Almost simultaneously, it was already November in the Mist Plane.
The office's crystal lamps shimmered, their soft glow illuminating the entire room.
These magical lamps could only be made by a Level-Five Mage or a priest of equivalent rank. They could store energy; once infused with magical or divine spell energy, they became light sources whose brightness could be adjusted at will.
In just these few years, the shelves had become densely packed with thick books and parchment scrolls. A faint scent of paper lingered in the air.
Bishop Kanrongpa worked here, but at the moment, he was sitting quietly in a high-backed chair, his eyes closed in contemplation.
A sudden knock at the door interrupted Bishop Kanrongpa's meditation.
He frowned and said in a deep voice, "Come in."
The door opened, and a priest entered. He stepped forward and bowed respectfully. "Your Excellency, Viscount Salante has come to see you!"
"Viscount Salante? Please show him in at once." Bishop Kanrongpa rose. "I'll go welcome him."
"Haha, no need." Haboba walked in, looking delighted.
The Mage Tower had been built, and he had advanced a level, becoming a level-six mage.
An attendant followed silently, bowing to the bishop without a word.
Host and guest took their seats, but the attendant did not leave.
Bishop Kanrongpa raised an eyebrow, though he did not mind. He merely asked, "Viscount Salante, have you come because all the preparations are complete?"
"Yes. The winter wheat was planted in October, and this month's composting is finished. The troops we've mustered are ready to march at any moment."
"Do you intend to strike like lightning, or gradually eat away at them?" Bishop Kanrongpa asked, a sharp gleam flashing through his eyes.
"Strike like lightning!"
"Oh? Both the city and the Church's senior clergy are debating this.