Novel Full Chapter 1512 Negotiating with a Herald
Chapter 1512 Negotiating with a Herald
Quinlan started up the steps.
“I demand the unconditional surrender of this cathedral, a full handover of your clerical authority within Whisperfield, and the transfer of all church assets, personnel, and holdings in this city to my jurisdiction.”
Each step was measured, each word carrying further as the acoustics of the cathedral’s entrance amplified his voice. Black Fang stared at him for a few seconds, then followed, the coat he’d given her sitting heavy across her shoulders, her katana sheathed but her hand resting on the grip.
Velara held her ground at the top.
She tried to hold it, anyway. As Quinlan reached the final step and stopped before her, the Arch Priestess was forced to tilt her head back to meet his gaze. He had a full head of height on her, and in the ominous, black armor of his, the difference felt larger.
He looked past her.
The cathedral’s interior stretched beyond the open doors, massive in scale, built to humble anyone who entered. Rows of stone pews flanked a central aisle that led to a raised altar at the far end, and behind it stood a statue of the Goddess with her arms spread wide and her expression fixed in what the sculptor had probably intended as mercy.
Every pew was full.
Hundreds of people packed the nave, crammed shoulder to shoulder in the aisles, pressed against the columns, huddled in the alcoves between stained-glass windows. Quinlan saw civilian workers, old women clutching prayer beads, children clinging to their parents’ legs, shopkeepers still in their aprons. Among them, men and women in the white robes of the healing order moved between clusters of refugees, tending to cuts and bruises, distributing water, whispering reassurances.
‘The entire district must have funneled in here when the fighting started,’ he observed.
His gaze returned to Velara.
The Arch Priestess straightened and declared her own demands, replying to Quinlan’s in full. Her voice carried the authority of a woman who knew she was representing the divine order.
“Full autonomous governance for the church in every city where a cathedral is present. Supremacy of religious law over civil law within those jurisdictions. Formal recognition of the Goddess’s moral authority over all subjects in your territories. The immediate dissolution of whatever necromantic horror you call an army.” She drew a breath. “And a formal apology for your heretical actions and statements, performed by kowtowing before the statue of the Goddess and making a binding promise never to slander her person again.”
Quinlan stared at her.
Then he tilted his head back and looked into the cathedral, spotting the large statue.
“Kowtow to her statue?”
Quinlan spoke with the incredulity of a man who was just asked to do the impossible.
Then, he laughed. Loud and boisterous, as if he’d just heard the century’s grandest jest.
Velara’s expression darkened.
“Good,” he managed to continue after some struggling. “Now that we’ve both asked for things we’re never going to get, let’s talk about what actually happens.”
Why not just fight her to the death? Why not demand everything?
Because he was not an enemy of Lilyanna. That woman was still his ally, despite their many differences. Having her become hostile to Quinlan would be game over.
If she declared him a heretic, no matter what he tried to do, he’d always be treated as an enemy to kill anywhere he went in the whole wide world of Thalorind.
Coexistence was the key, always has been, and always will be. Or so Quinlan reasoned.
Especially because his and Lilyanna’s interests differed. Quinlan stepped past her and toward the cathedral’s entrance. “You know, I’ve never been inside one of these places.”
“I did not permit you entry!” Velara snapped, moving to block his path. “This is consecrated ground! You do not have the right to-”
Quinlan walked past her.
His boots crossed the threshold onto sacred stone. The golden light from within pressed against him, warm and thick, and he felt the faintest resistance, a push that wanted him gone.
‘Is this Lilyanna’s authority pushing me away? Maybe it’s because of the corruption seed…’
Following his entrance, the reaction inside the cathedral was immediate.
Screams erupted from the nave. A woman in the third pew pulled her children against her chest and turned away, shielding them with her body. An old man stumbled out of his seat and fell into the aisle trying to get distance. Civilians who had been sitting in tense silence a moment ago scrambled over each other, pressing toward the far walls, toward the altar, toward any space that put stone between them and the black-armored figure standing in their doorway.
The healers moved with them. White-robed men and women spread their arms wide, forming a human barrier between the refugees and the entrance. One older nun positioned herself in front of a cluster of children, her hands shaking but her feet planted.
“Stay back!” a male healer shouted. “These people are under the Goddess’s protection!”
Quinlan looked at them. Hundreds of terrified faces staring back at him. The Primordial Villain, standing in the Goddess’s house, still wearing the blood of their city’s defenders on his armor.
He understood the fear. He didn’t fault them for it.
A knocking sound on his armor brought him out of his thoughts.
He looked down.
A little girl stood beside him. She couldn’t have been older than five or six, with messy brown hair and a face smudged with dust from wherever she’d been hiding before the cathedral. She was looking up at him with the wide, unfiltered curiosity of a child too young to understand what the screaming was about.
“Are you going to hurt us?” she asked.
A nun lunged from between the pews, reaching for the girl with frantic hands. “Lena! Come here! Come here right now!”
But the girl was already standing at Quinlan’s side, and the nun froze mid-reach, her eyes locked on the armored man towering over the child. Every instinct told her to grab the girl and run. Every survival sense told her that sudden movements near this particular man were a terrible idea.
She hovered there, paralyzed, one hand extended and the other pressed to her own chest.
Quinlan crouched.
The motion sent a ripple of gasps through the cathedral.
He brought himself to eye level with the girl and grinned.
“Hurt you? No, I would never do such a thing. Not unless you want to fight.”
The girl looked him up and down with the serious, appraising expression that only small children could manage. Her eyes moved from his boots to his saber to his face, and the gears behind them turned with visible effort.
“No,” she decided. “I would lose.”
Quinlan chuckled. “What a smart choice. You might be smarter than the Count of Whisperfield.”
The girl’s chest puffed out immediately. “I have perfect grades! The sisters say I’m the brightest student in the whole cathedral school!”
“Is that so?” Quinlan tilted his head. “What’s two plus five?”
The girl’s confidence wavered. Her brow furrowed and she lifted both hands, counting on her fingers with intense concentration. Her lips moved silently. One finger. Two. Three. She ran out of fingers on one hand and had to switch, which caused a brief crisis of accounting.
“Seven!” she declared, beaming.
“Truly a genius,” Quinlan nodded. He reached into his spatial ring and produced a small wrapped candy, one of the honey-glazed sweets Blossom loved to eat. It was a memento from their visit to Broderick’s house, where the Whale Humper tried to feed sweets to his adorable dog girl in hopes of making Quinlan ‘see the way,’ namely, how obscenely fat women were superior.
‘I could visit that guy sometime…’ Quinlan mused before shrugging and returning to the present.
“Here. A reward for the brightest student in the cathedral school. My wife really likes these.”
The girl took it without hesitation. “N-no!” The nun behind her made a strangled sound. Several parents in the pews looked like they were watching a wolf hand-feed their lamb.
Lena unwrapped the candy, popped it in her mouth, and her entire face lit up.
“Tasty!” she announced, loudly enough that the declaration echoed off the vaulted ceiling.
Quinlan smiled and straightened up. “Enjoy.”
The nun finally unfroze. She scooped Lena up with trembling arms and retreated into the pews, clutching the girl against her chest. Lena, unbothered, waved at Quinlan over the nun’s shoulder with sticky fingers. “Thank you.”
He waved back. “You’re welcome.”
The cathedral had gone very quiet.
Quinlan turned to face Velara from inside the doorway, framing himself against the cathedral’s interior where every refugee could see him.
“We’ll take your demands in order.” He held up a finger. “The church governs every cathedral city. That’s a no. You’re supposed to be a spiritual institution, and the only way you’ll integrate into my domain is if you embrace that path. You heal the sick, guide the faithful, and represent the Goddess’s Purity. You don’t collect taxes, you don’t command garrisons, and you don’t write trade policy. Government is my job. Not yours.”
Velara opened her mouth.
Quinlan held up a second finger. “Religious law over civil law. Also a no. My territory, my laws. Every citizen receives the same justice regardless of whether they pray to the Goddess or don’t. The church can set rules for its own clergy and its own internal affairs. Beyond that, civil law governs.”
“You would strip the Goddess’s authority from-”
Third finger. “Formal recognition of the Goddess’s moral authority over all subjects. That one’s interesting, because you already have it.” He shrugged. “People worship Lilyanna because they choose to, and I have no intention of changing that. She can have their faith. Their devotion. Their prayers. I don’t compete with the Goddess. I compete with other rulers.”
Velara’s jaw worked.
“What I won’t do,” Quinlan continued, “is give the church the legal right to use that devotion as a weapon against my governance. The Goddess represents Purity. Purity is spiritual, and so will you be. You do not endorse or oppose rulers. You do not grant sanctuary to political fugitives or military deserters. You do not declare my policies heretical. And you do not leverage the faith of the people against my administration.”
“You’re asking me to make the church toothless.”
“I’m asking you to represent your Goddess in the purest form possible.”
Velara’s staff struck the stone with a sharp crack. Several refugees flinched.