief. The Church officials scrambled to regain control, their voices drowned by the rising tide of discontent.

Aric watched from the shadows, his expression content as he observed the spectacle.

The people’s faith, already shaken by whispers of false relics, now wavered under the weight of undeniable proof.

Near the edge of the crowd, Serina met his gaze and gave a subtle nod before slipping away. Kael followed suit, disappearing into the throng with practiced ease.

At the center of the dais, High Inquisitor Levos shouted for order, his face red with fury. "This is an attack on the Church!" he bellowed. "A sacrilege orchestrated by enemies of the faith!"

But his words fell on deaf ears.

The people were no longer listening.

---

That evening, back in the safety of Aric’s chambers, the mood was one of quiet triumph.

Serina stood by the hearth, a faint smile tugging at her lips as she recounted the day’s events. "The crowd’s reaction was better than we could have hoped. The Church won’t recover from this easily."

Hitoshi nodded, calm but satisfied. "The spectacle was perfectly timed. Even the Iron Circle must be feeling the strain."

Aric sat back in his chair, hands steepled.

His face betrayed no emotion, but there was a glint in his eyes—a spark of calculated ambition. "The Church’s grip is weakening, but this is only the beginning. We must press forward while they’re vulnerable."

Viscount Kael leaned against the wall, a glass of wine in hand. "And what of Valen? He won’t sit idly by while the Church falters. The Iron Circle will be desperate to hold onto their influence."

Aric’s smile returned, faint but razor-sharp.

"Let them scramble. The more desperate they become, the easier they are to manipulate. Today, we showed the people the Church is not infallible. Tomorrow, we’ll remind the Iron Circle of the same."