Inside the carriage, Morris gently swirled the teacup in his hand, while his gaze drifted through the window toward the distant, rolling mountains.
The Holy Lord sat opposite him, leisurely shelling a hickory nut. His silver ornaments clinked crisply with each movement.
"Holy Lord, the farther we travel, the more I admire Heavenly Strategy's cultivation system. In our Eternal Day Empire, the Holy See keeps a tight grip on the path of cultivation. The slightest deviation brands you a heretic."
Morris set down his teacup, his voice carrying a measure of genuine emotion.
The Holy Lord lifted his wrinkled eyelids and regarded Prince Eternal Day with a faint, ambiguous smile. "Oh? This old man is curious. What sort of lives do cultivators lead over there?"
Morris gave a bitter smile, his finger unconsciously tracing circles around the rim of his cup. "Take me, for instance. Though I hold the rank of prince, I was forced from childhood to study the Holy Light Technique prescribed by the Holy See. Do you know what happened when I was ten? I secretly tried a breathing method recorded in an ancient book, and a Red-robed Cardinal had me whipped thirty times in public."
At this point, Morris instinctively touched his back, as though those old scars still ached faintly.
His gaze deepened, his thoughts seemingly returning to that gloomy confessional.
Perhaps it was the wounds suffered in childhood that had stayed with him all this time.
Morris smiled self-mockingly. "The most laughable part is that the ancient book was later proven to have been written by a saint three hundred years ago. But in the Holy See's eyes, any cultivation method they haven't approved is heretical doctrine-even if it came from a saint."
The Holy Lord tossed the shelled nut into his mouth and