Reborn To Change My Fate-Chapter 236 - Two Hundred And Thirty Five

The journey from the encampment to the High Cathedral was short but tense. The city of Strathmore was eerily quiet. Shutters were drawn tight against the plague-ridden air, and the few citizens on the streets hurried along with heads bowed, clutching rags to their faces. The only sound was the rhythmic clatter of the horses’ hooves on the old cobblestones.

The Cathedral loomed ahead, a massive structure of grey stone that seemed to pierce the low-hanging clouds. It was a fortress of faith, built centuries ago to withstand sieges both spiritual and physical.

They rode into the courtyard. Grooms in white robes rushed out to take the horses, their faces hidden by hoods. Derek dismounted, his boots hitting the stone with a heavy, authoritative thud. He adjusted his mask, scanning the area. Carlos stumbled a bit as he got down, his sword banging against his thigh, looking less like a soldier and more like a lost tourist.

They were welcomed in by a silent procession of acolytes. The interior of the Cathedral was vast and cold, smelling of incense, melted beeswax, and the damp chill of stone that never saw the sun. Their footsteps echoed loudly as they were led through the nave, past statues of saints whose stone eyes seemed to follow them with judgment.

They were ushered into the private reception chamber of the High Priest. It was a stark contrast to the rest of the building. Here, a large fire roared in a stone hearth, banishing the chill. The walls were hung with rich tapestries depicting scenes of martyrdom, and the furniture was heavy, polished oak. A table was set near the fire, laden with silver platters of fruit and crystal decanters.

Priest Adams the Second stood waiting for them. He was a man in his forties, with a face that was smooth and unlined, perhaps too smooth for a man carrying the spiritual burden of a plague-ridden city. He wore vestments of heavy silk, embroidered with gold thread that caught the firelight. His smile was practiced, welcoming, but his eyes were watchful, shifting too quickly from Derek to Carlos to the silent guards.

"Welcome, Your Grace," Adams said, bowing low, his voice smooth as oil. "Welcome to the sanctuary of peace in these troubled times."

He gestured to the chairs around the table.

"Please, sit," Adams urged. "You must be weary from your labors. The work of the righteous is never easy."

Derek sat down slowly. He untied his mask, letting it hang around his neck. His face was impassive, giving nothing away. Carlos sat opposite him, his eyes immediately drawn to the wine decanter, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. The five guards took up positions by the door, their hands resting on their sword hilts, silent statues of threat.

Adams picked up the crystal decanter. The liquid inside was a deep, rich ruby red, glowing in the firelight.

"I heard His Grace enjoys fine wine," Adams said, pouring a glass for Derek. The liquid swirled in the crystal. "This is our local rarity. A vintage from the vineyards on the southern slopes, aged for twenty years. It is worth a small fortune. Please, savor it."

He moved to Carlos and poured a generous glass, filling it almost to the brim.

"My Lord," Adams said, bowing slightly to the second brother. "Please, enjoy yourself. It is a day for celebration, to have the Grand Duke in our humble home."

Carlos didn’t wait. He grabbed the glass with both hands. He took a huge gulp, drinking it like a man who had been wandering in a desert for days. He swallowed noisily, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, a drop of red wine staining his cuff.

"Mmmm..." Carlos hummed, his eyes lighting up with pleasure. "Rich on the palate. And it has a lingering finish. Such an excellent wine, Father Adams. Truly excellent."

He didn’t wait for permission. He reached out, took the heavy bottle from the table, and poured himself another, even more generous amount. He looked like a man starving for luxury, desperate to fill the void inside him.

Adams smiled thinly at Carlos’s greed, a flicker of contempt crossing his face before he smoothed it away. His eyes quickly darted back to Derek.

Derek hadn’t touched his glass. He hadn’t even looked at it. He was sitting back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest. He was looking directly at Adams, his gaze steady, unblinking, and unnerving. He was studying the priest like a general studying a map of enemy territory, looking for the weak point, the hidden trap.

Adams cleared his throat nervously. The silence stretched, uncomfortable and heavy, broken only by the crackle of the fire and Carlos’s gulping.

"Your Grace," Adams asked, his smile faltering slightly. "Is my hospitality lacking? Is the wine not to your taste? I can send for something else. Mead? Ale?"

Derek remained silent. He didn’t speak. He didn’t move. He just watched.

Adams’s smile twitched. A bead of sweat appeared on his smooth forehead. He clapped his hands sharply.

"Someone!" Adams called out, his voice a little too loud.

The door to an inner chamber opened. Two young men, draped in simple white robes, carried out a small, heavy chest made of iron-bound oak. They struggled slightly with the weight, their muscles straining. They walked to a side table and dropped it with a solid, heavy thud that vibrated through the floorboards.

They bowed and left quickly, closing the door behind them.

Adams walked over to the chest. He placed his hand on the lid, caressing the wood.

"This is for you, Your Grace," Adams said, his voice lowering to a confidential, conspiratorial whisper. "To show our appreciation. For your protection. For your medicine. For your... discretion in these difficult times. Please, accept it."

Derek smirked. It was a small, cold movement of his lips, devoid of humor.

"I haven’t even asked a question," Derek thought to himself, a mixture of amusement and disgust rising in his chest. "I haven’t even mentioned the war, or the past, or Theodore. I haven’t said a word. And he is already bribing me."

It was an admission of guilt. An innocent man offers thanks. An innocent man offers prayers. A guilty man offers gold.

Carlos stopped drinking mid-sip. He lowered his glass, staring at the chest with wide, hungry eyes. He could practically smell the wealth inside.

"Are these also the benefits of being a commander?" Carlos thought greedily, his mind racing. "Does everyone just give you chests of treasure just for showing up? I should have this. I deserve this. Why does Derek get everything?"

Derek stood up. The chair scraped loudly against the stone floor. He walked slowly to the chest. Adams stepped back, giving him space, looking anxious, wringing his hands.

Derek flipped the heavy iron latch. He lifted the lid.

The firelight caught the contents.

Inside, stacked in neat, glittering rows, were bars of gold. Not coins. Solid bars. It was a fortune. Enough to buy a castle. Enough to pay a regiment for a year. Enough to buy silence.

Derek looked at the gold. Then he looked at Adams.

"He doesn’t know I am here to inquire about what happened to Theodore," Derek realized, his mind working fast, connecting the dots. "He thinks I am just the new commander. He knows I’m here to defend the border of Strathmore against Mercia. So why the bribe? Why this much? Why now?"

It meant Adams was hiding something else. Something current. Something big enough that he needed the Grand Duke to look the other way immediately, without asking questions. His crimes are piling up.

"It seems having a conversation will be pointless at this point. The only person who can give me the answer to what I want—the truth about Theodore, the truth about the ambush—is Nigel," Derek concluded. "Adams is too slippery. He is a politician in priest’s robes. He won’t betray Liam. Never in a million years. He is too bought. He is a dead end."

But this bribe... this bribe wil give him the opportunity he needs. He can’t just arrest the high priest without evidence.

"I’ll just have to use this bribery " Derek decided. "To detain him."