Novel & Cerita Archbishop Of Greed

Archmaster asked to me as he diverted the topic. “For your information, I was the former demon king of Greed,” Mammon suddenly segued, taking the half of my face. Archmaster Leonard and Archmistress Demia were startled and the latter almost spit her tea at me because of too much surprise. They seemed terrified right now. And if it’s not only a serious meeting, I might laugh at their reactions. So I tried my best not to burst a laugh. Instead, I reprimanded Mammon. “Hey, Mammon, stop butting in our conversations unless I or we ask you to,” I told him.

“The Archbishop of St. Anne’s Castle told me that you were the one who took them away. He even specifically mentioned that it was Archbishop Polaris, ranked third on the Elysian Ranking, who took them away.” “I am Archbishop Polaris, alright. I’m also ranked third on the Elysian Ranking. However, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” “You have no idea?” James’ face darkened, and he clenched the Blade of Justice, saying coldly, “Maybe you’ll be reminded of something when you’re beaten to a pulp?” “Hahaha…” Archbishop Polaris burst into a peal of laughter. “How insolent of you, young man! No one has dared speak to me like that in a hundred years. Beat me to a pulp? How impudent! If you ca

It was embossed with the Vance crest—the soaring falcon that had once represented my family’s reach across the Atlantic. "The Lucchesis were laundering money through your father’s secondary accounts for someone called 'The Architect,'" I said, remembering the scrolling green text that had illuminated the darkness. "If that person is on the Council, then Marco wasn't the only one who wanted us dead at The Eyrie." "The Architect is a ghost," Luciano muttered. "A name used in the old ledgers to describe the person who designs the 'accidents' that shift power in this city. My father feared them. The Lucchesis served them. And now, they are sitting in your boardroom, waiting to see if the little

“We did it.” Darwin exhaled. “Not yet.” He unzipped the bag, revealing the final proof of The Architect’s empire. It was the beginning of the end. --- The Architect’s Wrath Halfway across the world, Alexander Greaves sat in his penthouse, staring at the flashing red alerts on his screen. His empire was under siege. His grip tightened on his whiskey glass. For years, he had operated untouchable. A ghost in the system. A force behind kings and corporations.

“I didn’t know you were in Dubai.” “The Vatican takes an interest in all of God’s creation, Joseph,” the Archbishop said, his voice warm and mellifluous. “Even its boardrooms.” His gentle eyes turned to Davidson. “And you must be the young man causing all the stir. Davidson Ekon. I’ve heard much about you.” Davidson shook the offered hand, surprised by the strength in the old man’s grip. “Your Excellency.” “I knew your grandfather,” the Archbishop said softly. “A good man. A man of profound faith. He would be… curious… to see the path his grandson is walking.”

He just kept rinsing, water sliding over the red stains that refused to fade. “I saw the Archbishop too,” I continued, my voice low. “They were loading crates—guns, Ezreal. Weapons. Using the church as cover for smuggling routes. Donations, they called them.” Ezreal said nothing. His eyes stayed on me through the mist. “I confronted him,” I said. “And he told me the Church survives on power, not faith. That purity doesn’t keep the lights on. That you—” I stopped. “That betraying you was necessary.”

"The last time we did business with you, you tried to turn our son into a ledger." "That was the Old Shop," the Archivist said, bowing slightly. "The Owner was... greedy. Inefficient. Lyra and I have staged a hostile takeover. We realized that the North is more valuable as a sovereign partner than as a collection of bad debts." I stepped forward, moving out of the safety of Kaelen's shadow. My magic was gone, but my spirit felt like tempered steel. I looked at Lyra. Beneath that silver mask, I could still feel the sister who had once shared my secrets.

"The altar... your gift. It's not just a spiritual anomaly to them. It's a threat." Isabella turned to him. "You think they are scared of me?" "Not just you. What you represen and carry within yout." --- Meanwhile, in the archbishop's private study hidden within the high tower of the church's northern wing, an urgent meeting was underway. Cardinal Darius stood by the stained glass window, fingers laced tightly behind his back. "We underestimated her," he said. "Isabella is not merely gifted. She's the vessel." Bishop Renard, the youngest and most skeptical among them, scoffed. "Prophecies and ancestral altars? You speak as if we still live in the Dark Ages."