Chapter 276 : Chapter 276
Chapter 276. The Demand
Accompanied by a cry utterly lacking the bearing of an expert, a deep-blue starry shield hastily opened. Countless rune nodes like stars flowed across its surface.
The full-force strikes of the two seventh-tier knights landed on the shield, shaking it until it twisted and flashed violently while releasing a grating friction that made one’s teeth ache. Only then were the attacks forcibly deflected and dispersed.
The spatial rift fully stabilized.
An old man in a deep-blue velvet mage robe stepped out in a somewhat sorry state.
Complex magic patterns had been embroidered across his robe with dark-gold threads, and a violet badge symbolizing the pinnacle of academia was pinned to his chest. His silver-white hair had originally been combed so meticulously that not a single strand was out of place, but now it had been blown into disarray by the sword wind.
The handful of roasted hazelnuts he had been holding had spilled all over the floor in fright, and he was still chewing a half-liquid-centered strawberry candy that he had not yet swallowed. He nearly choked on it.
The Dean of Saint Arcadia Academy, seventh-tier Mage Saint, Barnabas.
The old man patted his chest in lingering fear. He forcefully swallowed the candy in his mouth, and his originally cloudy old eyes now lit up with a profound radiance that made one’s heart tremble. Smiling amiably, yet still carrying a trace of lingering fright, he swept his gaze over everyone in the great hall, who were all standing ready for battle.
“Everyone, let’s talk this out properly.”
Barnabas’s voice was not loud, and there was even a hint of grievance in his tone.
“This old man merely took a trip out, yet the moment I stepped back in, you greeted me right in the face. Isn’t that a little too lacking in martial ethics?”
“The floor tiles in the Royal Capital really are hard. They’ve knocked these old bones of mine sore.” The old man raised his head and looked toward the main seat. He narrowed his eyes, his gaze circling once over the Pope and Moran before finally stopping on Logaris. “Apprentice, is that wine good? Save me a glass.”
“Dean,” Logaris said, inclining slightly.
Pope Gregory VII withdrew his holy scepter. He knew very well that Barnabas was not merely a seventh-tier mage, one of the strongest beings in the world. He was also the Dean of Saint Arcadia Academy—the academy that had trained more than seventy percent of the kingdom’s active mages.
Even the Holy Church might not be able to bear the price of offending the mage community.
“Dean Barnabas, you arrived rather quickly,” the Pope said in a rather displeased voice.
“I had to. If I came any later, all of you would probably have started fighting. Then tonight’s banquet would be rather difficult to end properly,” Barnabas said with an amiable smile.
Prime Minister Moran took one step forward, still maintaining his gentle tone. “Dean, this is not a personal grudge against Count Logaris. The aura of Hell has appeared in the present world. This concerns all of humanity. I believe that, in order to clear himself of suspicion, some cooperation is still necessary.”
Barnabas glanced sideways at Moran and could not help frowning. Then he turned to look at the Pope. “Fine. A blood test is acceptable. But I have one condition.”
The Pope frowned. “Speak.”
“My apprentice is a newly ennobled count of the realm. He is a meritorious official who turned the tide at the Southern Territory defensive line and saved tens of thousands of soldiers. He is also the youngest tenured professor in the history of Saint Arcadia.”
His tone remained amiable, but every word carried weight.
“Just because of some old photograph you dug out from who knows where and a so-called Divine Revelation Spell coordinate, you want to publicly test his bloodline and violate his privacy. Then let me ask one thing—”
Barnabas stuffed his handkerchief back into his clothes.
“If it turns out he is not a demon, how does your Holy Church plan to end this? With a bow and an apology?”
Suppressed whispers rose throughout the great hall.
The Pope fell silent for a moment. His gaze swept over Barnabas and Logaris, and from the corner of his eye, he inevitably caught sight of Elena, “Moonblade,” standing not far away with one hand on her sword hilt.
Gregory VII rapidly weighed the situation in his heart. First, the evidence they had used to start trouble today was indeed not particularly reasonable. It was nowhere near enough to convict a newly ennobled count with real power of a capital crime.
Second, the situation had now completely changed. Not only had Barnabas, the leader of the mages, openly declared his protection of Logaris, but even another seventh-tier knight, Elena, had faintly expressed her inclination toward the Northern Territory just now.
If the Holy Church forcibly overturned the table here, it would mean forming a mortal feud with the entire Northern Territory, the academy-aligned mage community, and even the kingdom’s high-tier knightly forces at the same time.
For the sake of the greater picture, as Pope, he absolutely could not make the matter look too ugly. He had to leave himself room to back down gracefully.
Suppressing all these thoughts, the Pope said in a deep voice, “What do you want?”
“Very simple.” Barnabas raised one finger. “First, after the test, if he is innocent, then from now on, the Holy Church will forever—I mean forever—stop pestering Logaris over any nonsense concerning ‘demonic suspicions.’”
He raised a second finger.
“Second, you, Gregory, will owe Logaris a favor.”
The whole hall exploded.
A favor from the Pope—that was almost equivalent to a death-exemption token. With that favor, even the Holy Church’s Holy Tribunal would have to take a detour upon seeing Logaris.
The Pope stared at Barnabas, then looked at Logaris, who stood there with an indifferent expression. He had absolute confidence in the holy relic in his hand. This was a law of judgment left behind in the present world by a deity.
“Very well,” the Pope said. “I promise. If he is innocent, this old man will owe him a favor. But if the Holy Grail catches fire, Barnabas, you must not obstruct the Holy Church from purifying a heretic.”
“Deal.” Barnabas waved his hand and stepped aside. On the way, he casually picked up an exquisite blueberry tart from the nearby dining table.
Logaris did not refuse. He walked slowly up to the 【Holy Grail of Purification】.
Everyone’s breathing slowed as they watched this scene. Only Sylvia and Barnabas seemed completely confident, without the slightest hint of worry on their faces.
Seeing their reactions, Gregory already sensed that something was not quite right. But spilled water could not be gathered again. He could only brace himself and continue.
Logaris extended his left hand. A slender blade of ice condensed at his fingertip.
He made a light cut.
A drop of deep-red blood left his finger, traced an arc through the air, and fell into the jade cup filled with sacred liquid.
In that second, time seemed to stretch infinitely in everyone’s senses.
Prime Minister Moran’s eyes, hidden in the shadows, widened slightly. He was waiting for black flames.
The Minister of Finance craned his neck, having already prepared the words with which he would condemn him.
Ding.
The blood fell into the center of the Holy Grail.
One second.
Two seconds.
There were no black-red sulfur flames. There were no distorted screams.
Hummm—
A beam of white light shot into the sky from the Holy Grail.
It was not the kind of dazzling, searing holy light. Instead, it was a gentle, jade-like light of life, so pure that it was almost impossible to describe. Within the radiance, there was even a rich fragrance of grass and trees, like the scent of a spring meadow after it had been thoroughly warmed by the sun.
The waves of light rippled outward, spreading in all directions with the Holy Grail as the center.
The oppressive feeling in the great hall, which had come from four seventh-tier powerhouses gathering at once, vanished like smoke in an instant. Several elderly nobles moved their fingers in disbelief—the old injuries that had pained them for years had actually eased considerably under the cleansing of that white light!
Pope Gregory VII shot to his feet. The holy scepter in his hand struck the ground with a muffled sound. He stared fixedly at the white light, his lips trembling violently. “No… impossible. This vitality… How could it be purer than that of a saint?”
“Ahem. It seems my apprentice is not only no demon, but also a one-in-ten-thousand pure-hearted genius.” Barnabas swallowed the pastry in his mouth, his tone somewhat smug. “Well then, Your Holiness, do you have anything else to say now?”