The Clergymen and the nobles in the Holy Court felt bewildered as to what the seven men were even thinking in the first place. It was common knowledge by now that the Pope hated slavery, and anybody who attempted it only faced his wrath.
Perhaps they were confident they could sway the Pope with their offering of wealth. But now, whatever the consequences the seven faced, they had brought it upon themselves.
"So you want me to resume the slave trade?" Sylvester's cold, frightening voice reverberated in the hall. A sudden chilling aura covered the whole crowd.
"Five million a month? Still earning a million?"
Thud!
Sylvester stood up and began walking down from his throne. His eyes shined golden, and a halo formed behind his head. His right and left hands started to form a sword, each made of solidified light magic.
"In my rule, there is no place for slavers—nor men like you!"
Woosh!
