The World Is Mine For The Taking

We stepped into the room.

It immediately struck me how closely it mirrored the church's grand interior with the same holy architecture and same somber palette, but it was noticeably scaled down. The ceiling wasn't as high, the stained-glass windows weren't as large, and the light filtering in lacked the divine brilliance of the main cathedral. The holy aura tried to linger, but here it felt more forced... manufactured rather than natural, I guess.

Dominating the center of the room was an enormous table, carved from dark, aged wood with intricate engravings that tried to project authority. Two men were already seated on the opposite end. Judging by their placement and demeanor, I guessed they were high priests as well, though that assumption was purely based on context, not presence.

Because unlike Vertigan, these two didn't carry themselves with even an ounce of regal grace just like he did. They lacked the dignified composure, the commanding stillness, and the magnetic aura that Vertigan naturally possessed. Their robes looked ceremonial, yes, but they wore them like props rather than symbols of power. If someone told me these two were just ordinary priests—or worse, impostors—I wouldn't argue. Hell, I'd believe it on sight.

What I saw sitting across from me weren't holy men. They looked like crude, bitter frauds draped in stolen cloth.

"You may take a seat here, Master Faust," Vertigan said, gesturing politely to a chair beside him. His tone was formal, yet warm. "Your… bodyguard may also sit, if she wishes."

Rose shook her head. "No, I'm fine. Thank you, High Priest," she replied, her voice steady and composed. She stood directly behind me, silent and protective. There was something endearing about the way she chose to remain vigilant. It was subtle, but she was doing her job well, and honestly, she was kinda cute about it.

"Has there been any proper verification that this man is truly the owner of the Leonamon enterprise?" one of the seated high priests asked, his voice soaked in skepticism as he turned toward Vertigan. "I find it hard to believe that someone with such a demeanor, and at such a young age, could possibly own and control an empire of that scale. It feels… like a contradiction."

"I share those doubts," said the other priest, his tone just as patronizing. "And to be frank, he doesn't exactly radiate the wealth or refinement of someone in such a position. The way he carries himself… well, it doesn't impress."

So, there it was. The two were already casting judgment and letting their contempt seep into the air. I hadn't even opened my mouth and they'd already decided I didn't belong. What a pair of insufferable scumbags.

"I've already confirmed with my own eyes that this man is indeed the owner of Leonamon," Vertigan interjected, his voice unwavering and resolute. "I do not believe further authentication is necessary. My judgment, I believe, should be more than sufficient."

Despite Vertigan's vouch and clear affirmation, the two continued to glare at me with narrowed, suspicious eyes. Their expressions screamed distrust, and it was clear their doubt wouldn't dissipate anytime soon.

"You must understand, Master Faust," Vertigan said, turning slightly to address me. "This is not meant to be an insult. High Priests Riolan and Sendron simply find it difficult to evaluate credibility without concrete, formal verification. They are cautious by nature."

"I understand," I replied evenly, offering a calm smile. "And I won't hold anything against the church for that."

If anything, that should've earned me a sliver of goodwill. But instead of relaxing, their eyes sharpened. Their hostility somehow deepened. I couldn't for the life of me figure out why these two seemed so personally offended by my presence.

"Now then, Master Faust," Vertigan continued, bringing the meeting back on track. "Shall we begin with your purpose for requesting an audience?"

"I'll be direct," I said, locking eyes with the three of them. "I'm here to propose something."

"Propose?" asked the priest to the left—likely Riolan—his eyebrows twitching upward. "What is it that you wish to propose?"

"Modernization."

The moment the word left my mouth, it was like a lightning bolt struck the room, and a very heavy silence fell afterward.

Sendron reacted first, his chair screeched violently against the floor as he shoved himself upright, both hands slamming onto the table. His face twisted into something close to rage, eyes wide with disbelief.

"Modernization!?" he barked. "You've got to be mad! To come in here and propose such a thing—you must've lost your damn mind!"

Riolan immediately joined in, his voice no less venomous. "Do you even comprehend what you're saying, boy? Do you understand that allowing your so-called modernization—just like what those other corrupted cities did—would desecrate everything we've built here? You would ruin the sanctity of this place and smear filth on the legacy of our ancestors! That's an offense so grave, not even your life would be enough to pay for it!"

Their words pounded against the walls like thunder. Their voices rose together in heated unison, as if I'd committed heresy by simply opening my mouth. To them, change wasn't progress—it was blasphemy.

But all I could see was fear. Not fear of me—but fear of change. Fear of losing control.

"If you think I'm here to bulldoze centuries of heritage, then you've misunderstood," I said, keeping my tone calm and measured. "I'm not talking about destroying the past. I know exactly how important the traditions of Milham are. I know the significance of what our ancestors built—and the legacy of Goddess Jeanne, who led us to victory."

They stared at me for a long, tense moment, their glares cold and unflinching, like sharpened blades pressed against my skin. Suspicion lingered in their eyes, as if my very presence was an offense to their beliefs.

"But preserving heritage doesn't automatically mean you're actually protecting it," I said, my voice steady but laced with conviction. "That's exactly why I'm proposing something different. I'm not here to tear down your beliefs or rewrite history, but I'm here to offer change that allows us to preserve the legacy you hold dear, while adapting to the present. You want to protect the traditions passed down through the centuries? Then allow me to help you reinforce them, not bury them."

It sounded like a fair compromise to me. I could bring the blueprint of modernity to this city, widen the roads, update the infrastructure, make the city more accessible so people could travel with ease. A smoother, more organized trading route would bring a richer variety of goods, attract more merchants, and elevate Milham into something stronger and more sustainable.

"We refuse!" Sendron suddenly erupted, slamming his palm against the table with a loud crack that echoed across the meeting room. "Your modernization is nothing more than a thinly veiled excuse to grasp everything in your hands! That's the truth, isn't it?!"

He wasn't exactly wrong.

The roads, the system, the enterprise I was proposing, it was all a mechanism, designed for me to strengthen my grip. Leonamon was a tool for leverage. And Milham? It was the first step and the foundation. Before I could aim for something grander, I needed to lock this place down, bring it under my influence, and reshape it into something that would stand strong under pressure.

"We don't need your modernization crap trampled under our feet, whoever the hell you are!" Riolan spat, his tone dripping with venom.

The contempt in his voice didn't match the robes he wore which was supposed symbols of grace and wisdom. These two high priests had tongues far cruder than the titles they carried.

"I understand that neither of you trusts me. And I'm not asking for blind faith," I replied calmly, meeting their hostility with unwavering eyes. "But this isn't just for my benefit. This is about securing the city's future. I'm not doing this to line my pockets. I'm doing this because if we sit idle like this, if we keep pretending that the world isn't changing around us, then when the enemy comes knocking, this city will be the first to collapse."

I let those words linger in the air for a moment before continuing.

"You do realize, don't you?" I continued, voice low but firm. "The Empire has already begun its conquest. Country after country, they're swallowing lands whole, one invasion after another. Their sights are set on global domination. That's not a maybe. That's a certainty."

If Rodonia gained control of the Holy City, then it wouldn't stop there. This place—this proud, stubborn bastion—would become the staging ground for a far greater invasion. One by one, the surrounding regions would fall. Cities would crumble, their people enslaved or killed, and Milham would be nothing more than a ghost of its former glory—another name in the Empire's endless list of conquests.

"The Empire of Rodonia will use this place as a launchpad. Once they have it, they'll sweep through the kingdom like wildfire," I said. "And when that happens, the first ones they'll drag out into the street and execute... will be the high priests."

Riolan and Sendron froze, the blood draining from their faces. Their shoulders stiffened, and for the first time since I walked into this chamber, their bravado faltered. They didn't speak. Couldn't speak at all, in fact. The fear in their eyes betrayed them.

The only one who remained composed was Vertigan. He didn't look away. His piercing gaze met mine. He was listening—really listening—not with suspicion, but with understanding. For the first time, I saw the glint of someone who might actually be considering what I said.