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The Lord sat in the gloom of the cell, feeling the weight of failure. His reconnaissance had confirmed that Khaptar was not just a monastery, but a meticulously guarded vault, and the key to it was not lying on the surface.
Green, his face thoughtful, nodded, confirming the Lord's silent conclusion.
"They know how to keep their secrets, my Lord," he whispered, his voice unusually quiet. "Everything we've seen only confirms the legends of its impregnability. The path to the relic is not obvious. We need information that lies beyond the physical walls."
This meant that mere physical infiltration and inspection were not enough. To find the Girdle of the Theotokos, they needed to understand the monastery itself, its inhabitants, their secrets. They needed a different kind of intelligence—either by gaining their trust or by delivering an unexpected blow that would disrupt their equilibrium and force them to reveal themselves. The task, which had seemed merely difficult, now acquired new, even deeper layers.
When the pilgrims awoke and began their morning prayers, Tuk was once again invited by the monks. This time, not for dinner, but for the morning meal—a simple breakfast in the common refectory, which was apparently intended for more distinguished guests or high-ranking clergy.
The Lord and Green watched from a distance, blending in with the crowd, but their gazes were fixed on the Archbishop. Father Tuk sat at a massive wooden table opposite the Abbot—an elderly, withered monk with deep-set but remarkably lively eyes that seemed to see right through a person. Several senior monks sat around them. The conversation initially touched on general topics—the hardships of the journey, the grace of the Cathedral of the North, the steadfastness of the pilgrims. Father Tuk, with his characteristic skill, spoke of the construction of the Cathedral, the faith of the northerners, and how "God guides them through difficulties."
Then, subtly, Tuk steered the conversation in the right direction. He leaned slightly closer to the Abbot, his voice becoming a little quieter, filled with reverence.
"Holy Father," the Archbishop began, looking directly into the Abbot's eyes. "Our journey to the East has been long and full of trials. But our faith was strong, for many of our pilgrims carried within them not only the desire to venerate the common shrines but also to hear confirmation of an ancient, yet so important, legend."
He paused, letting his words hang in the air. The senior monks exchanged glances, while the Abbot remained impassive, though a barely perceptible tension appeared in his eyes.
"In our northern lands, where faith grows like young shoots after a long winter," Tuk continued, masterfully using rhetoric close to the heart of any priest, "there are legends of a great holy relic kept here, in Khaptar. About the Girdle of the Most Holy Theotokos."
He pronounced these words with such reverence, with such seemingly genuine awe, that it could not fail to touch even the strictest monks. He did not demand or ask directly, but merely conveyed the "aspirations of simple believers," giving them weight and significance.
"The pilgrims of the North, my father," Tuk spread his hands, feigning sincere bewilderment. "They heard these stories from their grandfathers, in ancient songs. They believe that it is here, in your sacred monastery, that this greatest of relics is kept. They have traveled thousands of miles to draw near to it, even if they are not destined to see it. Their faith is so strong that it whispers to them of this treasure. This is not curiosity, Holy Father, it is a call of the soul."
The Lord and Green, observing this exchange, understood how delicate this move was. Tuk was not accusing them of concealment. He was not demanding they "show" it. He was merely "conveying" the naive but powerful faith of his people, creating moral pressure. He appealed to their pride as guardians of a great holy relic, to their duty to the faithful.
The monks at the table exchanged glances again. The Abbot's face remained impassive, but his gaze became even more intent. On the one hand, they were obliged to keep the monastery's secrets. On the other, to deny thousands of pilgrims their sincere, albeit perhaps mistaken, expectation would be difficult. The idea that their shrine was known and revered even in lands as distant as the North could flatter their monastic pride.
The hint had been made. Now it remained to be seen how the monks of Khaptar would react to this "call of the soul" from thousands of northern pilgrims.
The response of the Abbot of Khaptar Monastery to Father Tuk's subtle hint was exactly what one would expect from a guardian of age-old secrets: he neither confirmed nor denied the rumors about the Girdle of the Theotokos.
When Father Tuk finished his speech about the "call of the soul" of the northern pilgrims, a tense silence fell over the refectory. The senior monks at the table exchanged quick, barely perceptible glances. The Abbot, whose face remained completely impassive, merely slowly brought a cup of water to his lips and took a sip.
Finally, he set the cup down, his gaze still fixed and expressionless.
"Holy Archbishop from the North," he said, his voice even, without a trace of emotion. "This world is full of legends and tales. Many of them are beautiful, many carry a grain of truth, and many are merely the fruit of an imagination thirsting for a miracle. Our monastery is an abode of prayer and solitude, and we keep within our walls only that which the Lord has blessed."
He paused, his gaze sweeping over the faces of the senior monks as if warning them to remain silent. Then he turned to Tuk again:
"The faith of your pilgrims, which has brought them over such a long journey, is a miracle in itself. For true grace dwells not only in relics but in the hearts of those who sincerely seek God. We are but humble keepers of what has been given to us. And our duty is to protect it from worldly vanity and idle curiosity."
It was a classic response from a keeper of secrets: polite, evasive, and saying nothing of substance. The Abbot acknowledged the pilgrims' faith, praised their zeal, but completely ignored the mention of the Girdle of the Theotokos, reducing everything to "legends" and the "duty to protect." He did not deny it, which might have raised doubts about his sincerity or even drawn more attention to the relic itself. And he did not confirm it, so as not to reveal the monastery's secrets.
When Tuk returned to the Lord and Green, his face was thoughtful.
"They neither confirmed nor denied, my Lord," he said quietly, his voice full of new thoughts. "This means only one thing: the Girdle is here. And they do not want anyone to know about it. This complicates matters, but it also confirms we are right. Now we know we are looking for it in this very monastery."
Green, who had been listening intently, nodded.
"So, direct pressure didn't work. They hold their secrets tight. This means we need a different approach. What we couldn't find last night... it's either so well hidden, or access to it is granted only under special conditions."
The Lord of the North understood that the game had just begun. The Abbot's words were not an answer but the next move in a chess match where spiritual supremacy and the fate of his unseen Empire were at stake. Now they had to figure out how to force them to reveal their hand without resorting to open force.
The Abbot's refusal to answer directly did not break the spirit of the Lord of the North; on the contrary, it only strengthened his resolve. And so, on that very same day that Tuk had tried to gather information about the Girdle, the monks of Khaptar Monastery, as if in response to the "call of the soul" of the pilgrims (or perhaps to distract them), announced a tour for all who had arrived.
It was unexpected, but extremely advantageous. What the Lord and Green had failed to find under the cover of night could now be discovered under the guise of a permitted inspection.
Late in the morning, after a short service, a group of monks, led by a young but stern brother-guide, began to gather the pilgrims. Tuk, naturally, was among those invited, but he remained with the main body of believers, continuing to lead them and maintain the overall legend. The Lord and Green joined the tour group, trying to stay in the middle or at the back to have the freedom to observe.
The monks led the pilgrims through the parts of the monastery that were obviously intended for public access: the large central courtyard, several old chapels, an ancient library with tightly sealed cabinets, the refectory, and utility rooms. The guide monotonously recounted the history of the monastery, the lives of the saints, and the deeds of the monks.
The Lord listened to the monk-guide with half an ear, but his eyes continuously scanned the surroundings. He noted the placement of windows that could serve as entry or exit points, and ventilation shafts that might be part of a larger system. He looked for changes in the texture of the stone, suspicious seams, or doors that might be camouflaged.
Green, walking beside him, memorized every detail, comparing it with the mental map he had created during the night. He searched for inconsistencies, new passages that might be open during the day, or places that had been inaccessible at night but were now open for viewing. He paid attention to the positioning of the guards, their behavior, and where they prevented the pilgrims from looking.
They paid special attention to places where the monks seemed to try to keep the pilgrims away, or to which their gazes constantly returned. It happened that the guide would quickly pass by a certain part of the monastery, or an additional monk would stand there, blocking the view of a particular door or corridor with his body. These were potential "hot spots."
They also studied the monk-guides themselves. Their gestures, their gazes, their level of vigilance. Did they betray nervousness when passing certain places? Did they rush the group through certain areas too quickly?
The evening in Khaptar Monastery was as quiet and silent as the night. The pilgrims, weary from the long journey and the day's tour, quickly fell asleep in their ascetic cells. For the Lord, Green, and Archbishop Tuk, the most important part of the day had arrived—analysis.
They gathered in one of the rooms assigned to the pilgrims, where the dim light of a single lamp cast long shadows. On an improvised table lay the monastery schematics that Green had drawn on parchment—a combination of his nocturnal observations and daytime visual data.
"So," Green began, his voice quiet but perfectly clear, "my night reconnaissance revealed no obvious paths to underground levels or specially guarded vaults. Everything accessible is standard rooms, no secret compartments. And the day tour only confirmed this."
The Lord nodded, confirming Green's words.
"Everything they showed us was a facade. We were led through places that pose no threat to their secrets. But there were areas where they clearly didn't want us to look too closely."
"Correct," Green picked up, pointing to the areas he had marked on the schematic. "Here, behind the chapel, there's a door that the monk-guide passed by too quickly, constantly blocking it. And over here, next to the library, there's a corridor they wouldn't let us near. There was always an extra guard on duty there, and the monk-guide was clearly in a hurry when we passed it."
He circled several points.
"These areas, my Lord, are key in my opinion. They don't fit into the general logic of a monastery that is 'open' to pilgrims."
Now it was Father Tuk's turn. He listened intently, his eyes following Green's finger. His knowledge of church architecture and monastic customs was invaluable.
"Everything you are describing, my sons," the Archbishop said, his voice thoughtful, "is very similar to what I have heard about ancient monasteries built to house great relics. Such doors or corridors do not lead simply to storerooms. They lead either to particularly sacred places or to areas known only to a select few. If the Girdle of the Theotokos is here, it must be kept in a place maximally protected from the world, and from idle curiosity."
"The chapel," Tuk pointed to one of the areas marked by Green. "Often, crypts for storing holy relics were built under the altars of old chapels. And the library... knowledge is power. There might be scrolls or maps there indicating secret passages, unless the Abbot has hidden them, of course."
"The most valuable things are always kept closest to the heart, but furthest from the eyes," he added, his gaze penetrating. "They cannot completely hide the existence of such zones, but they can make them as inconspicuous as possible. And their nervousness, their attempts to divert attention—that is the key. We have found the places where their fear of losing the secret is concentrated."
The Lord nodded. His intelligence, enhanced by Father Tuk's intuition and knowledge, was narrowing the search. Now they knew where to look. The only question that remained was how to infiltrate these "forbidden zones" and retrieve the Girdle of the Theotokos from the heart of the impregnable Khaptar Monastery. This required a new, more daring plan.
Now that the search had been narrowed down to two main locations—the chapel and the library—it was time to divide the tasks.
"So, we have two potential places," said the Lord of the North, tracing his finger over the marked zones on the schematic Green had drawn. "The chapel, where, as Father Tuk says, crypts for relics are often located. And the library, where records or keys to secret passages might be kept."
Father Tuk, who had been listening intently to his analysis, nodded. His face was focused.
"Yes, my Lord. Exactly. And given my rank and reputation, as an Archbishop, I should not be denied a visit to the library. It is a holy place of knowledge, and for a clergyman of my rank to ask for access to books is quite natural and even commendable."
His eyes gleamed with calculation.
"I can cite a search for ancient manuscripts related to the history of the northern dioceses, or the need to study theological texts. The monks may be secretive, but to deny an Archbishop access to their library would be a challenge not only to me but to the entire Church of the North, which they have just acknowledged."
Thus, the task was divided: Father Tuk would take the library. Under the pretext of studying ancient texts, he would try to penetrate its secrets, looking for any clues that could lead to the relic. His diplomatic skills and authority as an Archbishop were perfect for this task.
This left the Lord and Green with another, no less important, target: the chapel.
"Green and I will handle the chapel," the Lord said. "If the Girdle is not in the library, then it is most likely in a sacred vault. Chapels often have basements or hidden crypts. We will have to find a way to get in there without attracting attention."
It was a dangerous step, but he was ready for it. The chapel, being a place of constant pilgrim traffic, could be both well-guarded and have "blind spots" due to the large number of people. He would have to use his skills of stealth and observation to find an entrance to this potential vault.
The plan was set. Now each of them had to act, relying on their unique abilities, to solve the mystery of Khaptar Monastery and obtain the Girdle of the Theotokos.
The second day of the Lord of the North's stay in Khaptar Monastery had begun. The morning air was cool and fresh, filled with the smell of freshly baked bread and incense. While the Lord and Green were contemplating their tactics for infiltrating the chapel, Archbishop Tuk once again took his place at the table in the refectory, opposite the Abbot.
The conversation at breakfast was as restrained as the day before. They discussed routine matters, the condition of the pilgrims, and blessings. The Abbot seemed pleased with how orderly the large group from the North was behaving, which created a favorable atmosphere.
Father Tuk, taking advantage of a moment when the conversation lulled and the Abbot seemed to be in good spirits, made the request they had carefully planned.
"Holy Father," Tuk began, his voice full of humility and deep respect for knowledge, "as the shepherd of a vast diocese in the North, I have always strived for the deepest understanding of the Word of God and the history of our Church. Our Cathedral in the 'Honey Mug,' though new, is where we gather ancient scriptures and manuscripts so that our brothers may have access to the great wisdom of our ancestors."
Father Tuk paused, his gaze direct and sincere.
"Your monastery, as is known, holds countless treasures, not only spiritual but also intellectual. They say your library contains the rarest works, not to be found anywhere else in the Empire. It would be the greatest honor and a blessing for me if you would allow me to spend a few hours within your walls, studying your sacred books. Perhaps I would find there answers to some theological questions that trouble my flock, or learn something that would help strengthen our common faith."
The Abbot's face remained impassive, but his eyes narrowed. He certainly understood that such a request from an influential Archbishop could not be mere idle curiosity. The library was not just a collection of books; it was the heart of the monastery, a repository of its secrets and knowledge. To refuse would be impolite and could even fuel rumors that the monastery was hiding something. To agree meant giving access to most valuable information.
The senior monks at the table exchanged worried glances. They knew how strict access to their archives was. The Abbot once again picked up his cup and took a sip. He was clearly deliberating. For him, this was not an easy decision. On the one hand, Tuk was an Archbishop from a revered Cathedral. To deny such a request would be to insult him and possibly cast a shadow on the monastery's "openness." On the other hand, giving him access to the library was a risk.
The silence in the refectory became oppressive. The Lord and Green, outside of this conversation, could only guess at its outcome, but every second of waiting felt like an eternity. The fate of access to the information, possibly the key to the Girdle, hung in the balance.
"Very well," the Abbot said, his voice quiet, but with a new, barely perceptible note in it. "I myself will personally escort you, Archbishop, to the library. For treasuries of knowledge, like spiritual relics, require a worthy guide."
The Lord and Green understood that Tuk's plan to infiltrate the library had just become more complicated. He would not be able to search freely. He would have to rely not on a thorough search, but on his insight, his ability to read between the lines, and his capacity to obtain information through indirect questions or subtle observation while being led on a "tour." He would have to read not only the books but also the Abbot's reactions.
Nevertheless, it was access. Controlled, but access to one of the two potential locations of the relic. Tuk's task had become more difficult, but not impossible. This only confirmed that the search for the Girdle of the Theotokos was not just a theft, but a delicate game of wits and patience. Now it was time for the Lord and Green to focus on the chapel, as the chances of the Girdle being there had just increased.
Archbishop Tuk, maintaining an outward appearance of humility and academic focus, followed the Abbot into the heart of Khaptar Monastery—its ancient library. It was not just a room with books, but a labyrinth of knowledge, where dusty scrolls and yellowed manuscripts rose to the ceiling, filling the air with the scent of old paper and ancient wisdom.
The Abbot personally led Tuk into one of the central halls, where huge, massive tables stood.
"Here, Archbishop, you will find many works worthy of your attention," he said, his voice dry. "I will leave you so that you may immerse yourself in reading. If you have any questions, I will be nearby."
His gaze left no doubt: "nearby" meant "within direct sight and hearing." Tuk understood that the Abbot would be constantly watching him, and any suspicious action would be noticed. He would have to act subtly, using his sharp mind and knowledge to find what he needed without arousing suspicion.
He began his work by genuinely looking for "interesting and rare manuscripts," as he had stated. He asked the Abbot to point out ancient theological texts, chronicles of orders, or regional historical scrolls to maintain the appearance of academic interest. And indeed, Tuk, with his vast knowledge and keen eye, found several rare and very interesting manuscripts.
While reading these manuscripts, Tuk, without drawing attention, tried to glean snippets of information about Khaptar Monastery itself. He searched for any mention of its founders, construction features, or, most importantly, the reasons for its establishment and, possibly, its "main" secret. He asked the Abbot general questions about the texts, subtly trying to lead him into a conversation about "ancient secrets" or "miracles kept within the monastery walls," without directly mentioning the Girdle of the Theotokos.
The Abbot remained vigilant. He answered the questions, but his answers were brief and contained minimal information, always steering the conversation away from anything too confidential. Nevertheless, Tuk understood that every manuscript found, every observation of the Abbot's reaction, every indirect reference was a piece of a large mosaic. He couldn't openly search for a treasure map, but he was collecting individual fragments that might later form a complete picture.
When the monastery was once again plunged into the silence of the night, the Lord of the North, Green, and Archbishop Tuk gathered in their humble cell. The air was cold, but the tension of anticipation was even stronger. Tuk, having returned from the library, was pensive, his usually lively eyes looking tired.
"Well, Father Tuk?" the Lord asked, barely waiting for him to sit down. "How was your... academic mission?"
Tuk sighed, his massive frame sinking onto the hard seat.
"I was there for several hours, my Lord," he began, his voice low. "The Abbot indeed stayed nearby, as I suspected. He was polite, but he never took his eyes off me for a second."
He shook his head.
"I found several interesting manuscripts, as I already told you. Ancient chronicles, geographical descriptions... all useful for a general understanding of the region, but nothing more. Nothing that directly pointed to the Girdle or its location. The Abbot was adamant in his silence about it."
"As for the library itself... my Lord, it's not just a room with books. It's a solid, monolithic space. It seems to have been carved into the rock along with the rest of the monastery, or its walls are so perfectly fitted to the rock that there are no gaps."
He paused, looking at the Lord and Green.
"I carefully examined every shelf, every corner, while the Abbot was distracted or pretended not to be looking. I checked the walls, the floor, the ceiling. I looked for seams, anomalies, any hint of hidden doors or secret passages like the ones we've found in other fortresses."
"And?" Green asked tensely.
"Nothing," Tuk replied, his voice filled with disappointment. "Absolutely nothing. No hidden passages. No trapdoors. No signs of false walls. It is a single, continuous space. The locks on the cabinets are strong and ancient, but they lead only to books, not to hiding places."
"Even if the monks have hidden information about the Girdle there—in encrypted texts, in secret symbols in the margins of manuscripts, or in some hidden messages—it would take months to find it without knowing exactly where to look. Perhaps even years. It would require deep knowledge of their ciphers, their internal symbols, their history, which they guard so carefully. We don't have that kind of time, my Lord."
It was a serious blow to their plan. The library, which they had considered one of the two most likely locations, had turned out to be an impenetrable fortress of knowledge. This meant that their hopes of quickly finding the Girdle by studying texts had collapsed. The entire weight of the mission now fell on the other target—the chapel, which the Lord and Green intended to investigate. The task, already difficult, had now become even more critical and urgent.
"So, the chapel it is," said the Lord of the North, nodding to Green. "The library is a false trail, at least for a quick operation. We need to focus all our efforts on the chapel. Father Tuk is right: if the Girdle is here, it will be in the most protected, most sacred place, and that is often the crypts under the altars."
Green, who had been listening intently, unrolled the parchment with the schematic of the chapel and its adjoining corridors that he had managed to sketch during the day tour.
"During the day, access to it was restricted, but not completely closed," he began. "Pilgrims were allowed inside, but we were not permitted to go behind the altar or into the side chapels. There were always several monks there who, although they appeared to be praying, were clearly controlling the movement. This indicates the special importance of this area."
"We need to find a way to get into the secret part of the chapel," confirmed the Lord of the North. "Perhaps there's an entrance to a crypt there, or the relic itself is kept in a secret altar. This is our last and most important direction. Green, start thinking about how we can bypass their defenses and get where we really need to go."
The task was clear. Now all that was left was to find a path into the heart of the sanctuary where, he firmly believed, the Girdle of the Theotokos was kept.
"My Lord," Green began, his eyes burning with a calculating fire. "The direct path into the chapel is closed. The monks are vigilant, and their security system leaves us no chance for a stealthy infiltration under normal circumstances. But what if there are no 'normal circumstances'?"
He pointed to a distant part of the monastery on his schematic, far from the chapel but connected to it by a complex system of corridors.
"I propose we start a fire in one of the distant wings of the monastery. Perhaps in a woodshed or in the old utility buildings. A place far enough from the sacred relics to not cause panic for their safety, but close enough to create a serious commotion."
"Fire is a universal diversion. It will cause panic, force the monks and guards to rush to extinguish it, organize rescue efforts, and evacuate the pilgrims. All their strength and attention will be thrown into fighting the flames," Green explained. "Taking advantage of this commotion, we can infiltrate the chapel. In a moment of chaos, vigilance weakens. The monks usually on duty at the chapel might be pulled away to the site of the fire. Locks and barriers might be temporarily left unattended, or it will be easier to bypass them in the general disorder."
"While they are busy with the fire, we will have a short window of opportunity. We can get in quickly, find the Girdle, and leave the monastery just as quickly using pre-planned routes, using the smoke and panic as cover. I have already identified several potential escape routes through service exits or even the ventilation shafts we noticed at night."
Tuk chose one of the utility buildings in the far wing of the monastery, which the Lord and Green had noticed during the day tour, for the arson. It was filled with dry firewood and old rags—a perfect place for a quick and bright fire that would not, however, threaten the main residential or sacred premises. He carefully planned the timing, choosing a moment when most of the monks would be engaged in evening prayers or preparing for sleep, and the pilgrims would already be asleep.
Under the cover of late night, when the monastery was plunged into deep silence, Tuk, using his knowledge of the internal structure and habits of the monks, silently made his way to the chosen building. He acted quickly and decisively, placing the dry materials and using a pre-prepared fuse. A few moments later, a small flame ignited, quickly engulfing the flammable materials.
Meanwhile, you and Green had already taken up your positions near the chapel. You chose a spot that offered a good view of the chapel entrance and the adjoining corridors, while remaining in the shadows, blending in with the surroundings. Your heart beat steadily, despite the tension. You were ready for action.
A few minutes passed, which seemed like an eternity. Then, from the depths of the monastery, came the faint but growing smell of smoke. Soon after, an orange glow appeared in the distance, illuminating part of the rock walls.
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