14. Ravenna’s Hidden Agenda

Her words hung in the air, their weight palpable. James studied her carefully, the flicker of a question in his eyes.

“And why,” he asked, his voice measured, “would the imperial princess of Solious’s lineage wish to strengthen a fading faith, particularly one so far removed from the empire’s favor?”

Ravenna leaned forward, her expression sharp and deliberate. “Because this island belongs to me,” she said, her voice steady. Then, with a faint smile, she added, “And by extension, so does this church.”

James chuckled softly, his laugh a mix of amusement and disbelief. “Such greed, child. It’s not good for the soul.” He paused, his gaze momentarily dropping to the table. When he looked up again, there was a subtle shift in his demeanor, a quiet resignation. “Fine,” he said at last. “I can accept that answer, for now.”

Reaching into his robes, he retrieved a folded document and placed it on the table between them. The parchment was creased but impeccably clean, the ink bold and authoritative. He slid it toward her with a calm but questioning look. “But perhaps you’d care to explain this, Your Highness?”

Ravenna’s gaze dropped to the document. It was a copy of her decree, an official announcement centralizing power within her dukedom. The words on the page detailed a sweeping policy: the consolidation of all businesses under direct oversight, including those associated with religious institutions.

James tapped the document lightly with his finger. “From what I understand,” he began, his tone neutral, “you intend to control every single business in your territory. I can see the logic in ruling with an iron fist. However...”

Before he could finish, Ravenna interjected smoothly, “Donations are classified as businesses. As such, the donations made here will now be sent to the city’s treasury.”

The head priest gave a slow nod, his expression thoughtful but not entirely pleased. “And that,” he said, “is precisely the issue, Your Highness. Yes, it’s true that our donations have been sparse these past months—almost nonexistent, in fact. But to take what little remains is to strip us of our means to fund our operations. By doing so, you reduce faith to mere commerce.” He looked at her pointedly, his voice carrying a rare edge. “Freedom of faith is an integral part of the Ancorna Empire’s imperial constitution.”

Ravenna met his gaze without flinching, a sharp smile playing at her lips. She tapped the document lightly with a gloved finger. “And freedom of faith,” she said firmly, “is being upheld here in Jola.”

She pointed to a specific clause in the decree, her tone confident. “As you can see, only the business aspects of the church fall under this policy. Donations, after all, are not purely acts of faith—they are transactions, voluntary though they may be. This part of the faith, whether anyone admits it or not, is business.”

James raised a skeptical brow, but before he could respond, Ravenna continued. “To ensure the church’s continued operations, the state will provide funding. Allocations will be made each year based on your proposed budgets and operational needs. This way, the church will not only survive but will have the means to undertake grander projects, even if private donations remain insufficient. Wouldn’t you agree that this is a fair compromise?”

The head priest sat in silence for a moment, weighing her words. At last, he offered a faint smile. “That does seem reasonable, at least for now. But given the look in your eyes and the meticulous way you’re managing this city, I suspect your ambitions extend far beyond the present.”

Ravenna didn’t flinch under his scrutiny. “The policy will remain unchanged,” she said simply, her voice devoid of elaboration.

James studied her for a moment longer before shaking his head, a quiet chuckle escaping him. “May the goddess bless your greedy heart, Your Highness,” he said, his tone laced with irony. Rising to his feet, he adjusted his robes. “Very well. I’ll ensure the church is restructured to comply with your new laws.”

His declaration was calm but resolute, a clear acknowledgment of the shifting tides.

“We are staying,” he added firmly.

Ravenna crossed one leg over the other and leaned back, a small, satisfied smile gracing her lips. “That’s good to hear,” she said, her tone as smooth as silk.

With her business at the Herptian Church concluded, Ravenna stepped out into the golden afternoon light. The towering spires of the church cast long shadows across the cobblestone streets as she descended the stairs with deliberate grace. Her imperial carriage awaited, its polished surface gleaming in the sun, the royal crest embossed proudly on its doors.

The coachman opened the door with a bow, and she climbed inside, her silken dress whispering against the cushioned seats. As the carriage began its journey back to the lord’s castle, the rhythmic clatter of hooves on stone was accompanied by a sound entirely incongruous with her composed demeanor—Ravenna’s soft giggles.

Her laughter bubbled up, darkly triumphant, as she reflected on the twofold purpose of her visit to the Herptian Church. First, the church represented the only power base in Jola that could potentially oppose her. With no other nobles present on this isolated island, the priests wielded a unique influence over the people’s hearts and minds. Securing their loyalty, or at least ensuring their compliance, was a critical step in consolidating her control.

The second reason, however, was far more practical. Herptian priests, unlike many of their counterparts in the Solious faith, were rigorously trained in architectural principles. It was a tradition born of necessity: priests were expected to build churches in any new territory where their faith was spread, often with limited resources and no external assistance. This core training meant that the clergy of Herptian faith were not just spiritual leaders—they were master architects.

Now, with the church firmly under her thumb, Ravenna had access to their invaluable expertise. These priests would design and oversee the construction of projects she had long envisioned, from fortifications to buildings. Additionally, the church’s influence over the people would be a powerful tool to bolster her reputation.

Leaning back against the plush carriage seat, she allowed herself a rare moment of satisfaction. “Checkmate,” she murmured under her breath, the faintest smirk tugging at her lips.

As the carriage rumbled through the city streets, Ravenna summoned the interface of her reputation system, her fingers moving through the air as though scrolling through an invisible ledger. The glowing, translucent panel sprang to life before her eyes.

User: Ravenna Solarius / Joy Cha Kim

Reputation Level: 60 (6067/8200)

Current Reputation Points: 16,987

Titles: Raven of Sun Palace, Unruly Princess

{View Reputation Log} {Spend Reputation Points}

Her eyes scanned the details with satisfaction. The day’s efforts had not been in vain—her reputation had surged, just as she’d planned. A low chuckle escaped her as she tapped on the log to review the breakdown of her recent gains. Every move, every conversation, had been calculated to extract the maximum benefit.

Finally, her gaze settled on an option that had taunted her. Geographical Scan. Her lips curled into a grin, and a manic gleam lit her eyes.

“I finally have enough points for the Geographical Scan,” she whispered, her voice brimming with uncontained glee. Then, unable to hold back, she let out a laugh—wild and unrestrained, echoing within the confines of the carriage.

With this, her plans could advance to the next phase. The scan would reveal the untapped potential of Jola’s lands, uncovering resources and strategic opportunities she could exploit. It was the key to turning the isolated island into a thriving city.

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