30: Chapter 30 Heading to the Church! A Doctrine Discussion with Priestess Alia!

Several days later, Gino City, Dawn Cathedral.

Sunlight streamed through the towering stained glass, casting sacred spots of light onto the polished stone floor.

The air was filled with the scent of calming incense.

When Rowan stated his identity to the receiving monk and briefly explained that White Cliff Territory had been attacked by the Crimson Knights and that Lord Rowan had important intelligence to report to the Chief Priestess, the monk's expression immediately turned serious, and he hurried away.

Within a quarter of an hour, he returned and respectfully led Rowan to the secluded prayer room from last time.

"Priestess Aliyah is waiting, Sir. The Church takes the movements of the Crimson Knights very seriously." The monk said in a low voice, pushing open the heavy oak door for him.

Inside the prayer room, light and shadow were quiet.

Aria Windsor stood beneath the statue of the Goddess of Dawn, seemingly having just finished a brief silent prayer.

She was still dressed in her pristine pure white priestess robes, and her long silver-white hair flowed like moonlight in the beam of light entering from the side window.

She turned around, her ice-blue eyes looking at Rowan, the depths of her clear gaze carrying her habitual calmness, along with a trace of imperceptible scrutiny.

"Sir Rowan," she nodded slightly, her voice like clear springs striking stones, "I heard that your territory was attacked. May the Goddess soothe your wounds. Please sit and tell me the details."

Rowan bowed and sat down on the high-backed chair opposite her.

His face appropriately revealed a touch of exhaustion, lingering fear, and the heavy responsibility of a lord.

"Thank you for your concern, Priestess."

"Three days ago late at night, a detachment of the Crimson Knights, led by [Blood Thorn Knight] Ulysses, raided my castle."

Rowan's account was clear and concise, from the triggering of the warning magic circle to the fierce battle on the walls, and finally the duel with Ulysses.

He limited his performance to the scope of relying on the terrain, the desperate fighting of his guards, and a precious ice magic scroll left by his father to luckily kill Ulysses.

His tone carried relief, and a trace of lingering fear.

"Blood Thorn Knight Ulysses..." Aria repeated the name in a low voice, a sharp light flashing in her ice-blue eyes:

"He is an important leader of the Crimson Knights in the Will Province of the North, with cruel methods and strength approaching that of a Peak Knight."

"That you were able to repel him is already the protection of the Goddess, and it also proves the determination of White Cliff Territory to resist."

"It is the protection of the Goddess, and also a last resort." Rowan gave a bitter smile, took out the original remnant of the "Crimson Breathing Technique" from his chest, and presented it with both hands.

"This was discovered when cleaning up his camp. Such evil things, I dare not keep, so I am handing it over to the Church."

"Perhaps... it can be helpful in tracing the roots of the Crimson Knights."

Aria took the scroll without opening it immediately, her fingertips gently brushing over the rough leather surface, as if she could perceive the ominous aura remaining on it.

The look in her eyes toward Rowan added a hint of something resembling approval.

"You did the right thing, Baron. This scroll is very valuable. The Goddess will remember your contribution."

She placed the scroll on the altar, and the gaze of the relief of the Goddess of Dawn seemed to fall upon it.

Next, Aria asked about some details:

the scale of the attackers, the special methods used, the location of the camp, and whether there were other suspicious clues.

Rowan answered them one by one, describing objectively, only omitting everything about Viscount Gladstone.

When Aria asked if he noticed any special direction or mastermind behind the attack, he looked thoughtful, and finally shook his head:

"Ulysses did not say anything valuable. Perhaps, it is just that our territory is remote and our defenses are relatively weak, so we were treated as an easy target."

He said, his tone full of speculation and uncertainty.

Rowan had considered whether to throw out the information that Viscount Gladstone might be colluding with the Crimson Knights.

But lacking solid evidence, the Church would know that White Cliff Territory and Viscount Gladstone had a grudge once they investigated.

Perhaps it would make Aria think he was using the Church to avenge a private grudge, increasing ill will, which would be counterproductive.

Aria listened quietly, her ice-blue eyes watching Rowan, seemingly judging the completeness of his words.

A moment later, she nodded slightly, did not continue to press, but began to recite a passage from the "book of morning light" about "guardianship," "courage," and "keeping the inner light in the darkness" in that clear voice.

Her voice had a strange power, peaceful, distant, as if carrying a glimmer that washed away the human heart.

Rowan bowed his head to listen, appearing pious and taught.

At the same time, that invisible ripple of Charm had, like the finest drizzle of a spring day, quietly permeated the quiet prayer room.

This time, he did not try to forcefully attack that ice-lake-like wall of will, but focused the effect of the Charm skill on "atmosphere creation" and "subtle perception."

He let the air be filled with a relaxing Charm factor, and keenly captured every slightest emotional fluctuation of Aria.

When Aria finished reciting and looked at him, Rowan raised his head at the right time, his amber eyes carrying a just-right glow of contemplation triggered by the doctrine.

"Thank you for your guidance, Priestess."

"You just mentioned [true guardianship comes from inner order, not fear of external threats], which deeply touched me."

Rowan leaned forward slightly, his attitude sincere and focused:

"I re-read the "Acts of the Northern Saints" recently, in which Saint Alna insisted on opening the city gates to take in refugees when monsters besieged the city, and finally led the people to see the dawn in a desperate situation..."

"I have been thinking, in the current chaotic situation in the North, how should a lord grasp the boundary between defending the territory and opening up for shelter?"

"The choice of the Saint is based on her firm faith and absolute confidence in the Goddess, and as an ordinary lord, when lacking such divine favor, how should one weigh the risks and morality?"

This was a deep question that fit reality and indeed troubled many lords.

Rowan's question was not general, but cited specific saintly deeds and pointed out the core contradiction between the degree of faith and practical risks.

A slight fluctuation did indeed cross Aria's ice-blue eyes.

That was not the loosening of being charmed, but ripples of thought like a stone thrown into a calm lake.

She seemed a little faintly surprised that Rowan could ask such a question.

And... a touch of focus that belongs to scholars or clergy when encountering topics worth discussing.

"Saint Alna's choice is indeed the ultimate manifestation of faith."

Aria's voice was slightly softer than before, although still cold, but with less formulaic distance.

"But the Goddess does not require every believer to become a saint. The key still lies in the heart of [discernment]."

"Opening up for shelter is not blind acceptance, but requires the establishment of corresponding screening and management systems."

"Closing the doors is not indifference either; if the territory cannot protect itself, how can one talk about protecting others?"

"The real test lies in whether the lord has fulfilled the duty of [shepherding] and [discernment] within his ability, rather than using fear as an excuse to carry out complete isolation or negligence."

Her words were clear and well-organized, combining doctrine and reality, and gave a very practical direction for thinking.

Rowan listened carefully, raised deeper questions at the right time, or discussed the practical difficulties of White Cliff Territory receiving refugees recently.

Aria's answers were always rigorous, but it could be seen that she did not reject this kind of discussion that did not stay on the surface and truly touched the intersection of doctrine and reality.

In the prayer room, incense curled.

Light and shadow moved slowly between the two.

Between questions and answers, the atmosphere was no longer the initial pure reporting and listening, nor was it unilateral consolation and teaching, but had a bit more of a flavor similar to discussion or even exchange.

Rowan's words were always respectful, his posture remained humble, but the questions he raised could always cut to the key points, showing that he had indeed carefully studied the doctrine and had his own thoughts.

The Charm atmosphere that continued to radiate and moisten things silently made this exchange more smooth and natural.

Aria would occasionally tilt her head slightly, silver hair flowing over her shoulders, and her ice-blue eyes would appear exceptionally deep when thinking.

Once or twice, when Rowan quoted a relatively obscure doctrinal commentary and raised a clever counter-question,

Priestess Aliyah's long eyelashes trembled extremely slightly, and the corners of her lips seemed to have a tiny arc tending to soften, fleeting.

Rowan's succubus perception keenly captured these subtle changes.

He immediately found a new topic to cut into; the other party seemed somewhat interested in this.

Just like this, in the prayer room, the two talked for a long time.

Suddenly, outside the prayer room, the bell of the church rang leisurely, loud and steady, marking that the prayer or ceremony of a certain hour was about to begin.

The bell broke the atmosphere of the exchange that was getting better and better in the room.

Aria seemed to be slightly startled, raised her eyes, and looked at the position of the light entering from the colored window.

She immediately got up and said: "Time is up, I need to go to preside over the evening prayer."

She looked at Rowan, her ice-blue eyes returning to complete clarity and calm, but with some inexplicable meaning:

"Baron Rowan, may the Goddess bless your territory, and grant you wisdom and strength."

"Regarding the Crimson Knights, if there are new clues, you can come to the Church at any time to inform me."

"The confusion of the soul, the Goddess will also always listen."

"Thank you for your teachings and time, Priestess Aliyah. Your guidance has benefited me a lot."

Rowan also stood up and bowed solemnly.

Aria nodded slightly, turned first, her white robe brushing over the smooth stone, and walked towards the exit on the other side of the prayer room, her steps light and steady.

As she passed by him, a scent that seemed to be a mixture of cedar and very faint sandalwood lingered on the tip of Rowan's nose.

Rowan watched the elegant back disappear behind the door.

Deep in his amber eyes, a trace of dark red luster flashed and disappeared, finally returning to calm.

"It seems that for the next meeting, I can try to make a further invitation..." He pondered in his heart.

The clergy of the Church of Dawn do not forbid marriage, and the combination of priests or Temple Knights with outsiders is not uncommon.

In this Gino City, there are probably not a few young nobles who have admiration or thoughts of marriage with her.

Aria might have sensed his subtle, beyond-ordinary-believer affection.

But so what?

Under the imperceptible influence of the Charm skill, she did not develop disgust or vigilance because of this, but instead showed a hint of harmonious goodwill during the previous exchange.

That was enough!

The succubus is most sensitive to the perception of emotions.

Next time, perhaps by taking the opportunity to ask about a more complex doctrinal question, try to invite her to leave the church to continue the discussion.

A subtle arc hooked up at the corner of Rowan's mouth.

Hunting requires patience, and even more so, precise timing and impeccable excuses.

And now, the excuse is already there, the timing... is slowly brewing.

He took one last look at the sacred relief of the Goddess of Dawn on the altar, turned around, and left the prayer room where the incense lingered with steady steps.