Chapter 1108: Chapter 1045: Hurt Without Wounding

The night falls like a velvet cloth soaked in ink, heavy upon the spires of Spring Castle.

In the small courtyard behind the Scripture Hall, a whale oil lamp enclosed in glass was placed on the table.

It illuminated the faces of Horn and Armand, and the beans and fried fish on the table.

This whale oil is a specialty of Storm Cape, considered a newly emerging industry over the past decade.

Using the Xilan Islands as a transit station, specially made Falan whaling ships ventured out repeatedly, hunting whales to produce ambergris and whale oil.

Every year, at least 200 Falan whaling ships hunt near the Xilan Sea, though many ships are overturned by various bizarre sea monsters and magical creatures.

Especially after capturing the Windmill Land, Falan ships could venture into the Ice Sea to fish for whales.

Whale fishing is technically a gray industry according to doctrine, as Miseria once traveled to the Eastern continent by hitching a ride on a whale.

However, Falans have a pragmatic faith, preferring to see through but not speak of it.

If you ask, the answer is "This isn’t a whale, it’s a big-mouthed fish, extracting fat for weight loss."

Falans dare to do so because whale oil lamps are bright and odorless, making them quite expensive lamp oil.

Within Falan, numerous churches, monasteries, city residents, and nobles have switched to whale oil lamps.

The annual import and export trade and domestic sales of whale oil bring substantial income to the Falan Royal Family.

Dealing with ocean resources.

Horn stuffed a piece of fried river fish into his mouth, feeling a bit frustrated.

Why isn’t Thousand River Valley near the sea?

Not only is it far from the sea, but it only has one outlet at Gryphon Corner via Musk River.

Currently, the talk between Busak and Great Monarch Norn is going well, but Great Monarch Norn doesn’t want money; he wants Holy Alliance officers, Holy Favor Seed, and clockwork guns.

Horn was hesitant before, but thinking it over, since there are already breech-loading clockwork guns, might as well phase out a batch of muzzle-loading ones to them.

As for Agua Port, it’s a local dialect name, not pleasant; it’s said to be abundant in pearls, might as well call it Pearl Harbor.

Horn sat on a wooden stool, rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, using a silver fork to stir the fish meat while his thoughts drifted somewhere unknowable.

"Your Majesty?"

"Hmm?" Horn suddenly lifted his head, looking at the bearded Armand before him, "What were you talking about just now?"

"Mormon now occupies Starfire Town, and the support from the Divine Punishment Army has arrived, repelling Montel’s attack on Stone Stronghold.

Currently, we have over three hundred severely wounded, captured around two thousand, and seized 19 clockwork cannons..."

"Hmm, well done." Horn recalled that the vulture family is dealing in whale oil, unable to suppress a laugh.

Despite envying the whale oil, the new generation of vulture family talents suffered a huge loss on Holy Alliance’s side.

Originally, they wanted to show off before Charles VIII, but ended up exposing their rear.

Now, blocked from retreating, unable to advance, stuck in a tough spot.

More importantly, Mormon did well, saving face for Falan, but inflicting pain on their core.

It’s like giving Falan a slap, their skin unbroken but their bones cracked.

Even in pain, they must smile and pretend there’s no issue, but things aren’t entirely fine.

And wasn’t it Campter who, upon receiving the intelligence, hurried to negotiate with Horn?

Firstly, to prevent Horn from going too far, quickly opening the way, to get the Storm Cape Corps out.

Secondly, to try and reconcile both parties, preventing things from truly descending into conflict.

If that happens, the ensuing fight would only benefit the Norn Kingdom.

"Your Majesty." Armand picked up the schedule, returning to his routine, "The monks of the Scripture Hall have dispersed, from Campter’s side..."

"Negotiations are settled." Horn didn’t look up, forked a bean into his mouth, "He brought a message from Charles VIII, who will come to the Scripture Hall personally tomorrow afternoon."

He put down the knife and fork, tapping the map at Starfire Town’s location with his finger: "Charles VIII needs a step down.

His corps had its spirit dampened, but not hurt; we have the reason, but didn’t go to extremes.

Talking at this point, he is willing to listen."

Armand nodded but couldn’t help asking, "Your plan..."

"Hold steady." Horn interjected, a slight smile on his lips.

Just like the strategy games he played in his past life, Leia this weakened power has been subdued.

But in the true human circles, the Holy Alliance merely has the entry ticket, not yet entered the arena.

"...And what we need to do is make them acknowledge—Holy Alliance is the third player."

Horn rose, walked to the window, pushed open the wooden window, letting the evening breeze blow in with a damp chill.

"The battle of Starfire Town proved Holy Alliance could fight, without pushing Falan to the brink.

In this way, Charles VIII is willing to sit down and discuss the rules, defining spheres of influence."

"The rules you talk about, you mean..."

"The diplomatic system." Horn turned around, the oil lamp’s light flickering in his eyes, "Not just temporarily sending envoys, but establishing permanent embassies in the capitals of all nations.

The Holy Alliance sent to Falan not just priests, but also civil officials who record trade and coordinate disputes.

Those coming from Falan to the Holy Alliance can also reside permanently at Joan of Arc Castle, without needing to probe from scratch with every negotiation."

Watching Armand’s thoughtful expression, Horn walked to the bookshelf, pulled out a scroll and unfolded it, displaying a simple organizational chart.

"In our fundamental structure are scholars, merchants, capital... these people fear nothing more than a surprise raid today, a prohibition tomorrow.

Fixed diplomacy can bring conflicts to the table for discussion; even if it’s an ugly argument, it’s better than constant anxiety and tension."

Armand looked at the blueprint and suddenly understood: "You want to use this meeting to make Falan recognize the Holy Alliance’s international status?"

"Exactly." Horn rolled up the scroll, "We fought, they acknowledged, proving that the Holy Alliance not only has the ability to stabilize domestically, but also possesses the power to intervene abroad.

The Salin Scholar Association would then be comfortable bringing their books over, merchants would dare to invest gold pounds into our glass workshops.

Those El Scholars feeling marginalized in the Empire would see the Holy Alliance as a legitimate place.

Otherwise, we would forever be the savage sect in others’ mouths."

He sat back at the dining table, gulped down the remaining soup, the porcelain bowl lightly hitting the table: "To put it bluntly, the Divine Ael Empire has long been a hollow shell, where noble archbishops fight for positions within.

What we need to do is not to smash this shell, but rather let those inside see the Holy Alliance as a new shell, more suited for smart people to work in."

Armand lowered his head to record, the pen tip scraping across the paper: "The meeting place for tomorrow, shall we set it at the Monastery?"

"Yes." Horn wiped his mouth, "It’s a place for scriptural answers, and now it can be used to address the King of Falan’s inquiries.

Make arrangements to seal off the three streets around the Monastery starting tomorrow morning, leaving only one pathway through the side gate.

Replace all guards with veteran guards, keep idle people away."

......

After noon, the three streets in front of the Monastery were already cleared spotlessly.

The gray dirt road surface became a mirror of last night’s rainwater, reflecting the solemnly standing Holy Alliance veterans on both sides.

They wore dark blue uniforms, their clockwork rifles slung diagonally over their shoulders.

Opposite them was the newly formed Royal clockwork rifle squad by the Royal Family of Falan. 𝗳𝐫𝚎𝗲𝚠𝚎𝗯𝕟𝐨𝘃𝚎𝗹.𝗰𝗼𝗺

They wore sky-blue tightly woven robes, wide-brimmed feathered hats atop their heads, glaring bull-like at the Holy Alliance veteran guards.

Horn stood in front of the Monastery’s oak door, not wearing the heavy pontifical robes, but merely a black monk’s vestments.

Behind him were Armand and three Document Monks, including Jill.

No one on the street dared to make a sound, only the rustling of robes moved by the wind, like the faint sound of tide retreating.

"They are coming." Armand suddenly whispered.

Horn raised his eyes to look, and from the corner of the street came the sound of hooves splashing water, a line of carriages was slowly coming down the street.

In front were four pure white Andalusian horses, pulling a gold-plated carriage.

Both sides of the carriage bore white iris emblems, marking it as the royal carriage of Charles VIII.

Twenty Royal Cavalry followed the carriage, the silver ornaments on their armor clinking softly, not one daring to gallop, seemingly afraid of disturbing the silence in front of the Monastery.

The carriage stopped steadily at the steps, a valet pulled aside the curtain and jumped down first to set a footstool.

Charles VIII bent down to exit the carriage, wearing a dark blue velvet coat, trimmed with ermine at the collar.

His youthful yet pockmarked face was crownless, only a ruby ribbon tied in his hair.

His gaze swept across the Holy Alliance veterans on either side of the street, then fell on Horn, a subtle, almost invisible smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Your Majesty Horn." Charles VIII spoke first, his voice steadier than rumored, "I have long wished to visit you, today I finally have the opportunity."

"It is my honor to have the King come." Horn gestured with his hand, "Inside we have prepared coffee, a specialty of the Holy Alliance, it’s this year’s new pearl rice from Black Snake Bay."

Their gazes collided in the air and then calmly redirected away.

Beside him, the "recently recovered" Grandiva didn’t look well, following behind Charles, the hem of his purple robe muddy.

His gaze towards Horn was as if iced, but he could only grit his teeth and nod in acknowledgment.

"I hear Your Majesty has recently been discussing ’autonomous faith communities’?" Charles ascended the steps, his boots pressing against the damp stone stairs, "My monks return saying the doctrines of the Holy Path are clearer than the ledger."

"The Holy Alliance’s principles indeed come from the ledger." Horn moved aside to lead the way, "The faithful need food, work, and need to know where the taxes go...

Understanding these naturally clarifies the doctrines."

The two walked side by side into the Monastery, followed closely by Armand and Charles’s valet.

Grandiva was left behind; he was about to step forward but was stopped by a Holy Alliance veteran guard.

"Archbishop, please hold your step." The guard was unceremonious, "His Majesty said that today only secular matters will be discussed, church personnel are not convenient to listen."

"Are you blind? I..."

Grandiva was furious, his robe sleeve trembling, just about to explode, when he saw Charles turn back at the door: "Campertur will go in with me, you wait outside."

Before the words fell, the heavy oak door creaked shut, the latch falling with a "click" echoing in the empty hall.

Though the sound was small, to Grandiva it was like a muffled thunder exploding by his ears.

Him, waiting outside?