ts tune.The patrons in the aisles and on the seats suddenly stopped everything they were doing, their faces devoid of emotion, expressions frozen, eyes vacant.They suddenly stood up in unison, turned...Chapter 242: Lanche's Authority

Several minutes later. 【Remember the website domain】

The battle ended as suddenly and intensely as a storm.

The crew and guards on the merchant ship's deck had barely any chance to resist before being completely subdued and tied up. Their weapons lay scattered on the ground, leaving them with only powerless fists in their hands.

Their eyes were filled with fear and despair, as if they couldn't comprehend why they had been attacked by the followers of the Resurrectionist Cult, nor did they dare to guess what would happen to them next.

Of all the ship's passengers, only Sir Francis stood untied. An imperceptible tension blanched his cheeks, lending a touch of world-weariness to his usually dignified bearing.

But he smiled helplessly.

Lord Francis probably guessed what was happening.

It must be that the city's elite finally couldn't contain their desire to replace him, and now there's a ridiculous opportunity to use the Resurrection Church as a tool to get rid of him.

Despite the burning anger in his heart, Sir Francis was well aware of reality. In this chaotic world, a moment's lapse could see him crushed by the wheel of fate.

This batch of silver-robed revivalists demonstrated overwhelming power. From their brief clash, Sir Francis already clearly recognized the absolute disparity in combat strength between the two sides.

It could even be said that, if the other party was willing, he and his crew are currently on the brink of life or death.

Just as this oppression and unease seeped into every corner of the deck, the Silver-armored Cleric, leader of the Revivalists, stepped forward.

This silver-armored priest was so powerful that no one in their entire city could match him.

In the imperial capital, a fifth-rank might not be uncommon. Even some exceptionally talented individuals from the Imperial Royal Academy could possess the strength of a fifth-rank at a young age.

But in their remote city-states, even a third-tier adventurer or mercenary was considered strong.

And Sir Francis's excellent secretary and guard was a Level Four strongman.

Facing this silver-armored priest, he was defeated in just two or three moves, like a child unable to fight back against an adult.

Revivalists are utterly crushing for them, these border people.

None can withstand the ferocity of the notorious Baitian Branch disciples in combat.

"To make a long story short."

Lord Francis stood there, expressionless, smoke swirling at the corner of his mouth.

As he was closely watched by several religious people, he took a deep breath and then tossed the cigarette butt into the sea.

He tried his best to appear calm.

Since the other party didn't directly kill him, it means there might still be room for negotiation.

Talking and compromising with the Resurrected is humiliating, but if it could save the innocent people on board and his daughter who remained in town, he would lower himself even further. He had no other choice.

Standing before him was a priest clad in silver armor, the sense of oppression radiating from him far greater than that of any other.

> If he wanted to, he could easily remove the head of any person on board.

"Sir Francis,"

The silver-armored priest let out a chuckle, his hands crossed over his chest.

What is your attitude towards our Resurrection Church

"To clarify, I wish to have no association with any of you."

Lord Francis replies.

The Silver-armored Priest smiled, seemingly not surprised by Lord Francis's honesty.

This is also precisely why he prefers this straightforward viscount to that scheming, fat pig.

If one side had to be chosen for cooperation, the Silver-Mail Cleric would actually prefer to work with Lord Francis rather than that cunning schemer who could stab you in the back at any moment.

After all, the commands given by the Heavenly Church were implemented using a combination of wisdom and power. As priests in each town, they gained absolute authority, persuading and leading the people to accept their doctrines, but without breaking Imperial laws and causing trouble.

Although to them, a crime is not considered a crime unless it is discovered.

Although he is willing to take risks, he still tries to avoid them as much as possible.

Now we are actively making changes to adapt to the environment, and it is my sincere intention not to harm anyone.

Having finished speaking, the silver-armored paladin produced a bracelet.

"But the core tenet of our Heavenly Church is that the strong rule the weak, as you see before you. You have no power to resist us, and I hope even more that you will willingly cooperate with us."

"Is that so... I guess you guys are capable of doing things like this after all."

Lord Francis chuckled, finding it amusing.

He could tell, this bracelet was similar to a magical artifact used in slave merchant contracts for lower-ranked slaves.

The other party was talking about lofty principles, but in reality, they were doing things under the table.

"I think Lord Viscount must have made a decision already."

The Silver-Clad Priest looked directly at Sir Francis.

Though the contract ceremony was a bit of a hassle, taking complete control of Lord Francis brought their missionary goals a giant step closer to success.

Just then, a barely perceptible little fly buzzed past the silver-armored cleric.

"Come see me."

A curt, cold command uttered in his ear jolted the Silver-Clad Priest into alertness.

"The end of the second-floor corridor."

Another sentence.

However, when the silver-armored cleric turned back, he felt that there was no source of sound to be found.

Before my eyes, a faint blue fluorescence accompanied the dissipation of magic.

He furrowed his brows, making sure no one had approached him from behind to speak.

This directional telepathic magic, even if the rank isn't high, made him feel quite amazing. Turns out there were still such flashy mages on board.

"Keep an eye on Sir Francis."

The silver-armored cleric's lips curled into a thin, icy smile. He intended to see for himself who was playing games.

And even this unforeseen factor, which he himself hadn't noticed, he also needed to personally eliminate.

On the deck of the ship, a cleric in silver armor slowly descended the gangplank. His armor shimmered in the sunlight with a cold, sharp gleam, reflecting the azure waves around him.

Although his steps were steady, each one carried an unspoken aura of power.

When he stepped into the cabin, he looked around, searching for something.

The cleric arrived at the end of the second deck shortly after, his gaze fixed on the last door. He paused before it, sensing no powerful magical fluctuations or traces of traps within. With a soft click, he turned the lock and pushed the door open.

The interior of the room was decorated in a simple yet elegant manner.

A single bed, a small table, and a bookshelf full of books and documents.

There aren't many people here, but the room is filled with a special atmosphere, as if it were a convergence of knowledge, power, and faith.

Only a young man was seen sitting on the bed.

His light brown hair fell softly over his forehead, partially obscuring his eyes, but it couldn't hide his serenity and naturalness.

He held a copy of the Imperial Law in his hands, seemingly searching for answers within its pages. Each turn seemed to add another layer of contemplation.

He remained unconcerned by the Silver Armored Priest who barged in, as if he didn't feel any danger or didn't consider it a threat at all.

"Are you the one who sent for me"

The Silver Armor Priest gazed at the young man and asked.

The other party had an extraordinary air about them, but he didn't sense the aura of a powerful person from them.

He will not let any of the weaklings who dare to make fun of him get away with it.

But if he is a true strong person, he will also humbly ask for advice.

Proving strength and weakness is an indispensable step in practicing their teachings.

"…"

The young man with brown hair closed the legal code in his hand and slowly raised his head.

Although he didn't say a word, the air seemed to thicken with his presence. His silence was not one of weakness or disengagement, but rather a palpable power that spoke volumes. It conveyed an inner strength and confidence that everyone in the room could feel.

His emerald eyes held no obvious anger or displeasure, only an unfathomable, lofty majesty. The silver-armored paladin felt a nameless unease welling up within him.

Finally, after a while.

"What unit are you with Who is your leader"

Lance spoke in a flat tone, asking.

He still has to go back and teach the young lady of the Viscount's family her lessons.

How could lower-level departments start causing trouble halfway through

(The End)

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