Brian Sutton’s eyes hid a gloominess, yet a contemptuous smile played at the corners of his mouth: “The Pope damages his own lifespan, vainly hoping to glimpse the fate of the Empire! The Church openly supports a prince, which will only make people suspect that another religious war is looming. Now, we can only follow precedent…”

　　Qinglan was approaching dusk, no longer the scene of its prime. As one of the Empire’s three great families, the Mo Jie family staking all their political chips on the sixth prince—who was still underage and showed no sign of adult wisdom—was an extremely unwise move. Simply being too close to the Church would bring the Mo Jie family many potential enemies.

　　The matter of fulfilling the prophecy, as the Pope said, would happen in the coming days. Whether true or false, something would occur by then. If they refused at that time, it would likely push the Mo Jie family into opposition with the Church, and also incur the Emperor’s displeasure.

　　Although the Church, like the Empire, was long past its heyday and no longer held supreme power, it was still one of the most important forces in the Empire. At the very least, the Emperor remained a devout Mahayana believer. It was foreseeable that the struggle among the Empire’s factions for the position of imperial heir would create a massive political vortex, dragging the already faltering Empire to the brink of collapse.

　　Brian Sutton sighed softly, but the unwillingness in his heart could not be suppressed. As the dignified Left Minister of the Empire, one of the most powerful men on the continent, he now had to temporarily give up the power he so loved, and the fame and fortune he had tirelessly pursued, at the very height of his life.

Chapter Two: The Servant Boy

　　The Yan Yun Mountains lay on the western edge of the Yan Yun Wasteland, their reddish-brown rocks like flowing clouds of cinnabar above the plain, or like handfuls of burning flames.

　　Beneath the reddish-brown cliffs, a Capricorn beast darted out of the sparse forest in terror, the single horn on its forehead broken off, oozing pale green viscous fluid. A thin, small boy emerged from the woods, a bone blade made from beast bone in his right hand, the Capricorn’s broken horn in his left. It was unclear how he had managed to break off the beast’s horn, which was harder than metal or stone.

　　The Capricorn’s head hung low, its hind hooves kicking at the rocks, aiming the broken horn at the boy, but as if knowing it was futile, it let out a low, mournful cry from its throat.

　　The boy muttered softly, “You can’t blame me—blame the seminary for being too harsh on servants, the food is barely edible.” Without stopping, he moved toward the Capricorn. Just as the beast lunged forward, a burst of blue light flared from his left hand. Before the Capricorn could ram him with its broken horn, he conjured a shield of energy.

　　He stepped back, deflecting the force of the charge, twisted the shield, and pressed the Capricorn’s head down by half an inch. As he withdrew his right hand, the Capricorn jerked its head up, but the boy seized the fleeting opening and slashed the beast’s throat with his bone blade.

　　Channeling his internal energy, he dispersed the shield, then quickly toppled the still-twitching Capricorn, and pressed his mouth to the gushing wound, gulping down the steaming hot blood.

　　The boy frowned, still unaccustomed to the strong stench of beast blood. There was enough clean water in the seminary, but servants were not allowed to drink it. The Capricorn’s four hooves twitched on their own. The boy wiped his mouth, cursed under his breath, then used the bone blade to gut and skin the beast. He set the pelt aside, cut off a few pieces of meat, and tossed the bones down the mountain ravine.

　　Wrapping the meat in the pelt, the boy was about to leave when the sound of a xun flute drifted on the wind from afar—mournful and distant, evoking a sense of solitude. He listened for a while, then climbed a hundred-odd feet up the rocky cliff with his bare hands, looking toward the source of the music. A caravan of bronze carriages was winding its way into the canyon.

　　The caravan was quite far away, so he couldn’t see clearly, but in the past three years, only the The Harper Family merchant caravan had passed through here. The boy was puzzled: “Beyond the Yan Yun Mountains lies the even more desolate Black Gravel Wastes. Why does the The Harper Family send a caravan through here every year?”

　　Clutching the Capricorn pelt and meat, the boy quickly traversed the jagged rocks, reaching a stone cave halfway up the mountain. He stuffed the pelt and meat inside, then pried up a nearby stone and pulled out several crystals of various colors from a crack in the ground. Judging by their hues, these crystals had all been taken from the skulls of ancient wild beasts.

　　The monastery forbade servants from contacting outsiders. To sell the crystals, he had to act before the caravan entered the monastery.

　　Shortly after the caravan entered the canyon, the boy descended the cliff to the canyon floor. The driver of the lead bronze carriage was still Henry Harper, who had passed through here last year. The boy stepped out from behind a rock fissured with countless cracks, about to state his purpose, when a whip lashed toward him. He tilted his head just in time to dodge the tip.

　　Seated to the left of Henry Harper was a middle-aged martial artist. Seeing the boy dodge his whip, he coiled the tip in his hand, glared at the boy, and shouted, “Where did this lowly servant come from, with no sense of rules?” He raised the whip to strike again. The boy knew that dodging a second time would only provoke the man’s murderous intent, so he suppressed his anger, turned his face aside, and let the whip land squarely on his back and shoulder.

　　The middle-aged martial artist’s whip was charged with internal energy. With one lash, he tore the boy’s clothes and raised a bloody welt on his back.

　　“Charles Bennett, what’s going on?” came a deep, authoritative voice from inside the carriage.