Chapter 533: Inner Conflict
"How do you do?" Igor greeted the head priest’s second-in-command with a humble but confident bow.
The priest smiled at him, inclining his head as if he had nowhere else to be. "I am well, good sir. What is the purpose of your visit tonight?"
His name was Father Veras, a weathered old werefox with silver-streaked red fur and sharp eyes.
Thankfully, Bimo had crafted numerous measures after what had happened with Arzhen’s previous forceful summon.
It was true that because Arzhen was close with the Saintess, most of his overreaches were swept under the rug as long as they didn’t cause direct harm to the temple.
Including forcing a contracted healer to attend to him whenever he pleased, at any hour of the night, regardless of the healer’s other duties.
But Bimo, determined to assist Roarke and resolve this situation, had consulted directly with Angela. And Angela had found him the solution immediately.
She used the conflict inside the temple itself.
There were people who gained benefits from appeasing the Saintess, but even among those, there were those who were not politically inclined toward Arzhen personally.
Some of them had been slighted by the Vasilievs in the past. Others had watched Arzhen’s overall movements, never forgotten it, and decided to distance themselves.
Finding these people to slow Arzhen’s movement and influence in the church wasn’t difficult. They didn’t need to align with Father Rohan’s mission, they only needed to be the right kind of people for the situation.
"Our healer?" Father Veras finally addressed what Igor was needing, but only after a prolonged greeting that stretched and stretched until Igor’s carefully maintained patience began to fray at the edges.
"We would be glad to invite the Prince for treatment tomorrow morning, when the healer’s public work hours begin. But tonight..." The old priest spread his hands in a gesture of gentle, implacable regret.
"You see, Father Rohan has been tending to most of the medical needs the temple must serve for the believers. Even at this late hour, I am certain he is still deep in his work. Cataloguing herbs, concocting medicine... It’s precisely this kind of diligent work that allows him to serve the Prince, just as he serves the believers and the public."
Igor’s mouth twitched at the corner. He forced himself to keep smiling, but his jaw was tight.
Why were they suddenly preventing him from taking the healer? Could it be that the last summon had triggered someone who disliked them?
He didn’t know how accurate his instincts were.
The temple had never been like this before. When the late—former—Saintess, Cecilia Araceli had held office, no one would have dared to treat him, Arzhen’s right hand, like this.
After all, Arzhen was the Saintess’s husband. Yes, she was a fake, but that made him wonder why the real Saintess, Miss Ruby, couldn’t control the temple’s people the same way. This was embarrassing.
"Here, I’ll call the young acolyte who is used to helping him around." Father Veras turned and gestured to a young man in his twenties. "Summon the boy serf."
"Yes, Father."
Suddenly forced to follow procedure, Igor felt deeply uncomfortable. He was accustomed to walking into the temple, demanding what he wanted, and receiving it without question.
This—this polite stonewalling, this bureaucratic labyrinth... was new. Very unwelcome.
The young acolyte returned a few moments later with Bimo in tow.
The boy looked nervous, his shoulders slightly hunched, his eyes darting between Igor and Father Veras, seemingly anxious after being pulled from his duties. He clearly didn’t understand why.
He clutched the sleeve of his acolyte’s robe with one small hand, the fabric already wrinkled from his grip.
"Bimo, my boy," Father Veras said gently. "What is Father Rohan doing right now?"
Hearing that the question wasn’t about himself but about Father Rohan, the nervousness in Bimo’s face eased. "Oh! Father Rohan?" A bright, guileless smile spread across his young face. "He said he’s pulling an all-nighter to modify a potion recipe. He told me the flame can’t be left alone and grumbled about doing alchemist-level work!"
Both Igor and Father Veras flinched. Alchemist-level work...?
"It’s after Father Rohan met the important customer and didn’t return until morning. He’s been frowning all the time and fussing about money, even told me he used his own to add more herbs!"
Bimo continued, his tone cheerful but with that shy, hesitant edge, as though he weren’t quite sure he should be saying this but couldn’t help himself.
But, his words hit both Igor and Father Veras exactly where it hurt.
Money. Father Veras felt his stomach clench. It was true that Father Rohan had worked tirelessly as the temple healer since his arrival, and it was also true that he should have been compensated far more than he currently was. He was clearly the better cut healer than the others.
But for it to be said aloud, in front of Igor, of all people, Veras felt as though he had been slapped across the face. He was the one in charge of the temple’s finances, after all. And Arzhen Vasiliev was one of the temple’s largest donors. This situation had turned very embarrassing.
At the same time, the mention of pulling an all-nighter, of alchemist-level work, of an important customer who hadn’t let Father Rohan return until morning, made the back of Igor’s head itch uncomfortably.
The boy was clearly talking about Arzhen’s impossible demands. The costly potions, the experimental treatments, the summons at all hours of the night. Everyone in this room knew it, but no one could say it aloud.
Bimo, who had been carefully controlling the narrative from the moment he opened his mouth, drove the final nail into the coffin. "Father Rohan has been sad these days. He told Healer Olive that the temple had been allocating lots of money, yet it’s still not enough to treat the patients that have been increasing lately..."
Suddenly, Father Veras’s ego was stroked high.
So it was that kind of money complaint, not a criticism of the temple’s neglect! Was it just a lament about the growing demands on their resources?
Well, then. He could allocate more funds. It was for his rep—the temple’s reputation, after all.
And if doing so happened to make the Vasiliev family look stingy in comparison, well, that was merely a fortunate coincidence!
"Actually, let’s let Father Rohan rest for tomorrow. He has been doing far too much work recently. I’m sorry, good sir, but I’m afraid we need to postpone the visit for the day after."
Father Veras spoke sternly. He had already made up his mind.
What the fuck was this old fox saying?!
Igor felt anger surge through him, threatening to crack the polished veneer of civility he had maintained all evening. This was blatant now—open defiance!
He dared to do this even with Ruby Vaiva sitting at the top of the temple hierarchy? What kind of backing did this wrinkled priest have?
Igor simply didn’t know that Father Veras was even more important to the temple than the High Priest himself. Veras handled the money. His influence, though quiet and largely invisible to outsiders, was far greater than it appeared.
He controlled the purse strings. He decided who was paid and who was not. Without him, the whole institution would have crumbled years ago!
"Father Veras, do you know what this means?" Igor said, his voice dropping low, nearly a growl.
"Good sir, what can I do?" Veras spread his hands wide, his expression one of helpless innocence that fooled absolutely no one. "There are plenty of healers out there the Prince can use. But Father Rohan is our only lead temple healer."
"He has been doing such important work alone and without complaining to anyone outside. I didn’t even know what he had been through until this moment!" The old fox shook his head with dismay. "I am ashamed of my own negligence."
"You know that the Saintess will hear about this, right?" Igor hissed, his eyes narrowing to slits. "Can you bear the consequences?"
Hah! Veras barely restrained a scoff.
He was the one paying the Saintess’s salary! And she was already such an extravagant Saintess compared to all the ones who had come before her.
Just to maintain that appearance, the flawless skin, the flowing robes, the ethereal beauty that had captivated half the capital, she bought expensive makeup and rolls upon rolls of silk fabric to commission new robes that accentuated her womanly curves.
The bills that crossed his desk were staggering! He had seen the receipts, knew exactly how much her vanity cost the temple.
Veras believed that bitch would even serve him personally to get more money if she had to, especially now that she had somehow fallen from favor with her husband, that arctic white wolf from the north who had once seemed so devoted.
She was not Cecilia Araceli. That woman had eyes behind her back, able to spot any sign of financial discrepancy with a single glance at a ledger. All while being extremely charitable herself, allocating ninety-five percent of her own salary back to the temple’s operations and charitable works.
She was a fake, but she was also a witch with how competent she was!
This new Saintess was nothing compared to that fake Saintess witch. And Veras was glad Cecilia Araceli had disappeared, replaced by this dumb pair of buttocks with a holy vision.
Even if Ruby heard about this, what could she do? Complain to the High Priest? The High Priest answered to Veras!
"You should return," Veras said coldly, all pretense of warmth gone from his voice. "Let’s see whether Father Rohan will be available tomorrow. But I advise you to come back with the Prince the day after."
Igor’s temper visibly rose. His face flushed. His hands clenched into fists at his sides. "You—"
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!"
Everyone froze. A scream tore through the temple’s stone corridors.
That voice—
Wasn’t that the Saintess’s voice...?