At that time, the situation was extremely tense and on the verge of erupting. Fortunately, the kingdom intervened in time. The highly respected Chief Minister of the Royal Privy Council, Marquess Howard, and the Archbishop of the Church of Light in the capital of Nicosia, Hastings, both visited the Holy Light Church’s papal seat—Marko and Seabrook—one after another. Their efforts finally calmed both sides enough to discuss the matter. After more than half a year of mediation, the two parties finally reached an understanding. However, this agreement did not elevate their relationship to a new level. The Church of Light still harbored deep resentment over Duke Philip’s blasphemous actions, while Duke Philip continued to restrict the Church of Light’s development in his territory, both openly and covertly. Fortunately, in the past decade, the Church of Light’s bishop in the Homa region, Truman, was an exceptionally shrewd and tactful person who managed his relationship with Duke Philip quite well. Over these ten years, there had been no major conflicts between the two sides. However, the previously thriving momentum of the Church of Light in the Homa region was suppressed and even showed signs of decline, causing the upper echelons of the Church of Light to be equally troubled and furious.

Chapter Ten: The Rose Lounge (3)

The middle-aged man did not want to cause any trouble in this city, which was highly sensitive to the Holy Light Church, especially on such an occasion. However, the other party pressed on relentlessly. Judging by appearances, these three were clearly not good people. If real trouble broke out, although he was not afraid, it would still be undesirable. But at this point, things were out of his control. The surging sword energy rushed toward him; if he didn’t face it head-on, the flower arrangements and potted plants behind him would surely suffer. Besides, the middle-aged man had no intention of backing down. As a core member of the Lema Knights, he did not want to act in a way that would compromise his status by retreating or dodging. With a sharp whistle, he sidestepped and advanced, his left hand forming a strange gesture as he silently chanted an incantation. Instantly, a massive, colorless water shield formed in front of him, separating the two sides. At the same time, his right hand thrust his rapier forward with lightning speed.

The curtain of swords clashed with the water shield, sending up clouds of mist, like two tornadoes colliding and intertwining. After a brief clash, the water shield shattered and scattered, but the violent tremor also weakened the sword shadows, robbing them of their original sharpness. Just as Elliot was preparing to make another move, the opponent’s rapier had already broken through Elliot’s defense and was lightly pointed at his neck.

Secretly gasping, Harold, though feigning a drunken stupor, never took his eyes off the fight between Elliot and the opponent. Elliot’s excellent performance had already surprised him, but the opponent’s formidable strength was even more terrifying. At the very instant the opponent’s rapier controlled Elliot, two sleeve darts suddenly shot out without warning from the wide sleeve of Paul, who had shown no sign of action until now. Like two flashes of silver, the middle-aged man, thinking quickly in the heat of the moment, had no time to consider further. He swung his rapier upward with all his might, and at the very last moment before the sharp darts struck, he managed to knock them aside. The crisp sound of the collision was loud enough to be heard throughout the lounge. The deflected darts continued upward, embedding themselves straight into the wooden pillar above the corridor, still humming and vibrating.

At the very moment his companion made a move, Elliot had already ducked and retreated, and in just a split second, the roles of host and guest were reversed. Not only had he escaped the opponent’s control, but his hand was already groping at his waist for something—clearly a vicious hidden weapon.

The middle-aged man, now drenched in cold sweat, was furious. He had held back despite having the upper hand, yet these people were all ruthless, each move aiming to kill him. Raising his rapier, the tip of the blade suddenly extended a foot in a flash of light.

“Who dares to cause trouble here?” A clear, resonant voice came from the end of the corridor, accompanied by hurried footsteps. Harold’s bleary eyes suddenly brightened, and he discreetly gave Elliot, who stood beside him with a guarded expression, a subtle signal that no outsider could detect. Elliot understood and quietly put away whatever he had just grabbed with his left hand, while Paul immediately resumed his sickly, half-dead appearance.

A man strode in at the front, followed by several others, all exuding an imposing presence. Over their light, sturdy leather armor, one could glimpse maroon inner robes through the gaps. He had a broad face and large ears, a pair of fierce eyes under thick brows, a high-bridged nose, and a wide mouth. His chin was completely covered by dense, flaxen beard. Harold and his two companions exchanged glances and immediately put on a timid, cowering act. The frail Paul even exaggeratedly rushed forward and cried out, “Lord Leclair, you must stand up for us! Suddenly, a group of outland bandits came here and tried to harm us. Luckily, you arrived in time, or the three of us would have fallen victim to their cruelty!”

Frowning slightly, the sharp gaze of the leather-armored officer called Lord Leclair swept over the calm and composed middle-aged man, then returned to rest on the three of Harold. The corner of his mouth twitched, revealing a mocking smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Oh, so it’s you three. What, your skin’s itching again? What’s this, even the three famous wolves of Seabrook have times when they get the short end of the stick?”