The World Is Mine For The Taking

After what felt like a long and silent drive, the vehicle finally rolled to a halt in front of the towering gates of the High Priests' headquarters. The sheer presence of the structure was intimidating. It was an old, towering cathedral-like building adorned with massive stained glass windows and looming statues that seemed to judge every step we took. Yet, despite its sacred, religious aura, what caught my eye the most wasn't the architecture... but the absurd number of guards surrounding the place.

Calling them guards felt odd. Each of them was dressed in the ceremonial garb of a typical priest with flowing white robes, ornate sashes, and crosses embroidered with golden thread. The contradiction was jarring. It was like watching monks try to act like military men. The sight alone made something twist inside me. It felt wrong.

"For a church, this place is way too heavily guarded," Rose muttered beside me, her eyes scanning the robed figures cautiously.

I didn't respond verbally, but I met her gaze and gave a subtle nod. She was absolutely right. The excessive security made no sense. This wasn't a government building or a top-secret lab. It was supposed to be a place of worship. The vibe was completely off. It was more like entering a fortress than a church.

As if on cue, our car came to an abrupt stop, tires hissing slightly against the stone pavement.

A man stepped forward from the cluster of robed guards, his stance straight and his presence firm. He looked through the tinted window before tapping on it lightly. Rose rolled it down halfway.

"I must ask the both of you to step out of the vehicle and clearly state your business here," he said, voice flat and professional, but with an unmistakable edge of skepticism.

Rose leaned forward, unbothered. "Haven't you already been informed that the owner of Leonamon is arriving today?"

He narrowed his eyes, clearly unimpressed. "The owner of Leonamon, you say? Huh… That's strange. Because the leader of Leonamon is already inside the Church. If you two are just pretending to be someone you're not, I'd highly recommend leaving now—unless you're hoping to walk away with your hands still attached."

The leader of Leonamon… already inside? That made no goddamn sense. I was the owner, after all.

"Leon," Rose said, her voice quiet but firm, turning to me.

I gave her a look of calm assurance before nodding, then unlatched the door and stepped out into the open.

The guard immediately barked, "Hey! I said get lost!"

I didn't flinch. Instead, I met his gaze with mine.

"I don't think so," I said coolly. "I've already told you, I have a scheduled meeting with the High Priests."

The moment our eyes locked, I released a fraction of my presence—barely a sliver of my pressure.

He dropped like a stone.

With a choked grunt, his knees buckled beneath him, his arms trembling as if the weight of the sky had suddenly descended upon his shoulders. The air around him rippled with invisible force, like gravity had turned cruel and malicious in just a second.

"Ugh…!"

I didn't even touch him. That was just pressure. And yet, the man looked like he was being slowly crushed under an unseen mountain.

"I've already been invited," I said with venom laced in my voice, "so don't fucking stand in my way."

My words rang with finality, echoing faintly against the quiet tension in the air.

I wasn't here for games. I wasn't here to pick fights with gatekeepers. I had come to speak with the highest authorities of the Church—to negotiate, to discuss, and maybe even strike a compromise. Nothing more. But I wasn't about to be treated like a common thug.

Then—

"Stop that."

The words came like thunder. It was deep and rich. Ancient, even.

I turned.

Emerging from the entrance was an old man unlike the rest. His beard flowed like a silver river, long enough to be tied multiple times to keep it from dragging across the floors. His posture was erect, regal, and he radiated an undeniable aura of presence.

If someone told me this man was a grand wizard, I wouldn't have even questioned it.

He was garbed in the same traditional white robes as the others, but his bore intricate embroidery and sacred runes stitched with gold and silver threads. He wasn't just another priest—he was something more. This was clearly a High Priest.

"I was the one who instructed the guards to be cautious," he said calmly, his gaze landing on me without fear. "There have been far too many impersonators and swindlers around here lately. In times like these, we must stay alert."

I nodded, meeting his calm composure with my own. "And you are?"

"I am High Priest Vertigan Hollar," he said with reverence in his voice.

Vertigan Hollar… Out of all the High Priests, he was known to be the most righteous. The cleanest among them. The least corrupt.

"And you must be the one behind that massive economic empire that surged through the world like a storm—modernizing, transforming, shaking the very roots of society... Leonamon," he said, watching me closely.

I straightened my posture and offered him a respectful, noble bow.

"I am," I declared. "Christopher Faust. The leader of Leonamon."

He studied me for a moment, then stroked his long beard slowly, thoughtfully.

"You carry yourself with impressive nobility," he said. "And your attire speaks of power and grace. Yet… I cannot simply take your word for it. Even with your presence, even with all your elegance—I still hold my suspicions."

My brows furrowed slightly, but I kept my tone even. "And what must I do to earn your trust? To clear those doubts?"

He didn't flinch.

"Prove to me that you are who you claim to be," he said slowly. "Without proof, I cannot allow you past the gates of our sacred Church."

"Well, I could throw the same accusation right back at you, couldn't I?" I said, voice calm but sharp. "For all I know, you might not even be the High Priest. You could just be another smooth-talking impersonator draped in robes to fool people. It's not like I've ever seen one of the High Priests with my own eyes before, so how can I be sure? It's only natural to question what I can't confirm."

We locked eyes with his gaze unwavering and piercing, like a honed blade that had weathered countless years of war without losing its edge. Despite his age, there was a fire in his stare with no dimming and no fatigue. He was the type of man who had stood in this role for decades, and yet, it clearly hadn't dulled his passion in the slightest.

"And if you really are High Priest Vertigan Hollar," I continued, slowly stepping forward, "then your ability should make this simple. Just look into me. If what they say about you is true, you'll see everything you need in my eyes, won't you?"

The old man didn't respond right away. He studied me in silence for several seconds—long, weighted moments where time seemed to stretch. Then, without a word, he gently closed his eyes. The atmosphere felt like it thickened, as if something invisible was passing between us. And when he opened them again, that same sharp gaze met mine, but there was a shift. An understanding.

"Very well," he said at last, voice like a deep drum rolling through the cathedral-like stillness. "You may proceed, Master Faust."

Just like that, the barrier vanished. He allowed me inside.

He had said earlier that he needed proof—but this was the proof he was looking for. That unique ability of his—one that allowed him to see whether someone was lying—was doing the work now. On paper, it might sound like a weak and mostly useless power. But in moments like these, when the truth was everything, it became dangerously effective.

That was the very reason why he was chosen to be one of the High Priests. His ability wasn't meant for battles or grandeur, but for judgment. He could sense guilt, falsehood, deception—traits no trial could prove but he could sniff out like smoke. He was a walking lie detector in robes, and in the hands of someone in power, that skill was terrifyingly useful.

I moved toward the stairs, each step echoing beneath my feet as I ascended, the heels of my shoes tapping against the marble like a countdown. Rose followed silently beside me, keeping a respectful distance. Right now, she was doing more than just being a companion—she was assuming the quiet role of a bodyguard. Not that I needed one... but honestly, having her at my side didn't hurt either. If anything, it was comforting.

Eventually, we reached the threshold of the Church itself. The grand doors opened before us, revealing a space that exceeded all my expectations. The moment we stepped inside, I was struck by its majesty. The ceiling towered overhead like the heavens themselves were watching. Elaborate paintings graced every inch of the high dome, each brushstroke meticulous, the kind only an artist of divine caliber could create. The walls carried a timeless weight, and the scent of incense hung in the air like an ancient whisper. Every inch of this place screamed devotion and power.

"You've come here for a meeting, haven't you, Master Faust?" the High Priest said, his tone now laced with formality and respect. "Then follow me. The meeting room awaits us... and we shall continue our discussion there."