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The return of the Lord of the North to the "Honey Mug" with the Girdle of the Theotokos was met not merely as a victory, but as a true miracle heralding a new era for the Mountain Empire. News that the ancient relic, kept for centuries in the impregnable Khaptar Monastery, now resided in the Cathedral of the North, spread through the lands faster than the swiftest messenger.
Thousands of pilgrims and residents of the principality gathered in the square before the Cathedral of the North. Katya, the Mistress of the North, stood beside Father Tuk, the Archbishop of the North, accepting an endless stream of blessings and jubilations. The ceremony itself was meticulously planned. To the sound of horns and bells, surrounded by the "Black Company" and the "Legion of the Dead," the Lord of the North ascended the platform, holding the Girdle of the Theotokos.
Father Tuk, with his pragmatic faith and unwavering spirit, delivered a fiery speech. He spoke of how God had chosen the North as the true heart of faith, and the "Honey Mug" as the fortress where His blessing was kept. He emphasized that the Girdle was granted not to the Empire, but specifically to the North, thanks to the righteousness and strength of its Lord. In response, thousands of voices erupted in a roar of approval, and many fell to their knees, seeing this event as confirmation of their divine chosenness.
Immediately after the ceremony, the Girdle of the Theotokos was placed in a specially prepared niche in the very heart of the Cathedral of the North. The murals, which had been started earlier, now took on a new meaning: every brushstroke of the artists, every rare stone decorating the interior, now served to glorify not only God but also the one who brought this holy relic to the North.
Inspired by this success, Father Tuk immediately began to create a new theology. He preached that while the Imperial Church was mired in bureaucracy and taxes, the northern faith was pure and true, for it had received a direct blessing from above. His sermons, filled with simple images that resonated with the northern people, found a deep response in their hearts. He continued to assert that "God's design is inscrutable," but it is manifested in the prosperity of the North and the power of its Lord.
The "Honey Mug" became not just a fortress-bank, but also the center of a new pilgrimage movement. Thousands of believers from all over the Empire flocked to the North, wishing to touch the holy relic. You, my lord, ordered the improvement of the roads leading to the fortress and ensured the complete safety of the pilgrims, using your Life-Guard Hussars and the "Black Company" for this purpose. The absence of church tithes in Father Tuk's Cathedral became a decisive factor, attracting even more people than the Imperial Church could have ever imagined.
This sparked an unprecedented economic boom. Hotels were overflowing, merchants prospered, and your gold coins, already the unofficial currency of the Empire, now circulated even more actively. The "Golden Shields" in the major cities of the Empire felt an influx of new depositors, eager to invest their funds in a reliable and, now, divinely blessed currency.
The news that the Girdle of the Theotokos was in the Cathedral of the North and not in the capital of the Empire, and that Father Tuk had abolished all church tithes, reached the ears of the Emperor and the Imperial Church. At first, they reacted with disbelief and fury. Angry letters were sent, demanding the immediate return of the relic and an explanation for the "heretical" practice of abolishing tithes. But Father Tuk responded evasively, citing the "inscrutable design of God" and claiming that the Girdle itself had "chosen" the North.
The situation escalated when the Imperial Church declared the Girdle of the Theotokos a "heretical fake" and Father Tuk an apostate. In response, during one of his fiery sermons, Father Tuk declared that "true faith resides where there is purity of thought, not a thirst for gold." He proclaimed the independence of the Northern Church from the Imperial one, stating that from now on it would serve the people of the North and all who seek true spiritual solace without the burden of unbearable taxes. This declaration caused a storm of indignation in the capital, but in the North, it was met with jubilation. Thousands of pilgrims flocking to the Cathedral of the North witnessed this historic moment. Many priests from other regions, dissatisfied with the corruption and extortion of the Imperial Church, began to secretly or openly side with the Northern Church, seeing in Father Tuk a hope for the revival of true faith.
The Emperor, already exhausted by internal conflicts and financial bondage, could not afford an open military confrontation with the Lord of the North. He tried to use diplomacy and threats, but his "Death Squads" and the "Legion of the Dead" ensured the impregnability of the "Honey Mug," while the "Golden Shields" continued to divert the Empire's financial flows under his control. Thus, the Northern Church, with the Girdle of the Theotokos at its center and Father Tuk at its head, became not only a spiritual but also a powerful political instrument, solidifying the Lord of the North's status as the unseen ruler of the Empire.
The Patriarch of Constantinople, the chief hierarch of the Imperial Church, flew into a furious rage. An emergency Synod was convened. Father Tuk was immediately anathematized, declared excommunicated from the Church, a heretic, and a false prophet. The Northern Church was branded a schismatic assembly, and all its rites were declared invalid. Edicts were issued forbidding pilgrimage to the "Honey Mug" and calling on the faithful to remain loyal to the one true Church.
In parallel with the anathema, the Imperial Church launched a massive campaign to discredit the Girdle of the Theotokos. Rumors were spread that it was a fake, that it had been stolen or desecrated. "Testimonies" from monks of the Khaptar Monastery were produced, claiming that the Girdle had never left their walls or that it had been replaced during a fire. The goal was singular: to undermine faith in the relic's authenticity and, consequently, in the spiritual authority of the Northern Church.
The Patriarch and his supporters began to exert immense pressure on the Emperor. They demanded decisive measures, up to a military campaign against the North, to recover the Girdle and punish the "heretics." In their speeches, they hinted at a divine curse that would befall the Empire if the holy relic was not returned to its rightful place.
Besides open confrontation, secret emissaries were sent from Constantinople. Some were trained inquisitors tasked with "reasoning with" the apostates and gathering evidence of Father Tuk's heresy. Others were spies, whose goal was to infiltrate the "Honey Mug," perhaps even to steal the Girdle of the Theotokos or find a way to destroy it, thereby depriving the Northern Church of its main symbol.
The schism of faith dealt a powerful blow to the unity of the Empire. Now, in addition to economic and political fragmentation, there was also a spiritual one. The common people, especially in the remote provinces, were confused. Some, frightened by the anathema, shunned the Northern Church. Others, tired of the extortions and corruption of the Imperial Church, saw it as a source of hope and a new path.
The Emperor found himself caught between two fires. On one side was the enraged Patriarch and the powerful hierarchs, threatening excommunication and loss of legitimacy. On the other was the Lord of the North, with his invincible army, thriving economy, and a growing number of supporters capable of provoking chaos in the Empire at any moment. He understood perfectly well that a direct confrontation would be a catastrophe for his already weakened rule.
Meanwhile, in the "Honey Mug," Father Tuk, realizing the gravity of the situation, launched an active counter-propaganda campaign. He emphasized that true faith does not need luxury and gold, that Constantinople was mired in sin, and that the North had become the last refuge of purity. He spoke of the miracles happening to pilgrims who came to the Girdle of the Theotokos, thereby strengthening people's faith and attracting more and more supporters to the Northern Church, despite the curses from Constantinople. The battle for the souls of the Empire had only just begun.
The panicked news of the schism, the anathemas from Constantinople, and the direct threats from the Emperor reached the lands of the Lord's vassal counts, causing predictable alarm. Anxious messages began to flow to the Lord of the North, and soon the vassal counts themselves arrived with small retinues to personally express their concerns. Their eyes showed a mixture of loyalty, fear, and confusion.
Count Alric of the Western Lands was the first to arrive, his face pale. "My Lord, my people are in turmoil! Priests of the Imperial Church are calling for disobedience, threatening excommunication. Merchants are afraid to transport goods through our lands, fearing the Emperor's wrath. We border imperial lands and will be the first to bear the brunt of an open war!" Alric was loyal, but his lands were the most vulnerable.
Count Bronn of the Eastern Holdings, a more calculating man, did not hide his concern. "Our trade routes, my Lord, the very ones that bring us wealth, are now under threat. The Emperor could close the borders, declare a blockade. What then? My people will not survive a famine. And what of our faith? My people do not know whom to believe—the righteous words of Father Tuk or the old rites of the Imperial Church." Bronn was concerned for the economic and social well-being of his lands.
Count Einar of the Southern Marches, the most straightforward of the three, was outraged but also frightened. "That Patriarch has gone mad, my Lord! He wants to throw us under the hooves of the imperial army! My warriors are ready to fight for you, but can we withstand the onslaught if the Emperor wages war? And what if he starts confiscating the property of those who recognize the Northern Church?" Einar represented military strength but understood the vulnerability of his borders.
All three expressed the same thought: they were trapped. On one side stood the Emperor and the wrathful Imperial Church, threatening punishment for disobedience and "heresy." On the other was their suzerain, whose power and authority were undeniable, but whose actions had placed them in an extremely dangerous position. They did not question the Lord's wisdom or strength, but they wanted to understand his plan to protect their lands and people from the impending catastrophe. Their panic was not a sign of weakness but a natural reaction to an existential threat. Now, the Lord faced the task not only of calming them but also of convincing them that his strategy was calculated to the smallest detail and that their safety was his priority. They awaited words from him that would dispel their fears and provide clear guidance.
The Lord allowed them to speak their minds, to vent their anxieties. Then, when their voices subsided, silence fell in his Honey Mug. He rose, slowly walked around the table, touching each count on the shoulder, and his eyes, cold as the northern sky, met theirs.
"My Counts," his voice was even, without a shadow of a doubt, yet with that hidden power that always commanded respect, "I understand your concerns. You are the pillars of my power, and your safety is my priority. Allow me to remind you of what the Imperial Church does not know, and what the Emperor would prefer to keep silent about."
He stopped before Alric, the first to arrive and the most anxious. "Alric, my loyal friend, you speak of famine. But have I not provided you with everything you need? Is it not the 'Mountain Silk Road' that feeds and clothes your people? And was it not I, your Lord, who gave the Emperor a loan of ten million gold coins?"
He paused, letting the number sink into their minds. The counts exchanged glances. They knew about the loan, of course, but had not realized its full magnitude and consequences.
"Ten million, my Counts," the Lord continued, now addressing them all, "is not just a sum. It is a noose around the Emperor's neck. He is drowning in debt to me. Every attempt he makes to declare war on you, every attempt to harm my lands, and therefore yours, will cost him not only soldiers but also bankruptcy."
The Lord looked at Bronn. "Bronn, you worry about trade. But the Emperor cannot afford to close the 'Mountain Silk Road.' It is the only route that connects his depleted treasury to vital eastern goods. If he cuts it off, he signs a death warrant not only for you but for himself. My 'Golden Shields' have his financial system by the throat, and every day our gold coins, backed by pure gold, push out his devalued currency."
His gaze shifted to Einar. "Einar, your warriors are loyal, and for that, I am grateful. But the Emperor will not go to war with you. Not now. His army is fractured, his generals are disgruntled, and I have not only the 'Legion of the Dead' and the 'Death Squads,' but also a 'Doomsday Weapon' capable of turning mountains into an impassable barrier. Besides, who would dare fight against lands blessed by the Girdle of the Theotokos itself? Father Tuk has already sown seeds of doubt in the hearts of many imperial soldiers and priests. They see where true faith and true power lie."
The Lord returned to his seat, resting a hand on the table. "None of you, my Counts, will die of hunger. No one will be ruined. No one will be left to be torn apart. As long as I have gold, as long as the 'Honey Mug' prospers, as long as the Girdle of the Theotokos watches over our lands, and my troops are ready for battle, your people will be safe. The Emperor's hands are tied, and Constantinople is just distant noise. Their curses are empty sounds against the true miracle that now resides in our Cathedral. Your task is to continue governing your lands, maintaining order, and encouraging pilgrimage. Believe in me, as I believe in you. We are one, and our strength lies in our unity and my calculations."
His words, cold but convincing, began to dispel the panic. They saw not only the threat but also the Lord's grand plan, in which their safety was just one of many calculated elements. Confidence returned to their eyes.
Indeed, Constantinople, with its golden domes and lavish rituals, was distant not only geographically but also mentally from the harsh, pragmatic North. As predicted, the angry anathemas and curses of the Patriarch of Constantinople proved to be nothing more than empty sounds, having no real consequences in the Lord's lands. Their edicts, written in ornate language and sealed with grand seals, reached the North only as curious scraps of paper that, at best, provoked smiles and, at worst, were used to kindle stoves.
The Lord's subjects, having lived for centuries in a harsh climate, relying on their own labor and his protection, had long developed an immunity to distant directives. They saw how the "Honey Mug" prospered, how new houses were built, how the markets filled, how their children received an education, and their elders received care. They saw how Father Tuk, their Archbishop, served them with faith and truth, easing their lives rather than burdening them with new levies. What harm could curses from Constantinople do them when here, in the North, they were offered blessing and prosperity?
The emissaries from Constantinople, pompous inquisitors and pampered hierarchs who arrived in the North, invariably faced a harsh reality for which they were utterly unprepared. The journey to the North was an ordeal in itself. Mountain passes, merciless winds, sudden snowfalls that could occur even in summer, and bandits (many of whom, incidentally, secretly worked for the Lord) all made the journey a torture for those accustomed to the comfort and safety of the Empire's central roads.
When they finally reached the "Honey Mug," they were met not with a warm welcome but with a pointedly cold and official attitude. They were not denied food and shelter, but there were no luxuries, no offerings to which they were accustomed. The imperial envoys were shown no special honor. Their sermons on "heresy" and "anathemas" shattered against a concrete wall of popular unity and unshakable faith in Father Tuk and the Lord. Warriors of the "Black Company" were present at their speeches to the pilgrims, their gazes making it clear that any attempt to sow discord would be suppressed. Attempts to intimidate local priests backfired into their own humiliation—the northern pastors, hardened by hardship, merely scoffed at their threats, knowing they had the support of the Archbishop and the Lord of the North himself.
For the pampered southerners, accustomed to a mild climate and an abundance of delicacies, the harsh northern food seemed meager, and the constant cold chilled them to the bone. The snow, a familiar sight for northerners, was a disaster for them. They froze in their expensive but impractical garments, suffered from the wind, and felt like strangers in this untamed world.
In the end, nearly every emissary from Constantinople chose to cut their visit short. They departed quickly to return to the warmth and comfort of the capital, bringing back to the Patriarch and the Emperor only general phrases about the "disobedience" and "stubbornness of the northerners," but with no real success in undermining the Lord's power or recovering the Girdle. Their reports were steeped in powerlessness and frustration, confirming that the North had become an impregnable citadel for them, both in a military and a spiritual sense. Thus, Constantinople, with its own hands, only strengthened the image of the North as a true bastion of faith and independence, making its anathemas nothing more than an echo of a bygone past.
The Lord's confidence and wisdom calmed his vassals. Constantinople was indeed far away, and its curses broke against the rocks of the North like waves against an impregnable fortress. The new Northern Church flourished, pilgrims flowed in a constant stream, and it seemed nothing could stop the Lord's steady rise.
However, like any powerful organism, his unseen empire had its vulnerabilities. The rapid expansion of the "Golden Shields" and the widespread circulation of the Lord's gold coin throughout the Empire attracted not only honest merchants and pilgrims. The vast quantities of gold constantly moving between the "Honey Mug" and its branches in major cities also began to lure a completely different kind of hunter—bandits.
These were not just local gangs. News of the Lord's wealth, of the "Honey Mug" becoming the de facto central bank of the Empire, had spread far and wide. The most desperate, experienced, and ruthless criminals from every corner of the land flocked here like flies to honey. They were well-organized, possessed information about routes and transport schedules, and their attacks were not chaotic raids but carefully planned operations.
The bandits used their deep knowledge of the terrain, choosing ideal places for ambushes—narrow gorges, dense forests, bridges over swift rivers. They acted quickly and mercilessly, often using clever traps to stop the convoys. These were not small bands of robbers. The attacks were carried out by groups of twenty to fifty men, well-armed and equipped, sometimes even with primitive throwing machines or crossbows capable of piercing light armor.
How they obtained such precise information remained a mystery. It was suspected that they had insiders among the employees of the "Golden Shields" or even among the merchants who used the Lord's services. This added to the anxiety, pointing to the possibility of an internal threat. The attackers clearly knew what they were looking for. They did not just rob everything in sight but specifically targeted convoys carrying gold or bond scrolls, leaving other goods untouched.
Despite the convoys being escorted by guards, losses began to mount. Several valuable shipments were lost, and the lives of soldiers and guards were paid for in blood. This was not just a problem of robberies; it was a challenge to the Lord's security system, a direct blow to the image of the "Golden Shields" as the most reliable bank, and a threat to the stability of the gold coin. For the first time in a long while, since the Emperor had been financially cornered, the Lord faced a problem that required not only strategic genius but also direct, decisive action. It was necessary not just to repel the attacks, but to find the root of the problem and eradicate it before it undermined the foundation of his golden empire.
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