Chapter 1090: Chapter 1029: "Saint Rania’s Life" Is a Forgery (Part 3)
"Honorable moderators, may I ask if you could let us cut in with a few words first?"
Still wasting time? Talking back now, is that it? Are you talking back?
Now the trapped beast is starting to lash out.
Grandiva could no longer suppress his smile; the debate tactic he’d set up earlier had worked.
By seizing the initiative to speak, he’d drawn everyone’s attention and completely pulled the tempo over to his side.
In military terms, Grandiva was building a fortress.
Gathering the strength of all the scholars in the Falan Kingdom, three months of combing a hundred generations of doctrine, praising and censuring, and building a theoretical fortress centered on Saint Rania’s Life—did they really think that would be so easy to breach?
See? The castle was only a third built, and the demon monk Horn was already unable to sit still.
And this was only the beginning; there were bigger things waiting for Horn later.
Feeling that victory was in hand, Grandiva put on a lofty, magnanimous air: "I agree. It wouldn’t do for us to be the only ones talking all the time. Whatever you want to say, please go ahead, haha."
Horn nodded, but did not leave his seat.
Instead, Rang Buluo walked to the front of the platform. He seemed to zone out or fall into a trance for a moment; only when scattered boos rose from the crowd did he snap back to himself.
This naturally drew quite a bit of laughter and left Rang Buluo’s face burning red.
Grandiva became all the more certain that this old pedant from the borderlands didn’t have much up his sleeve.
"Lord Rovaluk, roughly how much of your theory is built on Saint Rania’s Life?"
"Saint Rania’s Life is itself the clearest and most sacred Chapter describing the Church’s organization. Are you saying I’m not allowed to quote it?" Rovaluk shot back, combative as a gamecock.
"Of course you can, of course you can." This fawning tone made quite a few Holy Sect Priests break out in a cold sweat.
The Thousand River Valley lies near the Dragon Sleep Mountain Range on the fringe of civilization; the Empire’s latest research can hardly make its way here.
As for the local Juanist Faction, it’s only well-known around the Thousand River Valley; among Blago’s three luminaries, people are much more familiar with Juanuo, the sage who gave his life for his faith.
"Who is this old man?" Lymington asked in a low voice.
"I heard he’s from the Juanist Faction, sent by Pope Gallar as a debater..." Mathis replied softly.
"Does he have any past theological papers or books we could look at?"
A few Holy Sect Priests huddled together whispering, then even left their seats to inquire around, only then bringing back news.
"None. They say he’s the Priest of Worship at Blago Monastery, in charge of Holy Artifacts and other finances."
"Ah? A man from secular administration?" Now it was Svenson’s turn to be surprised.
Everyone knew that in a Monastery, the team handling secular affairs and the team handling theology were two completely separate groups.
Even if Rang Buluo had made it to Priest of Worship and was surely a graduate of the Divinity School, he hadn’t touched theological texts in decades...
They all turned to Horn in unison, just waiting for his say-so so they could step in and refute this point on his behalf.
The North was a region where the Holy Sect was spreading extremely quickly; they knew the textual loopholes within the Holy Sect’s canon very clearly.
The sharpest sword to exploit those loopholes was precisely Saint Rania’s Life in the Post-Gospel.
Because Saint Rania’s Life recounts the deeds of the Saint Master’s youngest follower, the third Pope, Rania.
This Rania was the one who established the foundations of the Church’s current glut of rules, regulations, and its very structure.
One could even say: if the second Pope, Saint George, founded the faith of Miseria, then Saint Rania founded the Miseran Church.
Using his Life to refute "everyone is a Priest" was simply too handy.
So when the Holy Sect monks spent three months preparing for this debate, they centered their offensive and defensive strategy on Saint Rania’s Life.
And they had already managed to roughly assemble a siege tower to attack this fortress—namely, the explicit line in Saint Rania’s Life: "If an Elven slave is sold unto thee, let him serve five years, and in the sixth thou shalt set him free."
This just happened to target the Southern Church’s indulgence of nobles and the serf system.
As long as Pope Gallar approved, they could immediately come to the aid of the argument.
At this point even Priest Lymington didn’t dare call this a good thing. He urged Mathis, "Go and ask again, there’s still time. We can even have Svenson go up."
"Tell His Holiness that now is no time for a clash of tempers. We must unite against the outside, and stand together against the Divine Essence Sect."
Hunching over, Mathis hurried off, while Lymington couldn’t stop mopping at his sweat with his handkerchief.
He had thought Pope Gallar a reasonable man; though the Pope was something of a minor heretic within the Holy Sect, at a time like this he ought to put old grudges aside.
It had never occurred to him that the Pope would simply send a Rang Buluo into the fray.
He should have known—the Pope was too young and prone to acting on impulse.
He shouldn’t have criticized the doctrine of Divine Labor in his writings; now he’d thoroughly angered this Pope.
The Holy Alliance had always been weak when it came to theoretical construction.
The Thousand River Valley was on the edge of the Empire and had only flourished for a few years; if he himself took the floor, perhaps they wouldn’t lose quite so badly.
"Priest Lymington..."
Lymington looked at the returning Mathis, making no attempt to hide his surprise. "So fast—he already received the message?"
"No." Mathis pulled a bitter face. "The Falan Kingdom guards maintaining order here told me not to disturb the proceedings and hauled me back to my seat."
"Damn!" Lymington slammed the arm of his chair hard, drawing curious glances from those around.
Svenson closed his eyes and pondered for a long moment, then could only sigh. "The only thing left for us, I fear, is to pray..."
Watching the agitated Holy Sect Priests, Grandiva glanced over at Cambert.
The old bishop’s expression was still as calm as a still pond, as if he were dozing.
That put Grandiva at ease. Through Falan’s royal spies, he already knew that this group of Holy Sect members’ secret weapon was that passage about Elven slaves.
But too bad—no use.
Grandiva had long since made preparations; that big point he’d just made earlier was precisely a counter to this.
Elves are not the same as the El people; the El people are not the same as the faithful; and the faithful are not the same as "people"!
Then would come his final killing blow—if everyone is a Priest, and the Church as an intermediary of faith should not exist, shouldn’t your Holy Alliance disband itself?
Grandiva could already picture Horn’s face twisting with fury and shock, could almost hear the sound of him accidentally tearing his own robe.
All depended now on this Rang Buluo’s speech. Poor man—what could he possibly say?
Everyone unconsciously focused their gaze on the hall, on that round-faced figure.
Some gazes malicious, some anxious, some filled with pity.
"My friends, I’m afraid I must inform you all of some unfortunate news."
Under all those eyes, Rang Buluo remained unhurried, his voice ringing clearly through the hall.
He snapped his fingers, and a dozen monks behind him stepped forward with a chest of pamphlets and thumb-thick books, distributing them to those seated in the front rows.
What is he doing?
Rocrulo fixed his eyes on Rang Buluo’s movements, and at his ears rose cries of shock from the seating.
"Th-this can’t be real!"
"Heavens, Holy Father above."
"Lord Rang Buluo, where did you get these things?"
Grandiva leaned forward slightly, craning his neck to see, yet couldn’t bring himself to ask someone to bring him a copy.
Chief Justice Quivarin flipped through a pamphlet with a few quick glances, then for the first time interrupted the debate: "Pope Gallar, what is the meaning of this book?"
Horn smiled, pointed at Rang Buluo, and made a "please, just watch" gesture.
Under the gaze of the whole assembly, Rang Buluo’s face grew grave.
"Faithful gathered here, I am compelled to inform you of a terrible fact: Saint Rania’s Life is a forgery written by later generations."
"Riiip—"
Grandiva accidentally tore the hem of his robe.
