Bear School Astartes-Chapter 881 - 864: The Archbishop’s Dispute

The appearance of the person in front was really... abnormal.

He was wearing a luxurious silken robe, similar to Klimte’s, and the candlelight even reflected off it.

A sash hung down in front of the robe, and the tall hat on his head represented his religious identity and status.

He was an archbishop on the same level as Klimte.

"Greetings, Archbishop McDonald."

Klimte greeted politely yet distantly.

The archbishop named ’McDonald’—to put it bluntly—looked like a fat pig drowned in water.

His height was about average, but his obesity seemed swollen as if water was injected into his fat.

He had no neck, and his entire head appeared as a small hemisphere mounted on a meatball.

If he were to lie on the ground, it’s likely his palms wouldn’t reach it, as the fat on his back was piled too thick.

And it wasn’t just his physique; even his skin color resembled drowned pork, a bloodless pallor.

So when he spread his arms wide, showing his hospitality to everyone, their expressions were all very subtle... definitely not delighted.

Clearly, Klimte had no camaraderie with this colleague, even though they were at the highest level of the same sect.

Thus, he just conducted formal courtesy before getting to business.

"I have welcomed the Goddess, and her noble bloodline and identity are unquestionable."

Klimte said this, simultaneously extending his hand backward, introducing the Goddess seated on the palanquin to McDonald.

"How is the room preparation in the church? We cannot let the Divine Being wait here idly. She has suffered too much and should rest properly."

With that, Klimte waved his hand, leading the entire group inside the church.

Meanwhile, behind his fat cheeks resembling those of a drowned swollen face, McDonald, the archbishop, effortfully widened his eyes, narrowed by fat, to look at the Goddess.

Then, he grinned, rubbing his hands.

"Ah, of course, of course..."

"We should indeed grandly welcome the Goddess. As you said, I prepared the finest red carpet, as red as flames. Enough to fill an entire room. But..."

McDonald’s voice, initially cheerful, gradually deepened.

Klimte turned his head puzzled, his lips pursing beneath his graying beard: "’But’? What do you mean?"

At this point, the atmosphere was starting to feel a bit off.

The followers carrying the Goddess’s palanquin halted in confusion, causing those behind them, including Lann, to stop as well, quietly observing the dialogue between the two archbishops.

In the vast, empty cathedral, only the sound of busy priests’ cloth shoes on marble floors remained, along with the thumping actions of giants.

"There are no rooms left, Klimte."

McDonald’s grinning face of excessive fat brought a chilling, mocking sensation devoid of any warmth a smile shouldhave.

Cold, taunting... such were the emotions within this smile.

Originally busy priests in the church quietly gathered behind McDonald.

These priests wore slightly simpler robes than the archbishop’s and lacked head adornments.

Yet, they held metal candle holders, which seemed to burn silently with a single flame at the sharp tip, despite lacking visible fuel.

But when these usually comforting candle flames congregated behind McDonald, they created shadows that one could feel rather than the warmth of light.

It seemed the brightness of the candles merely accentuated the shadows, making them deeper and heavier.

"Our church has no rooms to accommodate a ’noble’ Goddess, my brother."

McDonald referred to Klimte as ’brother,’ a proper term within religious relationships, fellow believers are brethren.

But his subsequent sentence added a condition.

"If you still consider yourself a White Sect archbishop."

Klimte’s brooding eyes suddenly lifted, meeting McDonald’s perpetual smile.

"We are White Sect archbishops, the Profound Church being a burial cathedral established with support from the House of Losric, a White Sect cathedral!"

McDonald’s obese body rose with righteous words.

"We White Sect worship the God of Rank and Law, the Wuxin King, Gwyn’s uncle, with Lloyd as the Main God!"

"Though now the Kariem believers have minor complaints, claiming Lloyd is not the Main God but a branch. The House of Losric should be the Divine Race the White Sect worships."

"But these are merely minor internal disagreements; ignore them. Let scholars debate; a consensus will surface."

"But you, Archbishop Klimte?"

McDonald advanced step by step, smiling with malevolence.

"Claiming to welcome a Goddess only to return with one unlisted in any holy scripture or miracle! And daring to proclaim her ’noble bloodline’?"

"This world recognizes the truly noble bloodline solely belonging to the Divine Race of Great King Gwyn! Your actions are a blasphemous overstep!"

McDonald proclaimed loudly.

His tone urged Lann to unconsciously grip the knife at his waist.

Inferring from these words, it seemed a sudden conflict here, purging and clearing Archbishop Klimte, wasn’t out of the question.

Moreover, behind McDonald, the priests stood with the candle flames at their tips suddenly swelling as if fueled.

Under control, the flames transformed into fireballs, poised on the candle holders, ready to erupt.

The other people in the caravan were somewhat taken aback and nervous, with the more timid ones even trembling as they tried to draw their swords from their waists.

In such situations, composure is courage.

Therefore, Lann didn’t draw his sword, Rosalie on the carriage remained motionless, and Leonard just quietly stood beside the carriage.

It was Klimte’s expression that made Lann think that it wasn’t a big deal.

The archbishop’s expression was not one of shock and anger after being internally purged.

There was surprise, but it was closer to ’I didn’t expect you to actually dare to do this.’

"...You know who this is, MacDonald. We received the decree together back then."

Having composed himself, Klimte looked deeply at his colleague and church friend before him.

"What decree? I don’t know anything."

MacDonald’s smile didn’t change at all.

"Yes, it’s best you know nothing. What about Archbishop Louis? Did he agree with your approach?"

Saying this, MacDonald no longer bothered with pretense. His fingers, plump like small radishes, spread out into a palm, gesturing to the large group of priests behind him.

"At least two of the three archbishops need to want to act for such a scene, wouldn’t you say?"

Klimte said nothing and nodded slowly, heavily.

"I understand... But I must remind you, MacDonald. Do you remember who promoted you to archbishop? How about recalling?"

"No need to recall. Of course I remember, of course..."

This seemed to hit a sore spot for MacDonald, his smile gaining a bit of ferocity as he leaned in and spoke quietly.

"The great King Ausloes, right? Making a mage an archbishop among the clergy—he loves this method of humiliating us, doesn’t he?"

"Then I’ll remind you again, right now the knights in Profound Church, their tower shields and armors are still emblazoned with His Majesty’s personal crest—the Heaven-Gazing Giant Bird Pattern."

"You don’t need to worry about that, Archbishop Klimte."

As the two spoke confrontationally, finally, the white-whiskered archbishop glanced back at the goddess on the carriage before stepping back and averting his gaze.

"Then I understand your intention. I won’t get involved in your affairs with Louis."

Klimte said while gesturing to the goddess and himself.

"But at the same time, you know how chaotic the world is now. Besides here, the goddess has nowhere else to go; you must give me a room."

Klimte’s gaze was deep; this was the final concession.

Whatever MacDonald and Louis are planning, Klimte didn’t care or know. But the bottom line was to first settle the goddess.

MacDonald seemed to have been waiting for these words.

His large face first fell silent, then broke into an even wider smile.

"That’s great! That’s enough! My brother! Come on, I’ve already prepared a room. Although this goddess doesn’t appear in any Holy Scripture, just seeing her posture and demeanor, one can tell she’s enormously noble!"

"Profound Church is so large, of course, it can accommodate such a noble goddess."

Many, including Lann, were almost in awe of Archbishop MacDonald’s ability to change his tone instantly.

He waved warmly, and then the group of priests standing behind him instinctively extinguished the flames and dispersed, returning to their own tasks.

Klimte was quite angry, but caring for the goddess weighed on him more than anyone else.

He forcefully suppressed his anger and led everyone toward the room arranged by MacDonald.

The Profound Church seemed spacious upon entering, but in reality, its internal structures were hidden behind the walls of the hall—rooms, corridors, terraces, etc.

Moreover, the church’s internal structure was exceedingly complex.

When they followed the people sent by MacDonald to the destination, Klimte’s face turned even darker.

"What’s wrong, is there a problem here?"

With agility, Lann walked ahead of a group of Maggot Man followers, just behind the goddess’s carriage.

Now seeing the odd expressions on Klimte and Leonard’s faces, he stepped forward to ask.

This was an internal platform located at the second major level of the church.

The complex architectural structure of Profound Church made each large level have smaller levels. It took quite a while to reach this platform, but it was actually high inside the church hall.

Right under where the debate had happened earlier.

But this platform seemed to have contained many corrosive liquids, with its stone-block surface being corroded into large patches.

As if strong acid had freely flowed over it.

"This is... the room that once held the Profound Saint Elderidge."

Klimte gritted his teeth as he spoke, but ultimately, one must bow beneath the eaves.

He turned again to look at Rosalie, who seemed to be unconcerned on the carriage, and was forced to instruct.

"It can only be here... "

"There’s at least one good thing here: the old door that once imprisoned Elderidge remains as a semblance of a defense line."

"Use red cloth, spread all the red cloth, cover those marks, cover the whole room!"

"No, but that’s not quite enough... There’s no other choice."

Those corrosion marks seemed to be extremely desecrating or extremely dangerous.

Lann watched as Klimte began to hurriedly attend to the preparations.