Chapter 203: The Start of a Turning Point

Chapter 203: The Beginning of the Turning Point

Cullen had initially thought the negotiations would wrap up by evening, but to his surprise, the parties at the table showed no intention of cooling down, continuing their fierce arguments unabated.

Then, a dining cart was wheeled in, and waiters served light meals directly to the negotiation tables, allowing the delegates to resume their shouting matches with food in their mouths.

What began as flying spit soon escalated into a collision of masticated food debris.

Forks and spoons held in hand were wielded like swords and daggers, waved incessantly at the opposing side across the wide divide.

Their flushed faces, combined with the aggressive chewing motions, made it look as though they were swallowing each other's flesh and blood alive.

However, this spelled misery for Cullen and his companions, for no one had brought them any food. They had only eaten breakfast that day, and no matter how filling that morning meal had been, it could not sustain them until nightfall.

On an empty stomach, even the liveliest argument lost its entertainment value, and Cullen could distinctly feel the growing agitation of the two women beside him.

Yet there was nothing to be done; upon arriving, they had found this entire floor sealed off. It was impossible to order food up, let alone leave the floor now to forage for something to eat.

Duty, rules, and the mission itself—too many constraints bound them, leaving only enough leeway to slip away momentarily to the restroom.

Cullen did notice an anomaly, though: many people around him were heading to the restroom with increasing frequency.

Seated below were not just Cullen, Fanni, and Peigo, but also the auxiliary negotiation staff from both churches—those recording, advising, and providing documents.

After the passenger ship was bombed, Delius had rescued his retinue of about a dozen people and brought them ashore, but a delegation from the Pamires Church had already entered York City long before, and they were now integrated as part of the delegation.

The anomaly within the anomaly was that those visiting the restroom most frequently were almost exclusively the priests of the Order of Light sitting below.

Cullen stood up, gesturing to Fanni and Peigo beside him that he was heading to the restroom.

The restroom was located around the corner to the right of the conference hall. When Cullen stepped inside, he found someone distributing bread and bagged milk at the doorway. Quite a few individuals stood there devouring the food, clearly in a rush to return.

Absenting oneself for too long would leave a bad impression; if an elite negotiator from their own side suddenly needed information while he was away, it would be an unpardonable lapse.

However, judging by the situation, the people distributing the bread and bagged milk seemed to know one another.

But Cullen did not know them. He was only here on assignment, and his social circle did not extend this far; in truth, they belonged to entirely different departments.

The rations were likely fixed, presumably reserved only for acquaintances.

Even so, Cullen prepared to step forward and ask for some.

After all, what did belonging to a different department or system matter?

Were they not all faithful believers of the God of Order? All believers under heaven belonged to one family!

Starving oneself for the sake of pride and reserve was a fool's bargain. Besides, Cullen had to consider securing a bite for the two ladies whose stomachs were already beginning to growl.

Yet, before Cullen could speak, a hand reached out from the side, offering a large piece of bread and a bag of milk.

Cullen caught it, turning to look at the provider. It was none other than Leon, the grandson of the Chief Bishop of the York City Diocese.

It was him?

For a fleeting moment, Cullen felt a touch of awkwardness, but it vanished instantly. The next second, he took a large bite of the bread, then tore a small opening in the milk bag with his teeth, taking a deep gulp to help wash it down.

"Oh, I don't think I know you," Leon said with a smile, looking at Cullen. "Which department are you from?"

"The Whip of Order."

"Ah, personal security detail for the Whip of Order?"

Evidently, Leon was well-acquainted with the operational protocols of the Whip of Order.

At a time like this, only the personal security detail could appear openly, while the rest of the personnel remained concealed in the shadows for protection.

"Yes, that's right."

"Leon, I heard the squad responsible for security this time is actually Neo's squad," a young priest beside them remarked while washing his hands. From his demeanor toward Leon, one could infer that though his official rank might not be high, his status was certainly significant.

Other priests, upon receiving their milk and bread from Leon, merely thanked him immediately without initiating conversation, standing to the side to swallow their food quickly—partly due to the urgency of time, and partly because everyone understood the social divide between them.

"Laure, what about Neo's squad?" Leon countered.

"Heh, isn't the rumor flying outside? That Miss Ophelia boarded the return ship with a swollen belly."

With that, Laure pulled a paper towel from the dispenser to dry his hands, turning his gaze toward the eating Cullen. "This one is quite easy on the eyes. Heh, is it you?"

Only the personal security detail could come into close contact with the protected target, and since a squad consisted of only so many members, the configuration of the personal security detail rarely changed.

Most importantly, Cullen was exceptionally handsome—a fact even a man would acknowledge.

Just as men fancied beautiful women, women would naturally favor handsome men; moreover, love at first sight under fleeting circumstances was almost always predicated on a fine countenance.

Hearing this, Leon shifted his posture to look intently at Cullen.

Cullen swallowed the bread in his mouth and smiled faintly. "I don't know how the rumors started spreading either."

"Heh, didn't your own squad spread it? Otherwise, who else could have known?" Laure sneered.

Laure was not wrong. Even Cullen suspected the Captain and the others had intentionally circulated the rumor to build a reputation for their squad, ensuring they could continue to monopolize such lucrative and low-effort security assignments.

For the high-ranking officials, seeing a foreign delegation accommodated safely and comfortably was exactly what they desired; if a romance blossomed along the way, it would certainly be the ultimate comfort.

"I say, Leon, are you going to challenge him to a duel? Hahaha," Laure teased.

Everyone in their circle knew that Leon, as the grandson of the Chief Bishop of York City, was originally poised to represent the Church of Order in a political marriage with the Dark Moon Island; that was the direction the wind had been blowing.

The reason the rumor carried such immense weight and prompted so many to spread it was largely because after Ophelia's return to the Dark Moon Island, the island authorities had treated the marriage alliance with distinct coolness. This turn of events served as the perfect validation of the rumor's truth.

Perhaps even the Captain and the others who fabricated the rumor had not anticipated things turning out this way... *I was merely generating some gossip to ride the coattails of fame, so why are you cooperating so thoroughly on your end?*

Thus, to a certain extent, a natural conflict did exist between Cullen and Leon.

Though Cullen knew the truth was otherwise, the matter of being cuckolded never cared for facts; when outsiders believed a colored hat sat upon your head, whether it truly did no longer mattered.

Laure wore the expression of a spectator enjoying a show, deliberately stoking the flames. Cullen figured he was either very close to Leon or possessed a deep-seated grievance against him.

At that moment, Leon placed a hand on Cullen's shoulder and asked, "So, was it you?"

Cullen sighed inwardly and answered once more, "That is not the truth."

Leon replied, "Whether it is the truth or not no longer matters."

Cullen took another bite of bread, remaining silent.

"In any case, I must thank you."

"Hmm?"

Leon threw his arm directly around Cullen's shoulder. "Thank you for solving a great trouble for me."

"Haha," Laure chimed in with a laugh, his tone shifting completely. "You have no idea how frantic he was when he found out he was to be wedded off. Even when the Dark Moon Island seemed less than enthusiastic about the alliance, his grandfather was planning to send him on a personal visit there, if not for these rumors spreading so wildly."

Leon said as a matter of course, "Nonsense, who would willingly accept such an arranged marriage?"

"This really is just a rumor," Cullen repeated.

Yet, he could not entirely absolve himself of involvement; to a degree, it was precisely the existence of his identity as a "clansman" that had affected the Dark Moon Island's expectations for the alliance.

"Alright, true or false, I don't care. Compared to a few petty rumors, I value my own marital happiness far more. The married life of my dreams does not involve lying in the same bed with a wife who represents entirely different interests. And then, when she becomes pregnant, having to calculate which surname would maximize our political gains."

Laure smiled. "Leon wishes to pursue his own happiness, just like in a romance novel."

"By the way, what is your name?" Leon asked.

"Kallen, Kallen Silva."

"Alright, Kallen, let's hang out sometime when we get the chance."

"Okay." Kallen nodded, finishing the last bit of bread in his hand before asking Leon, "Um, is there any more bread?"

"Oh, of course, there's still some left. Are you not full yet?"

"I have two companions sitting inside."

"Haha, it seems you guys lack experience."

Leon pulled a few more loaves of bread and several bags of milk from the box beside him and handed them to Kallen, who tucked them inside his clothes.

"I'll head back to the conference room first. Thank you for the bread and milk."

"Don't mention it."

Kallen returned to the conference room, sat down, and covertly handed the bread and milk to the two women beside him. Both women froze for a moment, then promptly stowed the milk and bread in their clothes, excusing themselves to the restroom as a guise.

Up front, the negotiations droned on. A few individuals had already lost their voices, yet their hoarse roars seemed to carry a greater sense of power.

Kallen’s attention was no longer fixed on the stage. He noticed that Leon and Laure had not yet returned. Evidently, though such young masters had been assigned to the delegation, they possessed far greater autonomy, unlike the others who feared that a prolonged absence would leave a poor impression.

So, Leon had really stayed by the restroom door as a volunteer just to hand out bread and milk?

Fortunately, the worst-case scenario had not come to pass. Kallen did not think Leon's earlier behavior toward him was a guise, for with his status, if he wished to retaliate against a peripheral member of the Whip of Order, there was no need to make it so convoluted.

It appeared this young master genuinely despised this political marriage.

Had the Captain known about this all along?

Kallen felt it was highly probable, as the Captain often managed to obtain information that a mere squad captain of the Whip of Order should have no access to.

Fannie and Peg returned. Having eaten, the two women were in much better spirits, and upon sitting down, smiles graced their faces.

Yet the torment continued. The meeting dragged on until one o'clock in the morning.

When the session finally adjourned, the negotiators from both sides had to be supported by their respective staff as they walked down, and two had even fainted away.

Kallen’s team escorted Delius into the elevator. When the doors slid open at their floor, they found two dining carts parked outside.

"Did you arrange this?" Kallen asked Richard, the "elevator girl."

"Yes, seeing that you hadn't come up for so long, I prepared them in advance and left them here, though they must be cold by now."

"It's fine, you did well," Fannie said.

"Indeed," Peg agreed, licking her lips.

The elevator doors closed;

Peg and Fannie wheeled one dining cart back to their room, while Kallen pushed the other, following Delius into his quarters.

"Sir, please enjoy your meal."

"Eat with me, I cannot finish all this alone."

Again?

Kallen looked at the dining cart before him. Could it be drugged today as well?

But since the request had been made, bound by duty, Kallen could not refuse. He could only transfer the food to the coffee table, sitting opposite Delius to begin the meal.

Though Delius had access to light refreshments midway through, his energy expenditure was far greater, and he was ravenous by now. As for Kallen, pure hunger made him indifferent to whether it was drugged or not; it was harmless regardless.

Neither spoke, entirely focused on eating.

At last, Kallen was full.

Delius continued eating alone for a brief moment before setting down his fork.

"Today has been truly hard on you," Delius said.

"It is you who has had the hard time, sir; we are quite fine," Kallen replied with a smile. "Let me clear this up for you so you can rest early."

Tomorrow at eight o'clock, the meeting would resume.

Delius shook his head and remarked, "Tomorrow will not be this agonizing."

Kallen continued clearing the dishes without pause, offering no question of "why."

Delius said nothing more either, walking straight into the washroom to take a shower. After tidying up, Kallen returned to his own room.

Peg and Fannie had long since finished eating. Peg had stripped naked once again, lying on the bed asleep.

Sitting on the sofa, Fannie spoke up, "Hurry and get some rest. Peg will take over the watch from me in a while, and we'll shower together before heading out tomorrow morning."

"Oh, alright. By the way, remind Peg later to ask for extra portions when she orders breakfast so we can pack them with us."

"Of course, the two of us will wear trench coats tomorrow; damn it, those fellows are truly negotiating with their very lifeforce!"

Kallen lay down on the bed and closed his eyes to sleep.

In the morning, Kallen was awoken. Sitting up from the bed, he found he had slept for barely over four hours. Lacking sufficient rest, he would have to doze off in the conference hall.

Both women wore trench coats—Peg's was red, Fannie's black. Their clothes bulged, stuffed with all sorts of food, making them appear exceptionally full-figured.

"Should I bring some food too?" Kallen asked, pointing to himself.

Peg shook her head. "No need, what the two of us brought is more than enough for three people for over three meals."

Just like the day before, when the time came, Kallen’s team escorted Delius downstairs into the conference hall. Once all personnel were in position, the meeting commenced.

Yet the atmosphere of today's meeting was entirely different from yesterday's. First, a negotiating representative from the Church of Order stood up, holding a gold-trimmed letter, and read aloud:

"At six o'clock this morning, Vienna time, Elder Xiti led the Seventh Knights of Order to descend upon the periphery of the 'Messenger Space,' establishing a teleportation array."

Instantly, a deathly silence befell the entire room.

This piece of news implied that the Church of Order had already pressed its blade against the chest of the Pamires Religion—no, precisely speaking, the tip of the blade had already pierced the flesh, halting near the heart.

As for the secular missions, strongholds, properties, and workshops of the Pamires Religion, they had long been under the watchful eye of Order's forces, lacking nothing but a divine decree to be acted upon.

Meanwhile, Kallen thought to himself: Elder Xiti? Why does that name sound so familiar?

Soon, Kallen remembered. Pu'er once had a grievance with this Elder Xiti, and furthermore, this elder had once been hung on a cross by Diss.

At this moment, a representative from the Pamires Religion stood up and shouted, "How is that possible? How could you possibly find the Messenger Space?"

Another representative also stood up and yelled, "Yes, that's impossible! The periphery of the Messenger Space is guarded by spatial countercurrents. Even an elder of the Temple of Order, even the Knights of the Church of Order, cannot ignore those terrifying torrents!"

The Chief Bishop of the York City Archdiocese—Leon's grandfather, Wolfulen Dirgar—smiled faintly and said:

"Our Church of Order disdains the use of deception in negotiations. Your connection with your church has not been severed; I trust you will receive confirmation soon enough.

The stance of Order is that

the progress of this negotiation is simply too slow. Therefore, we deemed it necessary to gently push it forward to accelerate the process.

Now,

we have demonstrated our attitude. It is time for you to give yours, the attitude that is expected."

Delius spoke up and asked:

"Is this the attitude of the Church of Order, to take action before the negotiations have even concluded?"

Woffulen lifted his teacup, took a gentle sip, and replaced the lid with a slow, deliberate grace.

"Son of God, allow me to remind you that Order has not yet struck. At this stage, we are merely preparing to do so.

As for our attitude,

speaking from a position of strength, I see nothing wrong with it."

The conference hall fell once more into a profound silence.

Karen could clearly see that the Pamires negotiators seated above had lost their sharp edge, while their delegation below sat slumped in utter dejection.

In stark contrast, the Order negotiators above exuded a calm composure, and the Order priests below wore reserved smiles, many idly twirling their fountain pens.

Karen recalled the words Delius had spoken to him the previous night: "Tomorrow will not be such an ordeal."

Indeed,

when even your own Son of God belongs to Order, how difficult could it be to bypass the spatial countercurrents and secure the exact coordinates of the Messenger Space?

Peggy whispered softly, "It seems I brought my food for nothing today."

Karen, however, noticed that the priests of the Church of Order had apparently brought no food at all, which meant they had caught wind of this far earlier; otherwise, after yesterday’s experience, any rational person would have packed extra rations.

Just then, a Pamires official clad in a blue divine robe entered the hall holding a letter and handed it to Delius. During negotiations, personnel were forbidden from leaving, but communication was permitted, as any outcome here ultimately required the blessing of the true high leadership to take effect.

Delius unsealed the letter, which was enveloped in a faint sphere of light—a minuscule barrier formation. It existed not for absolute secrecy, but because its fragile nature would cause it to crack the moment anyone attempted to pry into its contents, serving as a subtle warning to respect boundaries.

Upon reading the letter, Delius’s expression remained entirely unchanged. He folded it away without passing it to those beside him.

Chief Bishop Woffulen spoke up: "Now that the news is confirmed, we may begin today’s talks. I trust today's agenda will yield many fruitful results."

Yet Delius raised a hand and said, "No need to rush. Let us wait a moment longer."

Chief Bishop Woffulen’s gaze instinctively darted toward Bishop Berne, who sat at the very edge of the negotiating table.

Before long, a priest in a black divine robe walked in bearing a new missive and presented it upward.

Woffulen opened the letter, read it, and passed it along for his colleagues to read.

"Something seems to have gone awry," Vanni murmured. "Did something happen to Elder Sitti?"

"Given that woman’s temperament, trouble seems entirely natural," Karen replied.

Vanni looked at Karen with a touch of bewilderment. "How do you know Elder Sitti is a woman? None of us possess any information regarding the Temple Elders."

"I deduced it from the name."

"Then how do you know her temperament?"

"You were the one who first suspected she met with misfortune. I merely reverse-engineered her personality flaws from your conclusion."

Peggy remarked, "Comrades, it feels as though my food might not go to waste after all today."

The uncanny atmosphere hanging over the negotiating table caused the subordinates on both sides to begin whispering and murmuring among themselves.

At that moment, Delius spoke: "The news should have reached you by now. That Temple Elder and your Seventh Knights Order have both lost contact, have they not?"

Woffulen responded, "We still require a little time to verify the veracity of this information."

"I believe that is unnecessary, because the coordinates for the Messenger Space obtained by Elder Sitti were inherently false.

The place she and the Seventh Knights Order entered is a cage space forged by my church, an incredibly unstable realm; put it this way, if a few bricks were to be deliberately displaced, that entire space would shatter into pieces."

As these words left his lips, the expressions of the priests seated below shifted drastically.

A negotiator from the Order side stood up and demanded, "Are you threatening us?"

Delius smiled,

and said,

"Speaking from a position of strength, I possess no qualification to threaten the great Church of Order.

Furthermore, even if Order were to lose a Temple Elder and an entire Knights Order, it remains a colossus that my Pamires Church cannot hope to withstand. The annihilation of our faith still rests upon a single whim of Order.

Yet my church does not mind biting off a piece of Order’s flesh before our demise, ensuring the entire ecclesiastical circle catches the scent of blood from Order's wounds.

I have come to negotiate with sincerity, and I hope Order will extend an equivalent sincerity to me."

Woffulen stared at Delius,

and said,

"Are you aware that if these negotiations fail, you, the people beside you, and all these Pamires believers seated below will not leave this hotel alive?"

Delius rapped his knuckles gently against the tabletop, producing a few crisp thuds,

and said slowly,

"I only know that upon learning these negotiations were to begin, many believers of my church... had already begun preparing their own funerals."

—

There will be more tonight, asking for monthly votes!