The Holy Church Begins with Bestowal of Blessings

Chapter 350 : The Administrator

The sun rose, awakening the slumbering York City.Agamemnon washed away the traces of sleep, put on a silver cross, and changed into his simple black senator’s attire, adorned with golden threads for decoration.

The senators’ garments were mostly alike, all made from the rarest fabrics, with golden embroidery as their signature embellishment.

As for why gold threads were used—naturally, it was because after the two battles of the Golden Lions, too much gold had been left behind.

The only difference among them lay in the color of their robes.

Agamemnon, accustomed to wearing a black priest’s robe all year round, chose black when selecting his senator’s color.

Just as the Church of the Sanctuary held its Bishops’ Council on the fifteenth day after the New Year, the Senate would convene its Assembly on the eighteenth day, lasting for three days.

On that day, all senators were required to attend unless they had urgent affairs to handle. Absence without legitimate reason would result in the immediate revocation of their senatorial seat.

Today was precisely the eighteenth day—and it was Agamemnon’s first time presiding over the Senate meeting since joining.

Last year, when he turned sixteen, Agamemnon had finally left the Church, resigned from his priestly position, and returned to the Adams Family as a common man.

Three days after the death of Administrator Piero, he entered the Senate with the title of Administrator.

It was not Administrator Piero’s title of Government Officer but rather Administrator, written on the royal appointment letter sealed with the Lundex Family’s emblem.

And the authority written upon that letter was clear—he was to oversee all governmental affairs of the Kingdom of Lundex.

Agamemnon’s appointment came as no surprise. Long before, he had already intervened in Senate matters under the name of a church priest. Now, he simply changed his title and entered the Senate in the open.

Although many senators had long suspected this would happen, when the day truly came, their minds still surged with countless thoughts.

Some sighed in relief, believing that at last someone capable would bear responsibility, and they no longer needed to fear inadvertently angering the Church.

Some grew pensive, wondering what the Church’s intentions were behind this maneuver.

Some felt regret, thinking that their opportunities for easy profit would diminish.

“So, once the news of an impending war reaches them, what will these men—who’ve fully digested the monastery’s historical studies and recruited countless apprentices as advisors—end up doing?” Agamemnon sighed deeply.

Two days ago, he had already received Phil’s report from the Bishops’ Council.

Although Phil had given him the entire record, there were only two matters he needed to handle and consider executing.

One, naturally, was the war against the Woodlands; the other was the possible invasion by sea creatures and the Altlinsmann Empire.

As for the rest—church appointments, the expansion of the Diocese of Rod’s warrior ranks, and the matter of the Resurrected Deity that Bishop Marl was monitoring—they were internal affairs of the Church, requiring no intervention from the current Agamemnon.

No—regarding that Resurrected Deity, Agamemnon still had to keep an eye on it. It was connected to the war with the Woodlands and posed a potential threat to Greenwood.

Since Agamemnon’s departure, the Church of the Sanctuary and the Kingdom of Lundex had grown increasingly separate in politics.

The Clock Tower now barred all non-church personnel from entry. In the Church’s district, only the Great Cathedral and the Monastery were open to the public; the Hall of Heroes opened only during special occasions.

In less than half a year, Agamemnon had begun to feel an unfamiliar estrangement from the Church.

“Or perhaps I’ve slipped into the role of Administrator a bit too quickly,” he murmured, rubbing his temple.

Without further thought, Agamemnon stepped out of his mansion.

This residence, one of twenty-four scattered throughout York City, was built specifically for senators.

Every senator was granted one such mansion within the city; the rest were either vacant or temporarily rented to visiting nobles willing to pay a hefty price in gold.

As for merchants—no matter how wealthy—they were not allowed to rent them. It was, after all, a symbol of status.

In the courtyard, his coachman, guards, and attendants were already waiting.

This was in accordance with a regulation passed by the Senate at the end of the first year of the New Testament Era:

When a senator traveled, they had to ride in a designated carriage, accompanied by one coachman of Tier Three rank, two Tier Four guards, six Tier Three guards in full armor, and two attendants trained in etiquette at an excellent level.

Naturally, each senator had their own interests in establishing this rule.

For instance, Baron Hastin Martin, who managed the York Territory Guards; Baron Puniel Rich, head of the Warrior Guild; and Viscount Jeffrey Sacker, who oversaw all academies across the Kingdom of Lundex.

They did not care for gold, but the rule’s influence meant that nobles elsewhere would imitate them—thus extending their influence throughout the kingdom.

Agamemnon knew well that the driving force behind this ordinance was Jeffrey.

Since the academies he managed spanned the entire kingdom, and their subjects were created according to societal needs—as the three of them had once discussed in their small alliance—Jeffrey’s participation in drafting the rule had naturally created a new “need.”

A need for etiquette training courses. Soon, every academy introduced such classes.

Ironically, the very curriculum used in these courses was based on the Code of Noble Conduct—originally concocted by the monastery’s first batch of students to tease those three young nobles.

Jeffrey had merely modified it slightly and turned it into a formal subject.

Even Agamemnon had to admit that the ordinance was not without merit.

If nothing else, it was a direct showcase of the Kingdom of Lundex’s strength.

Eight senators meant sixteen Tier Four knights—power a weak viscounty could never muster, yet used merely as escort display.

Politically, this further strengthened the York Territory’s dominance across Greenwood and the entire kingdom.

Furthermore, as Dean Oscar had once boasted that York Territory was “the center of the world,” this standard, set there, influenced other nobles, fueling their desire to imitate and attach themselves.

Nobles cared not for coin, but in trying to emulate these standards, they had—unknowingly—created more professions and livelihoods.

Agamemnon was aware that though countless had died during the unification, the kingdom’s economy had since flourished, and its military strength, save for Holy Relics, rivaled the combined might of the former three principalities.

Yet beneath this prosperity lay a widening chasm between nobles and commoners.

Not one of basic survival, but of living conditions.

The nobles and gentry now raised glass goblets and wore velvet attire in their manors, while the peasants still donned rough hemp clothes, living in stone huts cobbled together from scraps, laughing foolishly over a harvest’s sheaves.

During his travels through Greenwood and the Northland after the New Testament Era began, Agamemnon had deeply felt this disparity.

It was then that he understood what those lower priests were truly preserving.

It was precisely because of their presence that the commoners were not completely drained dry by the nobles and gentry, who had mastered the political techniques compiled in the monastery’s history courses.

Though the Church worked tirelessly to spread literacy and knowledge, barely a generation had passed—farmers could barely till the land properly, and that alone filled them with joy.

They might yearn for learning, but they lacked the means the gentry and nobles had.

Thus, he understood why Bishop Marl had once insisted on granting a mercenary noble status during the Eastern Crusade.

It was because with a man who had risen from a mercenary to a noble, those striving to break through the new social barriers set by the nobles and gentry had hope—a different path.

Yet now, even the existence of mercenaries had begun to draw discontent within the Senate.

Agamemnon neither knew nor cared who voiced such complaints.

He understood it was merely the nobles’ instinct to seize more power. Each senator was likely entangled with them in some form.

By eliminating mercenaries who connected regions and monopolizing merchants’ trade routes, nobles could again bind their territories under tight control—returning their power to its peak.

Even so, it would never again reach the heights of the old age.

After all, this was the New Testament Era, not the past.

And Agamemnon would never allow their ambitions to succeed.

This was the future guided by the Lord, the future pursued by the priests to whom Agamemnon himself had granted robes, the future fought for by bishops like Marl who sacrificed their lives, and the future dreamed of by the more than ten scholars who had worked themselves to death in the monastery.

As the attendant opened the carriage door, Agamemnon was about to step in when two cries echoed through the air—sharp as eagles, yet carrying the tones of dragons and lions.

The guards immediately raised swords and shields, alert.

The two Tier Four knights even drew crossbows—the latest magic crossbows developed by the monastery, capable of amplifying their power through mana.

“No need to panic. Those are the… well, let’s call them pets—offered to His Majesty by Marquis Richard,” Agamemnon reassured them.

Having read Phil’s report, he naturally knew what the creatures were.

Even with his reassurance, the guards remained tense.

According to Councilor Hastin’s Guard Code, they were sworn to protect senators at all costs. Failure to do so required them to avenge the senator’s death, report the matter to the Senate, and then take their own lives in penance.

Agamemnon raised his gaze to the sky, and the guards followed his eyes—there they saw, soaring above York City, a Dragon-Eagle and a Griffin.

“So beautiful, powerful… and free,” Agamemnon whispered in awe, his eyes glimmering.