Marco paused, carefully choosing his next words before continuing.
"Originally, I had assigned Father Thomas to lead the central army, as it is the most crucial unit, determining the success or failure of this operation."
He looked up at Raphael, a faint smile appearing on his face.
"However, after some consideration over the past few days, I believe some adjustments are in order."
The room seemed to hold its breath as Marco's gaze locked onto Raphael.
His smile widened.
"Father Raphael, this operation in the Celestoria Mountain Range is of great importance to the Southern Province, affecting the reputation of the entire Church.
You've just taken on this mission, showing remarkable focus and confidence.
Therefore, I have decided..."
He paused for a brief moment, savoring the tension before delivering the final blow.
"...to entrust you with leading the central army."
The moment the words left his lips, the expressions of the other priests shifted noticeably.
The central army position was of utmost significance—it was the core of the entire campaign and the most likely to earn glory and recognition.
Originally, this position had been assigned to Father Thomas, primarily due to his generous bribes to secure the role.
Now, Marco had publicly reassigned this critical responsibility to Raphael, a decision loaded with implications.
Father Thomas's face darkened immediately, his once-relaxed shoulders now taut with tension.
His fingers tightened around his utensils, his knuckles turning white as he suppressed the emotions bubbling inside him.
His lips quivered slightly, but he remained silent, though the air around him was thick with resentment.
The friction between his utensils and the tableware was barely audible, but enough to hint at the internal storm raging within him as he struggled to keep his composure.
Next to him, Father Phillips raised an eyebrow in surprise, a flicker of unease passing over his face.
His spoon stirred his soup in a slow, repetitive motion, as though trying to buy himself time to mask his growing discomfort.
Father Carsey, on the other hand, subtly turned his head, his eyes betraying a moment of unease before he quickly lowered his gaze.
The gentle clink of his cutlery against the edge of his plate echoed faintly as he forced a strained smile onto his face, lips pressed together tightly.
Father Weiss, sitting at the far end of the table, looked increasingly uneasy.
His eyes blinked rapidly as he shifted his gaze between Thomas and Raphael, his hands fidgeting with the edge of his robe as if seeking some form of comfort.
Despite his evident discomfort, he remained silent.
Raphael, however, maintained his characteristic calm.
His face showed no signs of emotion as he nodded gently and responded in a composed tone.
"Thank you for your trust, Father Marco. I will do my utmost to complete this task."
Marco smiled, his tone laced with deliberate encouragement.
"You have the ability, and I trust you will lead the central army to great victories.
This will not only benefit you personally but also bring honor to the entire province."
As Marco surveyed the room, taking in the reactions of the other priests, a subtle smile played on his lips.
He proceeded with his orders.
"As for the other assignments, there will be only slight adjustments."
Turning to Father Thomas, Marco's voice remained calm but carried an air of undeniable authority.
"Father Thomas, you were originally set to lead the central army.
However, for the sake of the greater strategy, I have decided to reassign you to the flank guard. Protecting the side wings is a crucial responsibility, and I trust you will rise to the occasion."
Thomas's face darkened further, his grip on his utensils tightening to the point of trembling.
His lips pressed together in a firm line, but he did not voice any objections.
Instead, he nodded silently, indicating his reluctant acceptance of this sudden change.
Marco then shifted his gaze toward the remaining three priests, his expression as neutral as ever.
"Father Phillips, Father Carsey, and Father Weiss, your positions remain unchanged.
You will continue to oversee the front line, the rear guard, and the supply unit, respectively."
The three priests exchanged brief glances.
Father Phillips gave a slight nod of acknowledgment, Father Carsey raised his eyebrows but otherwise indicated his agreement, while Father Weis, though visibly more anxious, also nodded his acceptance.
With all the arrangements finalized, the atmosphere grew even more tense.
Though outwardly, everyone seemed to have accepted Marco's decisions, it was clear that each priest harbored his own thoughts and plans.
That evening's dinner was far from a simple gathering.
On the chessboard of power, Father Marco had quietly rearranged the pieces.
With the reassignment of the central army and the subtle shifts in influence, the game of authority was being reshuffled.
Everyone at the table knew that the upcoming campaign against the magic beasts of the Celestoria Mountain Range would not merely be a military operation—it would serve as a battleground for power struggles between the various factions.
As dinner concluded and Father Marco formally dismissed the group, the priests rose from their seats.
The atmosphere in the church remained heavy, yet those at the table were already preparing for their next moves.
A few priests exchanged glances as they left, clearly hoping to engage Father Raphael in conversation, perhaps with the intention of aligning themselves with the newly appointed commander of the central army.
However, Father Raphael remained seated, showing no signs of leaving immediately.
His actions, as always, were deliberate and unhurried.
Rather than rushing to stand, Raphael meticulously scraped his plate clean of the last bits of seafood soup.
He used his bread to soak up the remaining broth from the edges of the plate, methodically finishing every drop.
The other priests stood nearby, their expressions somewhat awkward.
Raphael's calm demeanor seemed to unsettle them, leaving them unsure of how to proceed. No one dared to interrupt his meal; they could only wait in silence.
Afterward, Raphael picked up his cup of cheap wine and, undeterred by its pungent smell, drank it slowly until the cup was empty.
Every action he made was composed, without a hint of haste or irritation.
Finally, he picked up his napkin and gently wiped the corners of his mouth, his movements crisp and efficient.
This simple act caused the priests who had intended to approach him to hesitate and reconsider.
Their expressions shifted, becoming more complex as they watched him.
They realized that Raphael was neither eager to make a show of himself nor in a hurry to engage with others.
It was as if none of this—the political maneuvering, the attempts at forming alliances—mattered to him at all.
Once his meal was completely finished and he had wiped his mouth, Raphael slowly rose to his feet, as if the entire dinner had been nothing more than a routine event.
His calm, composed attitude conveyed an invisible strength, suggesting that Father Raphael was not a man who needed to rely on external connections or strategies.
He adjusted his robes slightly and gave a small, respectful nod.
Father Raphael then walked alone toward the exit of the church, leaving behind a group of priests, each lost in their own thoughts.
Not long after, the rest of the priests also began to leave the church one by one.
Father Thomas wore a grim expression, his brow furrowed deeply.
He bit his upper lip, his eyes filled with contemplation, glancing occasionally in the direction where Father Raphael had left.
He narrowed his eyes, as if trying to figure something out, mulling over recent events.
Upon reaching the entrance of the church, Father Thomas silently boarded his waiting carriage.
He sank into the seat, his fingers tapping absently on the armrest.
The air inside the carriage felt oppressive, but his trusted aide, an attendant deacon, was long accustomed to such silences.
After several moments of deep thought, Father Thomas suddenly spoke, his tone cold and calculating.
"Find out what Father Raphael enjoys."
His attendant priest was momentarily taken aback but quickly nodded and replied in a low voice.
"Yes, Father. I'll gather the information as soon as possible."
A glint of malice flashed in Father Thomas's eyes.
Clearly, he did not believe that Father Raphael was truly as calm and composed as he appeared, without any desires or ambitions.
Muttering to himself, Father Thomas said softly, "He can't be without desires. Everyone has a weakness. I refuse to believe he has none..."