Chapter 242
Chapter 242
Chapter 242
Translator: True Detective
Chapter 242 – Lan Qi’s Authority
A few minutes later.
The battle ended almost like a storm—brief yet ferocious.
The sailors and guards on the merchant ship’s deck had hardly any chance to resist before they were completely subdued and tied up. Their weapons scattered across the floor, leaving them with nothing but powerless fists.
Their eyes brimmed with fear and suffering, as though they couldn’t comprehend why they had been attacked by the Resurrection Cultists, nor dared to imagine what might happen to them next.
Among all the people on the merchant ship, only Viscount Francis remained standing, unbound. Yet, an almost imperceptible tension made his cheeks pale, his once dignified bearing now looking worn and weary.
But then, he gave a faint, helpless smile.
Viscount Francis had more or less guessed the situation.
The nobles in the city had finally lost their patience and wanted to replace him. And now, they had found a ridiculous opportunity—borrowing the hand of the Resurrection Church to eliminate him.
Although flames of anger burned in his heart, Viscount Francis knew the truth well enough—in these chaotic times, even the slightest misstep meant being crushed beneath the wheel of fate.
These silver-robed Resurrection Cultists displayed overwhelming power. From their brief exchange of blows, Viscount Francis clearly recognized the absolute difference in fighting strength.
Indeed, if they wished, he and his sailors would already be corpses.
As this sense of oppression and unease spread across every corner of the deck, the leader of the silver-armored cultists stepped forward.
This silver-armored priest was powerful—far beyond anyone in their entire city.
In the Imperial Capital, fifth-tier powerhouses might not be uncommon. Some especially gifted students at the Imperial Royal Academy even achieved fifth-tier strength at a young age.
But in their remote city-state, even third-tier fighters were considered strong mercenaries or adventurers.
And Viscount Francis’ excellent secretary and guard was already a fourth-tier powerhouse.
Yet, before this silver-armored priest, he had been crushed in only two or three moves—like a child unable to fight back against an adult.
For border folk like them, Resurrection Cultists were a calamity from another world.
No one could stand against the fierce combatants of the Ba'tian Branch.
“Let’s keep this short.”
Viscount Francis stood there, expressionless, smoke curling at the corner of his mouth.
Surrounded by the unblinking stares of several cultists, he inhaled deeply before flicking his cigarette butt into the sea.
He forced himself to appear calm.
Since they hadn’t killed him outright, it meant there was still room to negotiate.
Negotiating—or even compromising—with Resurrection Cultists was humiliating. But if it could save the innocent sailors on the ship, and his daughter waiting back in the city, then even if it meant throwing away his pride, he had no other choice.
The silver-armored priest walked up to him. From his body radiated an oppressive aura far stronger than the others.
If he wished, he could take the head of anyone on this ship with ease.
“Viscount Francis.”
The priest chuckled, crossing his arms across his chest.
“What’s your stance toward our Resurrection Church?”
“To my understanding, I want no dealings with you.”
Viscount Francis replied flatly.
The silver-armored priest smiled again, unsurprised at the honest answer.
Compared to that fat pig who only schemed in the shadows, this frank viscount was actually more to his liking.
If he had to choose an ally, he would prefer Francis to that treacherous strategist who might stab him in the back at any moment.
After all, the Ba'tian Bishop’s order was to use both wisdom and strength to seize absolute dominance in towns across the land, to make people accept and submit to their teachings—without breaking Imperial law and causing trouble.
Of course, in their view, if you didn’t get caught, it wasn’t breaking the law.
Still, he preferred to avoid unnecessary risks.
“See, we’ve already shown our sincerity—we haven’t harmed a single soul.”
The silver-armored priest took out a bracelet.
“But our core doctrine is that the strong rule over the weak. Just like now—you have no power to resist us. What I want is for you to cooperate with us willingly.”
“Ha… exactly the sort of thing you people would do.”
Viscount Francis sneered. It was laughable.
He could recognize it immediately: this bracelet was a magical tool used by slave merchants to bind low-tier slaves.
They spoke lofty words, but their actions were nothing but shady and despicable.
“I believe, Viscount, you’ve already made your decision.”
The priest’s gaze locked on Francis.
Though the contract ritual was troublesome, once Francis was bound, their missionary efforts here would be halfway to success.
At that moment, a tiny insect drifted behind the silver-armored priest.
“Come to me.”
The cold, concise command echoed in his ear, startling him into sharp alertness.
“Second-floor corridor, end of the hall.”
Another command.
But when he turned back, there was no source of the voice.
Only a faint blue glow flickered, fading with the traces of magic.
He frowned tightly. Nobody had come close, yet someone had spoken behind him.
This directional transmission magic wasn’t necessarily high-tier, but it was unsettlingly precise. So, there was a flashy magician on board.
“Watch Viscount Francis closely.”
The priest’s lips curved into a cold smile. Whoever was playing games, he would see for himself.
And such an unpredictable element—even one he hadn’t sensed—needed to be eliminated personally.
The silver-armored priest descended into the lower deck, each step heavy and resonant. Sunlight glinted off his silver armor, sharp against the endless blue sea.
His steady pace carried an unshakable weight, a silent intimidation with every stride.
He reached the second floor of the ship and stopped at the final door in the corridor. Sensing no strong magical presence or traps inside, he turned the handle and pushed it open.
The room was simple yet elegant.
A single bed. A small table. A bookshelf stacked with books and documents.
No one else was there, yet the air felt like a convergence of knowledge, authority, and faith.
On the bed sat a young man.
His light brown hair fell loosely across his forehead, partially shadowing his eyes, though it couldn’t hide the calmness in his gaze.
He held a book of Imperial law, as if searching for answers within its pages. Each turn of the page carried layers of thought.
He didn’t so much as look up when the silver-armored priest entered, as if there was no danger at all—or as if the danger wasn’t worth acknowledging.
“Were you the one who called me here?”
The priest asked, staring.
The youth carried himself with uncommon bearing, though the priest felt no aura of power from him.
If this was a weakling daring to toy with him, he would not be forgiven.
But if it was a true powerhouse, then he would treat this encounter differently—proving strength and weakness was part of living their doctrine.
“…”
The youth closed the lawbook, raising his head slowly.
Though he spoke no words, the air thickened with tension. His silence was not weakness, but a presence—an unspoken authority.
His green eyes carried no anger, no annoyance. Only a depth unfathomable, an innate majesty. For reasons he could not name, the silver-armored priest suddenly felt his confidence falter.
At last, the youth spoke.
“Which department are you from? Who’s your superior?”
Lan Qi’s tone was calm.
He still needed to go back and tutor the viscount’s daughter.
And yet here, some low-level bureaucrat had come to cause trouble.