Chapter 428: So-Called Art
“So what you’re saying is, whether it’s the Old Testament Era or the New Testament Era, those people have never truly changed?” asked Agamemnon, his tone unreadable.
Belair responded, “There is a difference, at least during the Old Testament Era, they didn’t dare show their attitude towards nobles so blatantly. But in the New Testament Era, they now dare to speak out loud.”
Agamemnon continued, “Then what do you think caused this difference?”
Belair said, “Because they didn’t get killed for speaking.”
Agamemnon said, “That’s the freedom the Lord has granted them. At the very least, they’re merely discussing some policies, not outright rebelling. That doesn’t violate the law.”
Belair said, “It’s precisely because they’ve seen the outcome — that they can speak and survive — that they dare to speak. They’ve witnessed their words turning into a certain force, bringing them benefits and, ultimately, power and respect.”
Agamemnon said, “But that’s not right.”
Belair replied, “But the truth is, they’ve indeed gained power because of it. Even though the guild imposes constraints, those are only on their actions, not their hearts.”
Pausing briefly, Belair said more boldly, “The Church can restrain their hearts, but only if it’s willing to do so. And even then, in its current state, it’s uncertain how long such restraint can last.”
“The bishops and priests of the Church wield very little political influence in York City. No one underestimates the power of the bishops, but that power has never been truly displayed in front of them.”
“Perhaps in the dioceses outside of York City it’s more clearly felt, but those places are not York City. They’re not the center of the world.”
Having said that, Belair’s heart pounded violently, and the wound on his chest seemed to ooze blood.
Due to his past experiences, even mentioning the Church now made the blood surge in his body, and fear felt like it would consume him.
This fear, instead of lessening over time due to the Church’s indifference, only intensified.
This time, Agamemnon revealed a faint, mocking smile and said with a touch of genuine emotion, “You people will never understand the Church’s sanctity.”
Belair lowered his head in silence.
What the Church had given him was mostly pain. Even in dreams, he could recall how he had been dissected in the hospital by those scholars.
Though they had comforted him by saying they stabilized his life force with magic, the cold blades slicing through his skin, removing his organs, drawing his blood, and even cutting open his manhood to extract two things for study — and then putting them back — had become an eternal nightmare.
Was the Church truly sacred?
Perhaps it was. At least in some of the books the Church later disseminated, he found knowledge that he had contributed. Those books allowed people to better understand the human body, subtly suggesting that nobles were not so different from commoners, thus boosting commoners’ confidence in facing nobility.
But it was exactly this approach that shook the foundation of noble bloodline theory, prompting gentry, officials, and merchants of humble origin to disregard noble prestige and vie for power.
Agamemnon seemed to have gotten part of the answer he sought, and he asked directly, “I need to make those people quiet down, or at least stop focusing all their energy on seizing power.”
Belair bowed slightly and said, “I’m honored to serve.”
Agamemnon asked, “So, what do you plan to do?”
Belair paused in thought, then said, “What they crave is power, is respect.”
“But the manifestation of power is too abstract. Being respectfully addressed as ‘sir’ is a form of power. Deciding someone’s life or death with a word is also power. The way they gather to discuss policies and influence prestigious councilors is yet another form of power.”
“But that is merely a substitute — they can’t obtain power like the nobles of old, not even what the gentry used to wield. And they know this well. They’re cautious, always probing the limits. No one dares openly to raise private soldiers — that’s still the right of the Senate and the nobles.”
“So I believe, we can create something to replace overt power — something like a social or political class. When they stand upon that class, they’ll feel they are no longer mere commoners, but a privileged group. One that everyone will respectfully address as ‘sir’. Within that class, they’ll raise their voices louder, and elsewhere, they’ll grow quieter.”
“They won’t accept it blindly. I don’t take them for fools under my control. I merely believe that their excess energy needs an outlet. And for this new outlet, they’ll have to fight for their place, which will divert their focus.”
“So, I’ll create a new class for them — a false power. It may not grant them real authority like the nobles, but it will bring them immense respect.”
Belair’s voice gradually faded.
Agamemnon seemed to reflect on his words and finally nodded in agreement. “It seems you’re confident you can make this happen.”
Belair said, “These years of hardship have made me reflect on my past failure.”
Agamemnon asked, “Have you figured it out now?”
Belair nodded, then shook his head. “I’ve figured it out — human greed is endless. Once they get a taste, they want more. But what I don’t understand is why people are so foolish — even when they know it leads to death, they still cling to that little bit.”
“They are. I am too.”
Agamemnon chuckled and said, “As you just said — it’s because they lack faith. At least now, in the New Testament Era, the people of York City are still greedy, still foolish. But I believe they’re better than in the Old Testament Era.”
Belair remained silent.
That was indeed true. At least back then, if a noble lord dared to employ a Senate like a king, the gentry would’ve banded together with private soldiers to storm the Senate.
Now, they only dared gather in a corner to speak loudly.
Agamemnon turned and sat back at his desk, looked up at Belair, and asked, “What help do you need?”
That question alone made Belair’s breathing quicken.
All these preparations, all these carefully weighed conversations, were for this moment.
Taking two deep breaths, Belair said, “I want to create for them a goal — the pursuit of beauty. In the epics of Knight George, I and my words may be mocked, but even now, I believe that the pursuit of beauty can make the world a better place.”
“This may give the nobles a fake class status, but I also hope what I leave behind will have meaning for the future.”
“And to do that, I need them to be willing to listen to me. I think if a baron speaks to them, they will listen seriously.”
Agamemnon nodded calmly. “Then, Baron Belair Perk, since you have such a grand ideal — what further help do you require?”
Belair’s eyes turned red in an instant. How many years had it been since someone called him that?
He had longed to be called ‘Baron’ even in his dreams.
Even though he once held a territory larger than a viscount’s, it was the identity of a baron that he was truly attached to.
His chest surged, but this time, he felt no pain — only waves crashing through his mind.
But he didn’t indulge in emotion. He quickly said, “I need the most skilled craftsmen — masons, weavers, carpenters — anyone who can create the most exquisite, beautiful things of their lives. I will display them in one place, so the commoners may witness beauty they’ve never seen before. And so the gentry, officials, and merchants may feel like lowly vermin in its presence.”
“Only such awe-inspiring impact will make them sense the dignity within, and push them to pursue it. Just like the noble etiquette from the monasteries — it was only when truly noble people like yourself upheld it that the barbaric nobles of the old days realized what nobility truly meant.”
Agamemnon tapped the table. The tap tap echoed through the study, each sound like a knock on Belair’s chest, making it hard for him to breathe.
At last, as if seeing through Belair’s plan, Agamemnon slowly nodded and said, “I understand.”
He paused, picked up a pen, and began writing on a piece of parchment while speaking. “Creating a moment of splendor — ordinary craftsmen alone won’t suffice. Even during the luxury wars orchestrated by Scholar Caleb, what they made were merely different from the mundane, more practical than truly beautiful.”
“This, of course, is also due to the limitations of their class. So I’ll refer you to Dean Cicero of the Royal Academy of Lundex. I’m sure he’ll be very interested in this. With his support, scholars will be willing to endorse your cause — perhaps even materializing this abstract beauty into a defined concept. That will make it feel more real to people.”
“Of course, I assume you’ve read Knight George’s epic more than once. Dean Cicero may not like reading, but he did flip through the book that mentions him. He was quite interested in how Baron Belair described him.”
Belair looked awkward and embarrassed. Back then, he had merely guessed the man was the child of a viscount, when in fact, he was just a Church scholar with not yet enough reputation. So he had dared to criticize him.
Now, with Viscount Pegira dead, the man showed no signs of inheriting a throne and was instead tasked by the Church with child-rearing.
This made those who speculated on his royal bloodline rather doubtful. Especially since nowadays, that dean was like a living statue in the academy — often the butt of jokes — many had let go of the idea that he was of Pegira’s blood.
How could a noble king be beaten down in public by two knights and dragged back to an office?
Even if those knights were Guardian Knights of the Church.
Still, as the Dean of the Royal Academy of Lundex, even if Belair now carried the title of Baron, he was no match for such a position.
Thinking of the words he had once said made Belair terribly embarrassed.
Now he understood — beauty may truly move hearts, but only when praised by others would it gain recognition.
And when it came to comparing beauty, someone like Dean Cicero would undoubtedly win.
Agamemnon ignored Belair’s awkwardness and continued, “Most other craftsmen have been monopolized by the gentry. You likely won’t reach them. Even if I had them extracted, they might commit suicide out of fear — they are the gentry’s property, and so is their skill.”
“But the Adams Family is different. I’ll inform their weavers. I can proudly say, the Adams Family’s weavers understand your concept of beauty the best. In fact, their environment has long nurtured it. Free from political meddling, they’ve had time to explore such beauty. You should speak with them.”
Though unsaid, this clearly meant Agamemnon was publicly supporting Belair.
No need to put it into words.
“Also, I’ll have Councilor Yorn join in. He oversees the Bards’ Guild — how could such a grand affair go without bards?”
That too was support — using a councilor’s presence to elevate the project. Yorn held a middling position in the Senate, just right for this.
The bards, of course, would sing its praises. For those who couldn’t witness it directly, the bards would beautify it further in their songs.
“Finally, I’ll grant you a sum of gold coins. One thousand would be too little, so I’ll authorize ten thousand. Besides what you need, the rest should be enough to purchase a manor.”
“After all, how could a noble baron live on the street?”