Bishops sent directly from the Holy Kingdom were nothing but a nuisance.
They rarely did any real work—just ddled in local affairs and wandered about aimlessly.
The reason for this tension was simple: the mindset of those raised and trained in the Holy Kingdom was fundantally different from that of those who had planted roots in foreign lands.
The latter had grown up dealing with secular powers and had no choice but to adapt.
Most branches of the Radiant Church in other nations were closely tied to their respective royal families.
The Holy Kingdom's habit of dispatching bishops and priests to interfere every ti a new kingdom arose…
Had co back to bite them.
Not that the Pope or the cardinals of the Holy Kingdom had any idea.
They still believed—foolishly—that mbers of the sa church would always stand with them.
Emperor Sigmund had chosen a more direct approach.
His decree was simple: this was his country, and its people would obey the emperor—not so foreign god.
He smiled as he looked at the bishops who had been dragged before him.
"So. You claim you knew nothing about the locust outbreak?"
Celeste was, after the Pamir Empire, the largest and most powerful empire on the continent—certainly the largest where the Radiant Church had taken root.
It had five bishops residing within its borders.
The eldest among them, Bishop Banksy, imdiately prostrated himself and cried out:
"Your Majesty! All bishops and believers in Celeste have long since severed ties with the Holy Kingdom. They uphold outdated principles, oppress magic, and exploit their people. Please do not compare us to them."
And that, actually, was the truth.
Or even if it wasn't, it needed to beco the truth now.
These bishops had long since drifted from the Holy Kingdom's line.
More importantly, they wanted nothing to do with the hardline fundantalists still entrenched in power back in the Holy Kingdom.
Even those who had once been fundantalists had changed once exposed to the real world.
If they didn't, they risked assassination, or being quietly replaced as bishop.
The Holy Kingdom had grown weaker, while secular monarchs had only grown stronger.
Sigmund looked down at the bishops, who were now bowing deeply, sweat beading on their foreheads.
Not a single one dared to show the slightest defiance.
"Very well. I will take your loyalty at face value. But if I see any signs of resistance or disobedience in what's to co…"
Bishop Banksy bent his back even further—though it already ached terribly.
To offend this mad emperor was to risk total annihilation.
He had no family, being a man of the cloth—
But with soone like Sigmund, that could always be… arranged.
A scholar who once dared to criticize the Emperor at the university had declared, "I'm alone, so only I need to die," in defiance—
Only for his ntor and students to be massacred alongside him.
If that twisted soul isn't stopped, it's only a matter of ti before disaster strikes.
Bishop Banksy, still bowing deeply to the floor, worried not only for himself—but for the future of the Celeste Empire.
He still rembered the innocent, radiant face that once followed him around as a child.
How had that bright boy beco this… monster?
Michael, having absorbed all the remaining divine energy from the Radiant One's corpse and relic, soared into the sky atop Marcus.
Marcus's flight over the sea was a sight to behold—majestic and otherworldly.
Power overflowed from Michael's body like a falling star streaking across the heavens.
The magical energy he had drawn from the underground temple of the Radiant One now radiated from every inch of him.
As Marcus's massive wings spread wide and sliced through the sky, the ocean wind whipped violently around them.
Michael steadied himself atop the dragon's back, gaze fixed ahead.
His entire body was surging with power.
A thin aura of divine light wrapped around his skin, giving him a mysterious and almost celestial glow.
He didn't bother suppressing it.
Every cell in his body felt as though it had awakened.
Marcus's powerful wingbeats stirred massive waves below.
The energy emanating from Michael was affecting not only himself but Marcus and Miaomiao as well.
With a single stroke of his wings, the ocean shook—shockwaves rippling outward in the form of towering swells.
Above it all, Michael stood tall, like a being who had transcended the world.
He no longer needed a harness.
Below him lay the endless sea.
The deep blue waves stretched beyond sight, blending into a sky whose edges blurred with the ocean.
A faint mist curled over the water, adding to the dreamlike atmosphere.
In that setting, Marcus looked like a creature plucked straight from myth.
"Higher, Marcus. Let's go higher."
Responding to Michael's calm command, Marcus gave a mighty beat of his wings, accelerating upward.
The wind cut sharply across Michael's face, sending his hair streaming behind him.
He placed a steadying hand on Marcus's neck as they climbed.
The sea grew distant, the sky ever closer.
Behind them, the magic ship pursued diligently.
From its propulsion system, trails of glowing blue mana flowed like smoke, leaving bright arcs in its wake.
At the prow of the ship, Drake watched in reverent awe.
Michael, Marcus, and Miaomiao—ascending together—were a living legend made real.
Drake's eyes sparkled with wonder.
"To witness the birth of myth itself… I have no regrets left."
His voice was filled with reverence.
His master had now beco sothing wholly new—transcendent.
Not even standing beside a high-grade magical beast—no, a divine beast—like a dragon or a sphinx, did Michael's presence diminish.
Drake clenched his fist in renewed determination.
"We mustn't fall behind. Keep pace with our lord!"
At his cry, the ship's helmsman sprang into action.
The highest-grade mana stones burned with an even more brilliant light, and the vessel surged forward with increased thrust.
Alfred, anwhile, sat deep within the cabin of the magic ship, alone with a goblet of wine.
The sturdy wooden table before him bore a heavy silver chalice, filled with deep red liquor that swirled slowly inside.
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