Bishop Gutierrez of the Mother Earth Temple had been in high spirits lately, as a new Mother Earth Temple was scheduled to hold its inauguration ceremony in a week, thanks to his efforts.
This achievement would undoubtedly be a significant highlight on his resume and a stepping stone into Esputa’s religious circles.
Just as he was immersed in fantasies of his bright future, a deacon came to him in a panic, whispering urgently, “Arthur Glamorgan is here.”
All his beautiful fantasies shattered instantly. Gutierrez rose in annoyance and asked, “What does he want?”
The deacon shook his head. “He said he wanted to see you.”
“See me?” Gutierrez lowered his head, pondering for a moment. “Is he in the reception hall?”
“Yes.”
“Let’s go see what strange ideas this prodigal son has now!” The Bishop snorted coldly and strode towards the reception hall.
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On the wall of the reception hall hung a painting of Saint John.
Arthur paused to observe. In the painting, the emaciated saint held high the magnificent scepter bestowed by Mother Earth, performing a miracle to restore vitality to a cursed land.
This story was well-known throughout eastern Anm, but Arthur’s thoughts drifted to another unspeakable past event.
Once upon a time, his predecessor had enticed two nuns to engage in illicit activities beneath this very painting.
What was even more embarrassing was that Bishop Gutierrez had caught them red-handed when he came out for a stroll at night.
Arthur still vividly remembered the Bishop’s shocked, angry, and disgusted expression at the time.
Such egregious behavior drew severe condemnation from the Mother Earth Church; conservative Father even threatened to hang him.
Thanks to Arthur’s mother, the Evil Wolf Earl’s wife, she was a devout follower of Shangtiya and generously donated large sums of money to the Church every year. Even the construction funds for the New Temple were raised by her tireless efforts.
Using this connection, the Earl’s wife forcibly suppressed the matter, but Arthur was still blacklisted by the local Church.
So, all the way there, he had been contemplating a strategy, thinking about how to get the Bishop, who deeply detested him, to agree to his request.
Soon, he had a plan in mind.
The sound of the door opening brought Arthur back to reality. He turned to see Bishop Gutierrez’s round face.
Arthur flashed his signature smile, meeting the Bishop’s expression, which was barely concealing his disgust.
He was long accustomed to this reaction; most nobles in Esputa looked at him this way.
“Let’s skip the unnecessary pleasantries, Sir Arthur. We both know you’re not a devout believer, so what do you want here?” the Bishop asked directly.
“I like your straightforwardness,” Arthur replied, still smiling. “I heard you’re disposing of a batch of useless junk?”
Gutierrez cast an inquiring glance at the deacon beside him.
The deacon immediately interjected, “Yes, due to the relocation of the New Temple, the Holy Relic Storeroom has cleared out many fakes, and they are about to be centrally destroyed…”
“Excellent,” Arthur clapped his hands. “May I pick one from them?”
“There’s a reason why those fakes need to be destroyed,” the deacon explained. “We must prevent anyone from using these items to deceive people, so…”
The Bishop raised his hand to interrupt the deacon’s words and asked, “Sir Arthur, may I ask what you intend to do with it?”
“Give it as a birthday gift to my devout mother.”
The Bishop’s mouth twitched slightly, and he patiently reminded him, “It’s mid-March now, and the Evil Wolf Earl’s wife’s birthday is in June.”
Arthur nodded. “I know, but I’ll be traveling far soon, so I need to prepare in advance.”
“Given that my mother is a devout believer of the Mother Earth Church and the largest donor to the New Temple, sending her a replica as a memento of the Old Temple wouldn’t be inappropriate, would it?”
The deacon beside him was about to object, but the Bishop spoke first, asking, “That’s all?”
“Uh-huh. Believe me, esteemed Bishop, it’s much simpler to let me pick one item than to go to great lengths to get rid of me.”
The Bishop was at this moment solely focused on getting this blasphemous fellow to leave as quickly as possible. He didn’t detect any problem with the other party’s words.
Furthermore, the Church had a tradition of giving replicas to dignitaries as mementos, and many nobles even came to request them. More importantly, the Earl’s wife had a special status.
After much deliberation, he finally ordered, “Inform Father Vitas of the Holy Relic Room to take Sir Arthur to choose.”
Since the Bishop had given his word, the deacon said no more but courteously gestured for Arthur to follow him.
Watching the Bishop compromise, Arthur secretly rejoiced. It was indeed correct to play the mother card.
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Father Vitas, in charge of the Holy Relic Room, was a thin, bald middle-aged man, currently focused on inventorying the holy relics about to be transported to the New Temple.
After the deacon brought Arthur and explained the purpose of their visit, the Father confirmed it several times before reluctantly leading him to the pile of fake holy relics prepared for destruction.
Although the continent of Faerûn, where Arthur had transmigrated, was a world of swords and magic, magical items were not easily obtained.
Churches everywhere received many items annually claimed to be “holy artifacts,” but most were fakes or trick props.
Arthur immediately spotted the inconspicuous wooden staff in the corner—in this messy pile of junk, it was the only item resembling a scepter.
He picked up the wooden staff and asked the Father, “What is this?”
Father Vitas somewhat impatiently took the list from the young acolyte beside him, flipped through it for a moment, then scoffed, “It’s said to be the scepter used by Saint John.”
“Mother Earth above, this shoddy thing is too shabby even for a beggar to shoo dogs away with. How could it be a scepter bestowed by the Goddess?”
“I’ll take this one,” Arthur said decisively.
The Father looked at this young noble in surprise and kindly reminded him, “Sir Arthur, taking this as a lady’s birthday gift might not be very appropriate, perhaps?”
Arthur waved his hand. “No matter, my mother has always greatly revered Saint John. Oh, Father, may I go to the main hall to pray for my mother?”
Although Vitas had little interaction with Arthur, he had long heard of his dissolute reputation.
As a clergyman who strictly adhered to dogma, he instinctively avoided wastrels.
But seeing the earnest expression in Arthur’s eyes, he felt it would be too harsh to refuse a child who wanted to pray for his mother—after all, he had no right to hinder any believer willing to confide in Mother Earth.
So, the Father called the young acolyte beside him and instructed, “Take Sir Arthur to the main hall to pray. Remember, be sure to take him to the main sanctuary and make sure he doesn’t get lost!”
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On the way to the main hall, Arthur carefully examined the wooden staff in his hand while pondering the intelligence.
This wooden staff currently seemed like nothing more than an ordinary wooden stick, with no special features.
The intelligence said it would only work when returned to the hand of the Shangtiya statue.
But there were many statues in the temple: three in the main hall, one in the library, and even one in the restroom.
Arthur looked up at the sun, estimating the time. It was almost noon, and trying each one would clearly be too late.
The young acolyte, seeing Arthur so interested in this broken stick, couldn’t help but ask curiously, “Sir, why did you choose such a stick?”
“Many of the fakes are made of real jewels. Other nobles who come to choose usually pick those.”
Arthur smiled and countered, “You’re new, aren’t you?”
The young acolyte nodded in surprise. “How did you know? I just came here from Woqi a week ago.”
“It’s simple. Everyone in the temple treats me like a plague, finding my morals corrupt, so no one wants to talk to me much.”
This answer made the young acolyte laugh, and their conversation thus began.
“Sir, forgive my frankness, but this is definitely not Saint John’s scepter,” the young acolyte stated confidently. “It doesn’t even count as a fake. Your mother will probably be disappointed.”
“Why do you say that?” Arthur asked curiously.
“Saint John’s scepter was borrowed from Mother Earth; it was magnificent and full of vitality. How could it look like this!”
“Borrowed?” Arthur’s heart stirred. He had always thought the scepter was bestowed by the Goddess. This was completely different from the version he had heard.
He quickly stopped the young acolyte and asked him to explain in detail.
