Chrysalis Chapter 1728 - Discussing the Divine

Standing within the Dungeon carried a profound sanctity. This realm brimmed with boundless potential, dense mana, and endless treasures. For what goal did it offer such lavish rewards, if not to aid the Ancient Races that once dwelled on Pangera long before the Dungeon revealed itself to them?

War Bishop Graham Pearson stood up after finishing his hour of prayer, his heart still echoing with waves of reverence and thanks. Having spent a lifetime in the Church, witnessing its brightest highs and darkest lows, he remained unshakably convinced of his beliefs right down to his core.

The Dungeon was there to aid the deserving.

Each beast that emerged inside it served as a tribute for those powerful enough to seize it.

“I don’t need to be here,” Grand Priest Vinting remarked from close by, repeating himself yet again.

Undisturbed, Graham faced the other man, his gaze as icy and blue as frost laced with mana.

“Your journey on the Path has brought you right here, to this very instant,” the War Bishop gently rebuked. “You’re exactly where fate intends. It’s not your place to question or reject it, but to reflect and ponder the reason through prayer.”

Alir’s features hardened in fury, yet the War Bishop felt no apprehension toward him. If measured roughly by Levels, Graham surpassed his peer by a wide margin. When it came to battle wisdom and prowess, the divide grew even larger. The sole area where Alir held an edge over the two was his higher standing in the Church hierarchy.

Not that such matters concerned Graham in the least.

“Will you at least agree to speak with the envoys from Green Mountain?” Alir inquired sharply.

Graham could tell he was scheming to escape the Dungeon somehow. Unable to force the War Bishop to release him directly, maybe he could sway outsiders to intervene. The fellow slithered like an eel, unfit for the lofty role he occupied in the faith.

“Naturally, I will,” Graham answered. “You do realize that devotion must precede all other duties, right?”

“Of course,” Alir responded, his face twisting into a frown.

“Then I don’t see any issue.”

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Not too distant from where the two conversed, Graham spotted the waiting group. Hardy warriors, seasoned experts with years of Dungeon campaigns under their belts, battling hordes and cleansing beasts. Individuals Graham held in high regard.

They comprehended the harsh realities of Dungeon operations, though they failed to comprehend its true purpose.

He felt sorrow for their lack of insight. How could they derive true fulfillment from their labors without understanding the holy significance woven into it? Stumbling along the Path without sight was akin to never setting foot on it.

Still, he kept his compassion hidden as he drew near them.

“Greetings. I’m Graham Pearson, War Bishop of the eleventh Judgement Battalion. Might I have the privilege of speaking with Marshal Williams and Marshal Selda?”

The pair looked at one another briefly before facing him and giving a brief nod. Though their armor matched that of their subordinates without distinction, Graham always took care to recognize the visages of key leaders he could cross paths with in the Dungeon.

Williams, compact and sturdy in build, projected an aura of command and subtle expertise that amplified his presence far beyond his frame. Though hairless on his scalp, his bushy and intense brows lent him a near-ridiculous look, offset only by the strength he emanated.

Selda matched that intensity. Her silver-streaked hair tied back severely, she appeared slender to the verge of emaciation, but even at rest, she conveyed a sleek and lethal poise. Graham was certain the blade at her waist could reach his throat quicker than thought.

Junior officers parted as Graham advanced, with Alir trailing a step behind. It was Marshal Williams who shattered the quiet.

“No point in dancing around it,” he murmured gently, his stare firm and assured, “that’s for the bureaucrats. Do you seek our aid in tracking that creature? If yes, we’re empowered to bargain over the shares.”

“What terms is Green Mountain willing to extend?” the War Bishop inquired plainly.

“Two thousand troops for two shares out of ten, or double the men for five,” was the answer.

“You err if you think your forces match a Judgement Battalion,” Alir interjected rigidly. “Suggesting otherwise would… offend the Church deeply.”

Endlessly frustrating, haggling over a monster’s remains prior to its downfall. Yet when pursuing quarry like the one they tracked, such talks were unavoidable. A portion of this beast’s remains could fetch a vast wealth. Sufficient to elevate Green Mountain for generations.

“Four thousand for four shares in ten,” Graham declared, then raised a palm to halt the Marshals, “This is non-negotiable.”

Williams and Selda shared another look, conveying volumes without words.

“Furthermore,” Graham continued, “every Soul Crystal harvested goes to the Church. On that, I won’t budge either.”

Following a prolonged hush, Williams inclined his head.

“Agreed,” he stated. “We’ve struck a bargain.”

Nine thousand fighters to confront a single ant. More than sufficient.