Chapter 95: The Church’s True Intentions

  With the elven envoys dismissed and Thalron proving his ability to navigate their veiled insults, the focus now shifted to the Church of Illidum. Unlike the elves, who had dismissed New York as beneath them, the Church took a different approach—one of carefully veiled manipulation.

  They did not come as conquerors. They did not issue direct demands.

  Instead, they came as saviors, offering “enlightenment” and “aid.”

  But Marcus and Thalron weren’t fools. They saw through the act.

  This wasn’t about faith. This was about power—controlling New York’s economy, influence, and, most dangerously, the hearts of its people.

  The Church of Illidum’s representatives arrived with methodical precision. Three high-ranking clerics, clad in immaculate white robes with golden embroidery, moved with the air of people who expected the world to yield before them. Their presence alone carried a gravitational pull, demanding attention without words.

  At their lead was High Cleric Lysandre, an elven priest with silver hair and piercing, ice-blue eyes. His gaze was sharp, assessing, but his voice carried an unwavering calm authority, the kind that did not ask—it dictated.

  Beside him stood Sister Celise, a younger priestess with an almost ethereal grace, her soft-spoken nature wrapped in a carefully crafted kindness that expected submission.

  Unlike the elven nobles, they acknowledged Thalron’s presence, but it was measured—a recognition given not out of respect, but convenience.

  Lysandre stepped forward, his tone even and unhurried.

  “New York stands at the dawn of greatness,” he began, his words a practiced melody. “And Illidum’s light shines upon those who walk the righteous path. We come not as masters, but as guides, offering wisdom, healing, and salvation.”

  Marcus folded his arms. “That so? And what’s the price of salvation these days?”

  Lysandre’s smile was patient, like that of a teacher indulging a wayward student. “No price. Only a partnership.”

  Marcus didn’t buy it for a second.

  The Church offered what no one else could match—unrivaled healing magic.

  Their proposal seemed simple:

  The construction of a Grand Cathedral in New York, a place of worship and healing, where anyone—adventurer, merchant, commoner, or noble—could seek aid, free of charge.

  In exchange, the Church would own the land upon which the cathedral stood. It would operate independently, answering only to Illidum’s clergy, not New York’s leaders.

  The city’s spiritual well-being would fall under their guidance.

  They masked their demand as a gift:

  “We seek only to serve.”

  “Illidum’s light does not discriminate.”

  “A city without faith is a city without guidance.”

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  Lysandre’s gaze never wavered as he turned toward Marcus. “The world is changing, Marcus Elder. War is coming. Chaos spreads. New York stands strong today, but what of tomorrow?”

  It was a subtle threat, dressed in concern and benevolence.

  Marcus knew a threat when he heard one.

  Boruk, now New York’s Guild Headmaster, had been silent until now.

  When he finally spoke, his voice was steady, unshaken. “The Guild is neutral. But we don’t deal in illusions.”

  His sharp gaze turned to Lysandre. “What’s your real price?”

  Lysandre’s expression remained neutral, but Marcus caught the barest flicker of something behind his eyes. The cleric was used to controlling conversations, not being confronted outright.

  Boruk continued. “We both know how this works. You come in as healers, as pillars of faith. But faith breeds dependence. And dependence breeds control.”

  Lysandre let out a slow exhale, his smile measured, almost amused. “Faith does not control, my friend. Faith liberates.”

  Boruk grunted. “That’s one way to spin it.”

  He turned to Marcus. “Your call, Shift-Lord. Just know that once the Church sets roots in our city, it will never be ours alone again.”

  Marcus leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, his expression unreadable as the silence stretched between them. Lysandre’s offer was carefully wrapped in generosity, but the real power move had been laid bare. The Church didn’t need to conquer New York outright—they just needed a foothold. A place where they could establish themselves, grow their influence, and slowly weave their way into the city’s foundation.

  If he outright rejected them, they would retaliate in subtle ways—turning merchants away, leveraging their alliances to squeeze trade, whispering doubt into the ears of the weak-willed. But if he accepted their offer unconditionally, then New York wouldn’t be his city anymore.

  He needed a third option.

  Marcus glanced at Thalron, who had been watching Lysandre with a calculating gaze. They hadn’t planned for this negotiation, but they didn’t need to. They understood the game.

  Thalron spoke first, his voice calm and firm.

  “New York will accept healers from the Church of Illidum. But we will own the land your cathedral stands on.”

  Lysandre didn’t even blink. “Faith should not be constrained by mortal boundaries, Lord Thalron.”

  “Then faith has nothing to fear from law,” Thalron countered smoothly. “If your only goal is to heal and serve, then you should have no issue working under New York’s jurisdiction.”

  Lysandre’s pleasant smile never wavered, but Marcus saw it then—the faintest tightening of his fingers, a nearly imperceptible shift in his posture. A flicker of irritation.

  The cleric’s voice remained serene. “Our cathedral must be a place where the faithful may seek guidance freely, without restriction.”

  Marcus saw where this was going. “You’re saying that the moment we put laws around it, we restrict your faith?”

  Lysandre folded his hands in front of him, still exuding that unshakable patience. “Faith cannot flourish in chains.”

  Marcus leaned forward, letting the weight of his presence press against the conversation.

  “You’re standing in my city. Our city. The only laws that matter here are ours.”

  The air grew heavier, the unspoken tension thick between them.

  Boruk, who had been quiet until now, chuckled. “I’d listen if I were you, priest. The Guild sees a lot of cities rise and fall. And the ones that fall? They all had one thing in common.”

  Lysandre turned his cool gaze toward him. “And what is that, Guildmaster?”

  Boruk grinned, flashing his tusks. “They thought they were untouchable.”

  The meaning was clear.

  Lysandre sighed softly, as if he were indulging children who simply didn’t understand his wisdom.

  “A wise man does not reject a gift outright.” He looked at Marcus. “I believe, in time, you will see that Illidum’s light is not a shackle… but a beacon.”

  Marcus held his gaze, unflinching.

  The meeting ended with neither side backing down.

  Lysandre gave them a final bow, his motions practiced and elegant before he turned, his flowing white robes trailing behind him as he and his priests exited the chamber.

  But Marcus knew the truth.

  The Church didn’t need a yes today.

  They just needed the door to be left open.

  And now, it was.

  After the meeting, Fillia contacted Thalron via private correspondence.

  She wasn’t pleased that the Church had made a move, but she understood why Marcus played it cautiously.

  Her warning was simple:

  Lysandre does not need to take control.

  He only needs New York to accept the Church’s presence.

  Once they are seen as necessary, they will never leave.

  “You must watch them, Thalron. They do not conquer cities with armies. They conquer them with faith. And faith is far harder to fight.”

  Thalron took the warning very seriously.

  That night, Marcus sat alone on the battlements, overlooking New York.

  Vira joined him, handing him a drink.

  “You didn’t turn them away.”

  Marcus sighed. “I couldn’t.”

  Vira watched him for a long moment before smirking. “You sound like a real leader.”

  Marcus chuckled, but his gaze remained distant. “That’s what worries me.”