Chapter 74: The Talk

Upon entering, Thomas noted how neat and clean Julian’s things were compared to his own.

It was not like he was untidy or anything, but it appeared as though the High-blood was particularly meticulous. Every piece of survival gear was polished, the canvas blankets were folded into precise shapes, and his spare swords were aligned perfectly on a small wooden trunk near the corner of the tent.

Julian took out two foldable wooden chairs from the corner for them to sit, placing them near the center of the dirt ground. Before taking his seat, he went straight to the heavy fabric entrance of his tent and drew a glowing purple symbol in the air with his index finger, a glowing pattern that Thomas immediately deduced to be a complex runic formula. Julian then closed his eyes and began chanting a short, level chant under his breath.

"Seal."

The purple symbol flared with a brief light before sinking directly into the canvas threads, completely dampening the ambient sounds of the bustling campsite outside. Julian turned back around, adjusted his silver-rimmed glasses, and moved to sit opposite Thomas on the wooden chair.

"We can speak freely now. It appears the deacon won’t be focused on you for some time," Julian said after sitting, his bare ebony eyes locking onto Thomas’s muddy clothes with his usual cold authority.

Thomas leaned back slightly, his face remaining perfectly calm as he watched. He never told anyone anything about his talent, keeping the secrets of his system locked away, but his sharp intellect was already mapping out the boundaries of the spell.

"What you did just now and back at the cavern are both rune spells, am I correct?" Thomas asked curiously, his voice breaking the heavy quiet of the tent.

Julian nodded his head smoothly.

"Correct," the High-blood answered, leaning back and crossing his legs. "They are. Anyway, what did you truly want to talk about?"

Thomas shifted slightly on his wooden chair, his mind weighing the exact structure of his next words. What he had wanted to ask ever since boarding the transport dragonling was why the elite High-bloods seemed to be so genuinely afraid of the deacons. He had noticed how every single noble student, including a proud core successor like Julian, had immediately lowered themselves and bowed deeply the moment those golden-cloaked figures stepped onto the field. But he wasn’t entirely sure how to ask that question so bluntly, afraid that it might bruise the High-blood’s massive ego and shut down the conversation entirely.

"I... uhm—"

"Let me guess, you want to ask about the Church," Julian cut him off with a raised brow, a bitter smirk playing at the corner of his lips. "Particularly about why we, even as proud High-bloods, fear the presence of the Church. Is that right, lesser?"

Thomas let out a slow breath, remaining composed. "I... well, uhm, yeah, that," Thomas responded, letting himself appear slightly embarrassed so the High-blood would feel comfortable explaining.

"Well, where do I even start," Julian said, his gaze drifting toward the sealed canvas entrance as his tone dropped into a serious weight. "The Holy Church is the single most powerful force in the whole of Samra. Its power is even greater than that of the Royal House itself. Since it was the Lord of Light that originally blessed the First King, along with Pope Dimitrus I, they co-founded the unified kingdom of Samra thousands of years ago. when the rest of the world was still living in fear of the mana beasts that massively populated the world"

Julian leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as the purple mana from his ring cast long shadows across his silver armour.

"Because of that divine foundation, the crown and the altar are not equal," Julian explained, his voice falling into a quiet, intense octave. "The Royal House rules the physical domains, but the Church holds the real power. If the Pope decides to label an elite High-blood lineage as heretical, that house is systematically stripped of its lands, its wealth, and its noble titles by sunset. To the elites of the Samra, losing the favor of the light is a fate far worse than death. That is why we bow, Thomas. We bow because their supremacy is absolute. And those deacons out there are more like enforcers rather than divine servant, rumour has it they are all former rogues or criminals that were taken in by the church and ’cleansed’."

Thomas quietly nodded his head, his intellect quickly connecting the historical pieces. He thought back to the transport cabin, remembering the heavy pressure that had dropped the temperature to freezing when the deacon spoke about uprooting weeds from a beautiful garden. The Church wasn’t just a religious institution; they were a powerful machine designed to maintain absolute stability by crushing any form of change that threatened their comfort.

"And what about the current rulers?" Thomas asked, his dark eyes wide open. "If the Church holds that much power over the houses, what is the King doing to maintain the balance?"

Julian let out a cold scoff, his expression turning neutral behind his spectacles.

"The Royal Family has been exceptionally reclusive as of the past decade," Julian spoke slowly, his fingers twitching over his emerald cape. "Even among the younger generations of High-bloods within the Holy city, very few have actually seen the monarch or his true heirs face-to-face. The castle has locked its iron gates, leaving the day-to-day administration almost entirely under the jurisdiction of the elite High-blood houses and the Church’s eye."

Julian adjusted his glasses, his tone sharpening as he looked directly back into Thomas’s face.

"By throwing that public stunt on the arena and telling the Council to fuck off, you didn’t just break an academy rule, Thomas," Julian warned coldly. "You actively signaled to the Church that a lesser is trying to stand out and disrupt the hierarchy. They view change as a sickness. And now, you have a deacon legally bound to our hunting group in one of the most harshest place in the entirety of Samra. I do not envy your fortune, lesser."

Thomas remained completely motionless on his wooden chair, his face calm as he filed the massive historical warning away. He didn’t show any fear or panic. He was scared but he had Neher’s legacy and the legacy was like a promise of change.

But he still had unanswered questions, like who was Neher and why did he choose him? But he understood that seeking those answers now would only invite trouble, that is why he planned on not pursuing the matter any further for now and focus on his growth despite having an apostle of Neher as a personal instructor.

He looked toward the sealed tent fabric. He had just learned the true standard of the kingdom’s hierarchy, and he realized that if he wanted to protect his family back home and change the social hierarchy, he was going to have to grow strong enough to survive whatever the church threw at him but for now he had the two deacons to worry about.