CH-072

Leaving the Dunstan Cathedral, carriage after carriage set out, more than a dozen in all.

The wheels ground over cobblestones, the hoofbeats falling in an uneven rhythm — like the grand departure of some enormous procession.

And yet all this pomp and fanfare was for nothing more than a social gathering at a hunting ground — which made the whole spectacle somewhat absurd.

Bishop Holm couldn't suppress a roll of his eyes. But before he could follow through with anything further, his attention was caught by a movement in one of the carriages — Bishop Hugo in his snow-dusted cloak, its golden embroidered patterns glinting in the sunlight.

The old man had been drawn out by a young man leaning from the carriage window.

That young man stood in the snow, his figure straight as an ink-brushed musical string — and yet the slightness and fragility beneath could not be hidden. The fine snow on his black clothes was like the cracked frost pattern on frozen ground — embedded in the cloth, refined and cold.

The young man spoke, and his breath moved gently in the air like a mist on the verge of dissolving.

Bishop Holm's impression of Father Alis was not unfavorable.

He was young and slight, and at times seemed a little slow in his movements.

But his personality was mild and steady, he spoke with measure, worked with method, and paid careful attention to the details of daily life. What was harder still to achieve was that in dangerous situations and sudden crises, he remained clear-headed, composed, and courageous — devout and disciplined.

Among people of his generation, Father Alis was without question exceptional.

But from a practical standpoint, Bishop Holm knew clearly that if a young person moved too fast and stood too high before reaching maturity, they would quietly begin to develop expectations and ambitions that were premature.

Father Alis's continuing simplicity was largely attributable to the fact that he had not yet truly tasted the flavor of power and splendor.

The position he occupied was still a humble one.

The world he had seen was still too clean.

Bishop Holm had originally had some confidence in Father Alis — had genuinely admired his steadiness and his unhurried rhythm. But it was precisely because of this that when he saw with his own eyes that Bishop Hugo's favor was so blatant, so beyond measure — even to the point of personally spoon-feeding him yellow peaches in front of others —

That degree of suffocating attention had caused what confidence he held to curdle slightly.

He began to doubt.

Could a young man who was held cupped in someone's palm really walk independently on his own? Or would all this indulgence make him too soft, and all this expectation lift him too high?

How could a man like that be expected to become the leader who would guide all of faith toward new heights?

And so Bishop Holm raised his voice in the direction of Father Alis and called out: "Father Alis, come over here!"

Shulec heard the call, instinctively glanced that way, and was just about to move — but Bishop Hugo reached out and caught hold of his hood.

"Don't go," he said, his tone unhurried but without any room for argument, tinged with an idle authority. "He'll only say things without meaning."

Shulec, afraid that pulling away would yank the old bishop right out of the carriage, froze in place, and simply ended up stepping a little closer to the carriage side.

Seeing him cooperating so nicely, the amusement in Bishop Hugo's eyes deepened. He patted the carriage door frame. "Just come up and sit then — it's too lonely in here by myself. And I brought some yellow peach preserves. Father Jek had them warming in hot water since early morning — best to eat them while they're hot, or they'll be a block of ice."

The carriage curtain was half drawn open, and the light fell at an angle across the old man's white hair and soft, thick cloak. The interior of the carriage was genuinely empty — only him — and this made his care feel tinged with the frailty of someone who needed to be cared for in return.

"……"

Shulec had no idea how to refuse this anymore.

As his eyes swept over the carriage, he noticed a priest standing in the snow nearby directing the loading of the cathedral's heating equipment onto carriages.

The man worked efficiently — his voice low but measured, and those around him naturally fell into following his instructions.

Shulec recognized him — when Nun Rita had first led them through the cathedral to get their bearings, this priest had been specifically pointed out. His name was Jek.

At this moment, Jek had not looked up at their conversation, his eyes still cast down and slightly unfocused — as if lost in thought, or deliberately diminishing his own presence.

Shulec noticed, quite by chance, the clasp at Jek's collar — its pattern was a rose entwined around a cross, identical to the brooch Cecilia had once worn.

A connection had barely started to form in his mind when his wrist was suddenly caught. Bishop Hugo's grip was not large, but it was not to be refused.

By the time he came back to himself, Shulec had been half-invited-half-dragged inside the carriage, the curtain falling shut behind him as if to shut out the world entirely.

There was clearly no easy escape from this carriage now.

Honestly, Shulec was not particularly fond of being treated with such fanfare. But Bishop Hugo always had a way of deftly, gently cutting through whatever he was thinking.

The old man followed Shulec's gaze and caught a glimpse of Jek's back, and let out a quiet sigh: "Jek is a good priest…"

As someone in regular contact with clergy from all regions, Bishop Hugo had his finger on the pulse of everything. "That position was later taken from him and given to a young man named Layton."

He paused, then added something like reassurance: "Though of course—"

Shulec had an inkling of what was underneath, but chose not to press it, nor to comment idly when there were others nearby.

He chose silence.

But not everyone was as careful.

The carriage curtain was thrown open without ceremony, and Bishop Holm walked in unannounced, found himself a seat, crossed his arms, and spoke with a faint chill and undisguised wariness in his voice.

"It may well be that he chose to give it up of his own accord," he said. "Don't forget — the clergy are celibate. If he wanted to marry, he essentially gave up any chance of advancement."

Bishop Hugo replied warmly to Shulec by way of elaboration: "It's not that all clergy are required to be celibate. Otherwise Bishop Whitmore wouldn't have a daughter either."

Both of these things were actually already known to Shulec.

The former was spoken of in scripture — the clergy belonged body and soul to the Lord God.

The latter was simply a matter of documented fact. For example, Lady Adele and Lesley's mother Odora — both of them were daughters of cardinals.

Bishop Holm said with contempt, "Are you not about to teach Alis that whole line about 'sacred marriage' already?" He raised an eyebrow, and with a tinge of mockery said, "Have you even found Alis's intended for him?"

The gossip was landing practically on top of him now…

Shulec decided he absolutely had to ask: "…What is 'sacred marriage'?"

Bishop Hugo, seeing that Alis had been startled, glanced reproachfully at Holm, but kept his voice gentle — as if recounting an old theological doctrine. He explained: "In the Church, a spiritual family is considered far closer than a blood family. But blood ties can make a spiritual bond even stronger. So to maintain the Orthodox tradition of faith, chosen clergy will be united in marriage with particular families — this is called 'sacred marriage' or 'spiritual marriage.'"

This sounded rather puzzling at first.

But from Shulec's perspective, it was essentially the same as when ancient high officials would marry their daughters to the top-ranked scholar from the imperial examinations, to consolidate their clan's standing and extend their influence.

Except that here, the clergy serving as "top scholar" either committed to celibacy or accepted an arranged marriage from their superiors.

In other words, becoming a bishop meant giving up one's freedom to marry.

Shulec had no desire to linger on this topic, so he turned to Bishop Holm instead: "What were you calling me for earlier?"

Bishop Holm swept a glance at Shulec, then looked across at Hugo. "A certain bishop seems to be terrified that Father Alis isn't drawing enough attention — he wants to concentrate every pair of eyes on Father Alis. Is he not worried about ruining the man?"

Bishop Hugo knew clearly that Shulec wasn't easily led astray. But this was still a case of three people making a rumor into fact — the crowd's endless murmuring, if Shulec were to believe even one or two fragments of it, could easily create misunderstandings.

Since the topic had been put on the table, he chose to lay it out clearly: "Father Alis's background is the weakest of all the bishop candidates. He has no family power, no diocesan base, barely enough congregants to count, and no track record worth presenting."

Those words were so blunt they stung.

Shulec felt those honest words hit surprisingly hard.

"But since he is the Carson Parish's nominated bishop candidate, I naturally don't want him affected by baseless rumors and rumormongering." Bishop Hugo's voice was calm and steady, with an unmistakable firmness. "If my name can shut the mouths of the people who are nothing but troublemakers and gossips — then no matter how conspicuous I seem, I would not call it conspicuous."

With these words said, Bishop Hugo gave Shulec's hand a pat.

Shulec felt warmth rush through him, and said nothing, simply tucking this act of protection away in his heart.

Bishop Holm, however, was not buying it. "Even though people are already spreading word outside that Father Alis is the pre-selected choice — that doesn't matter?"

"If someone, knowing they've supposedly already been pre-selected, decides to coast through the examination, that only shows they're not devout enough to change minds and move hearts through their own merit. A person like that is unfit to be bishop to begin with."

This statement from Hugo was crafted with elegant ambiguity — neither confirming nor denying Holm's suggestion about a pre-selection, and yet raising the bar of sincerity and placing real faith and real results back at the center.

Seemingly sincere, yet deliberately vague. Watertight. Carefully measured.

Bishop Holm realized that even at this age, Bishop Hugo was still a cunning old fox in priestly vestments.

As the two of them continued their veiled standoff, the carriage slowly began rolling toward the hunting ground.

And the air held a particular bite and stillness that came with winter.

Snowflakes drifted down sparsely, framing the gradually assembling crowd in the distance — as though entering a new story, a new territory.

By the time they arrived, the cardinal coming from the capital still had about half an hour before he appeared. But there was quite a bit of positioning to be arranged, so half an hour was not as spacious as it sounded.

When the capital's cardinal and his entourage finally arrived fashionably late, not only Shulec but everyone present immediately fixed their attention on the strikingly fair-haired girl standing beside the cardinal. Her silhouette in the winter sunlight was particularly radiant — as if a spotlight had been placed on her alone, capturing every eye at once.

Before they had fully drawn near, Bishop Hugo quietly filled Shulec in.

"This girl's family name is Adric."

"……?"

Shulec's brow furrowed slightly — the name was half-familiar, yet hard to place.

Before Bishop Hugo had finished speaking, a light figure had already drawn near. Without waiting for Shulec to respond, the girl had walked up to Bishop Hugo and swept into a curtsy, saying, "Veronica. A pleasure to meet you, Bishop Hugo."

The moment the name "Veronica" landed —

Shulec was immediately struck with recognition. Wasn't that the name of the girl Lesley had a soft spot for?

So they could meet like this, even when both were still so young.

What a perfect childhood friendship this was turning out to be.

Shulec was thinking this, and his expression had softened accordingly.

But this warm little scene was seen by Lesley, who was standing on the periphery of the crowd.

He had not wanted to draw attention, just quietly hoping that Father Alis might notice him — even one glance would have been enough.

But the moment that girl appeared, the priest's gaze never drifted toward him once.

Lesley felt a small pang of disappointment. He pressed his lips together, just gathering the nerve to walk over — then thought better of it, feeling it would seem too presumptuous, and stayed rooted in place.

At that moment, Carwen and Seamus finally spotted Father Alis in the crowd and waved excitedly in his direction.

Lesley was about to stop their conspicuous display, but suddenly realized that when Shulec registered the movement, the very first glance he cast — it landed on him.

In that instant, Lesley almost stopped breathing.

He reflexively glanced behind him. Nothing.

The priest had been looking at him — no question.

Lesley froze for a moment, then lowered his head, not daring to look back.

Shulec, meanwhile, found this child almost too cool — not the faintest reaction? He turned and smiled in greeting at the other two children, which sent Carwen and Seamus leaping with delight.

They had a feeling that the roasted meat at tonight's winter hunt would be the most fragrant yet. This was too great.