What's this?"
"Sunia Blood Wine, but it has nothing to do with the junk produced by Fusak. It's the original elven wine, and you can't buy it on the market unless you have a good relationship with the elves. Only the Cathedral of Redemption in Aarons distributes it through charity auctions every Christmas."
"..."
"Then what is this thing?"
"The flatbread is just a coarse grain flatbread."
"Okay, okay, okay... what about this one?"
"Brains".
"?"
"this?"
"Four legs of lamb, one for each of us."
"...I remember A cooked today."
"Otherwise what?"
...
Klein stared at the barely recognizable lunch on the table and silently looked away.
If he hadn't known that Mr. A was cooking today, he would have suspected that some cult was deliberately trying to disgust them.
Red wine and bread, mimicking the Christian Eucharist, is understandable. After all, the Creator has been making references for thousands of years, playing the role of Jehovah since the beginning, translating God as an omniscient and omnipotent Creator, protecting slaves, and spreading the way of salvation...
But what are the brains and four lamb legs in the back?
This combination is a complete remake of The Death of the Creator, isn't it written in the holy scriptures?
It's not some shameful secret... Klein's eyelids twitched slightly, only managing to hold it in thanks to his extraordinary abilities.
Blasphemy, utterly blasphemous.
Mr. A, who had just finished cleaning the kitchen, walked into the dining room with a smile on his face. He was holding his ever-present Bible in one hand and the dipping sauce he would prepare for the lamb leg in the other. He saw his companions sitting around the table, looking at each other, with no one sitting down.
For a moment, A, who had been cooking for his master—the previous Mr. A—since the age of five, couldn't help but doubt himself.
My cooking skills have deteriorated?
No, could it be that V has discovered important intelligence, and that Intis and the "Rose School" have changed their actions?
He looked around before finally fixing his gaze on his partner's face.
"What happened?"
Jerry Zarathustra was also puzzled by Klein's sudden silence. He shrugged, pouted, and gestured with his chin toward Klein.
Mr. A's gaze then shifted to the right, meeting the eyes of his colleague's dark eyes, which seemed to hold a thousand unspoken words.
"A, I remember that communion wasn't just about wine and bread."
Mr. A winked at Klein, and, not understanding what was going on, nodded honestly.
"Generally speaking, the Lord's Supper consists of only red wine and bread, but that is the simplest kind."
As he spoke, Mr. A put down the sauce in his hand and grasped the holy book with both hands.
"The Lord does not care about the form of the meal. Poor believers who cannot afford red wine can use water instead of communion and pray to the Lord at the table. The Lord will not be displeased by the simplicity of the food He prepares."
"Even if a wealthy believer prepares the finest wine and the most exquisite pasta, if his faith is mixed with depraved desires such as greed, the Lord will not respond."
He pointed to the plate containing pig brains and lamb leg.
"Aside from red wine and bread, these two foods are also prepared by members of the church."
"These correspond to the pain of betrayal that the Lord suffered, a pain that all believers should remember. The reason for this preparation is to constantly remind ourselves that betrayal has not yet been judged, and the great vision that the Lord's believers are pursuing together has not yet been realized."
"They will remain in the Eucharist until the Kingdom of Heaven returns to Earth."
...
"Tonight's dinner is mashed potatoes again."
Leonard stared at the large bowl of muddy solids in his hand, his appetite waning further, and he sighed.
Although he lived in a church-run welfare home when he was a child, he didn't have to eat potatoes every day. The nuns in the home cultivated a large plot of land in the garden to grow vegetables. There were always a few days a week when the welfare home's meals would be served with various green vegetables to improve the diet. On Winter Sacrifice, there was even meat.
"Old man, I suddenly feel like the world has regressed. The newspapers are all about development, but life hasn't improved."
"so what?"
The familiar, aged voice echoed in his mind, startling Leonard for a moment.
He was just saying it casually and never expected the old man to respond to his complaints.
"Hmm, what's your opinion? Was it like this during the Quaternary period too?"
Ever since learning that his "cohabitant" was probably an angel who had lived for nearly two thousand years, Leonard's courage did not diminish. On the contrary, he gradually became more arrogant in his casual conversations, and would often try to inquire about the past of the Solomon Empire, which had been listed as a decadent part of the church's history.
"There's nothing new under the sun," the old voice murmured, sounding rather unenthusiastic.
"That's true. Back then, you didn't even have steam engines. It was still an agricultural society, so it can't be called developed."
Leonard picked up the bowl, frowned, hesitated for a moment, and then scooped up a large spoonful of hard mashed potatoes and stuffed it into his mouth.
The army of Trensault crossed the Petrus Mountains, and Moorfarah, which had fallen just two weeks earlier, had become the rear for Trensault's vanguard.
For the allied forces in the North, especially for members of the original Church's Extraordinary Squad like Leonard who were transferred to the South for support, the most direct impact of this change was a precipitous drop in their quality of life.
Not only have the daily bombings and attacks increased, but transportation to the rear has also become difficult. Apart from a few transport routes passing through the angel and demigod defense zones, other transport teams are always inexplicably interfered with. Some are the elite troops of Trensost, some are the resistance forces under the name of the "Rose School", and some are simply refugees.
"Hey, can't you call that development?"
Leonard knew that familiar sarcasm was about to strike again, and his "cohabitant" was about to laugh at his ignorance.
"When do you think the prototype of the mechanical puppet you saw today appeared?"
Mechanical golems? The giant steel spiders used by the Church of the God of Steam and Machines and the people of Ternsost?
"You couldn't have had it when you were young, could you?"
Leonard's mouth was stuffed full, and he could only swallow the mashed potatoes by drinking water.
"That's about right, around the time my first granddaughter was born." Pales paused for a moment before saying, "The current God of Steam and Machinery was called Stiano back then. That was His surname and the original name of the 'Ascetic Order of Morse.' His ancestor was an angel who had the honor of meeting the Creator of the Third Age, a figure comparable to my elders."
"At the behest of the Stiano family, like-minded 'craftsmen' and 'mystery seekers' formed a group and society. The original 'Morse Ascetic' was a purely academic discussion organization."
"But then something happened, maybe because of that lawsuit, or maybe something else. The God of Steam and Machinery... the now most famous Stiano left His Academy and His family, becoming a loner, a free man who deliberately mingled on the fringes."
"He did not participate in any politics, nor did he favor any emperor or deity. Instead, he went into seclusion and devoted himself to the advancement of the hierarchy and the research and development of technology."
"When He reappeared in the public eye, He brought with Him puppets that could act without extraordinary characteristics. As a neutral merchant, He accepted the commission of the Second Solomon Empire and completely changed the original war dominated by swords."
Lost in memories, Pales's tone became increasingly wistful.
"No one expected that He would become the biggest winner of that turbulent era."
"The empire crumbled, Trensost made a fatal mistake, Tudor's desperate gamble resulted in utter devastation, even the most mad Grim Reaper couldn't escape defeat, and even that..."
Leonard was completely confused. He struggled for a long time but couldn't figure out who it was referring to, so he had to change the subject.
"Old man, you say mechanical puppets have existed for a long time, so why did the Church of the God of Steam and Machinery only gradually develop after Emperor Roselle invented the steam engine?"
"Before the Industrial Revolution, I hadn't heard of any inventions becoming widespread..."
Pales simply sneered at this.
"He simply seized the opportunity and was blessed with good fortune. Unlike the other gods you know, he did not ascend to godhood entirely through his own strength, and he was not in good condition either."
"He was able to become a true god through the support of the 'Eternal Sun'."
As he spoke, Pales suddenly fell silent, seemingly considering whether to share the rest of the content with Leonard.
After all, those secrets were still too dangerous for a young "Soul Soother" who couldn't see much of a future.
...
"Russell is an opportunity."
"Everyone thinks that His life was magnificent and that His luxurious and decadent success was something to aspire to, but who cares that it was just a pipe dream that He traded His freedom of destiny for?"
The blond, blue-eyed young man put down his teacup, looked at the displeased lady across the tea table, and the corners of his mouth curved upwards even more noticeably.
"You don't need to look at me like that."
"You should know better than I do what kind of situation Russell was facing back then."
"He maneuvered among several parties, treating every investor with an attitude of exploitation. Even if someone offered their sincere heart, he did not cherish it. It is not surprising that he was defeated and killed in the end with such an attitude."
That's just your imagination.
The owner of the "Dawn," the "mysterious queen" of the five seas, former princess Bernadette of the Intis Empire, did not back down and pondered.
As one of the most powerful pirates on the high seas, she was naturally concerned about the fate of the Rothschild Islands.
However, when the outcome of the naval battle was just announced, Bernadette was only slightly flustered upon hearing the news of Trenshorst's victory and its further expansion of influence at sea, and was still undecided about whether to make contact.
But as more rumors circulated, when her "adopted daughter," whom she was unwilling to acknowledge, suddenly asked to meet her indirectly, she could no longer sit still and took the initiative to go to Rothschild, which led to today's meeting.
Tristan enjoyed talking with Bernadette, which reminded him of his carefree teenage years, a time without much scheming and where he only had to take care of the "little girl's" feelings.
For him, this was no different from a vacation.
"Well, maybe it's just my imagination. Please understand," Tristan said with a smile. "I'm not as good as Friedrich. Although we are about the same age, I don't have His good fortune. I'm not an angel, and my rank is the same as yours. I'm just an ordinary demigod."
"Time will wear down my spirit and body. You know, once people get old, they start to overthink things. Not to mention, I didn't personally experience the time when your father was making waves in the world. All my judgments are based on records and other people's accounts, which are certainly not as accurate as those of someone like you who experienced it firsthand."
"No...Your Highness, may I ask you a question?"
Bernadette gave Tristan a wary look, her chestnut eyebrows almost knitting together.
"What?"
"A minor issue, not a very important one," Tristan said with a playful smile. "It's just that Friedrich told me that your father didn't seem to involve you in anything, whether it was plotting to become emperor or anything else…"
Is this true?
Of course it's true. The truth, like a sharp knife, pierced through Bernadette's precarious pretense caused by her unstable emotions. The princess, stripped of her title, slowly clenched her hands, and the frost that had settled between her brows was terrifying.
Unfortunately, Tristan completely disregarded the princess's feelings and was even less concerned about the "little girl's" temper.
He abandoned the polite smile that even he found disgusting, crossed his arms, leaned back in his chair, and crossed his left leg over his right, looking like an impolite playboy.
"If you are truly sincere, bring Nast Solomon with you."
"Otherwise, no matter how much effort you put in now, the Empire will only see you as a pawn seeking political protection, not as a cooperative object trying to become one of us."
Unusually, Bernadette did not get angry this time in the face of Tristan's tough attitude; she showed no signs of anger at all, but instead breathed a sigh of relief.
Tristan's aggressiveness is also an attitude.
Her brow relaxed a little, and she took a horn from her waist and placed it on the table.
"You know how sincere I am, as for Nast..."
"I can write a letter to Nast, but I can't decide whether he will believe you."
Do you think he has the right to refuse us?
Tristan stroked his cheek, examining the horn on the table with interest.
He had clearly seen through the true nature of the horn and guessed what it might be related to, but he did not make a move. It was as if he was merely appreciating a work of art, critically evaluating the details of the patterns on the horn's surface.
"The Creator will accept the descendants of one emperor, but will not care about the second or the third."
He couldn't help but laugh.
"It's funny, really. If you and Nast are both still thinking straight, the empire will have the descendants of four emperors. What is that, some kind of hodgepodge?"
"Four?" Bernadette asked in surprise.
"Roselle, Solomon, Hades, Night King—except for the extinct Tuldor family, aren't they all here?"
Tristan recounted the details with great familiarity, almost unable to contain his heartfelt joy.
He was smiling, but his eyes were filled with a chilling coldness.
"Actually, this is a good thing, for you and for us."
"After all, Rosell's return is acceptable, as it can both quell Augustus's ambitions and put an end to our own domestic turmoil."
"I'm quite looking forward to seeing how His Majesty's expression will be when you join us."
Tristan twisted his wrist and, before Bernadette could react, snatched the horn into his hand.
"We are all descendants of the emperor. If I were you, I would give away things that I wouldn't normally need as a favor."
"You don't want to end up isolated and helpless right after changing allegiances, do you?"