The realization of the Church's control over the eastern iron vein solidified my understanding of their true power. It wasn't just land and tithes; it was the sinews of war, the very foundation of any kingdom's independence. This was a deeper, more insidious chokehold than I had initially grasped. The blueprint for their undoing now included industrial espionage.
My hidden vellum swelled with new symbols: a jagged, black mountain for the iron, intertwined with the Church's triangular sigil. The dates of ancient treaties, the names of forgotten mines, all condensed into a lexicon only I could decipher. Each scratch of the quill was a defiant whisper against the vast silence of my double life, a tangible piece of my rebellion.
Valerius, seemingly undeterred by my previous parries, intensified his scrutiny. His next "lesson" was not a philosophical riddle, but a physical demonstration in the temple courtyard. He had gathered a group of acolytes, including myself, for what he termed "exercises in Montala's Grace." It was, in essence, a series of drills designed to test obedience, resilience, and latent abilities.
"Elias," Valerius called, his voice carrying across the sun-drenched stone, "come forward."
He presented me with two small, perfectly spherical stones, one dull grey, the other a polished black obsidian. "Which of these, young one," he asked, his eyes piercing, "holds more of Montala's essence? Touch them. Discern their truth."
The grey stone was common river rock. The obsidian, however, felt subtly different. It wasn't just smoother; there was a faint, almost imperceptible hum, a resonance that hinted at more than just inert matter. This was an Arcana test, designed to detect nascent magical ability or, in my case, unusual sensitivity. Any sign of heightened perception beyond what was expected of a child would be a red flag.
I picked up the grey stone first, turning it over in my palm with a child's natural curiosity, then tossed it aside. Then I picked up the obsidian. I held it for a moment, letting its cool, smooth surface settle in my hand. I could feel the faint, contained energy. Too much recognition would be dangerous. I brought it to my ear, listening to it like a seashell, then frowned in a pantomime of childish confusion. "It doesn't hum like a bee," I mumbled, then dropped it, feigning disinterest and turning to chase a butterfly that had fluttered past.
Valerius watched, his expression unreadable. He made no comment, but his eyes narrowed. He was looking for any hint of the Arcana I possessed, or the advanced mental processing that would betray me. I had evaded the immediate trap, but the knowledge of my unique sensitivities to Arcana was now a documented observation for him. This was a dangerous escalation.
Driven by the fresh knowledge of the iron vein, I began subtly steering conversations during Seraphina's reading times. "Seraphina," I would mumble, pointing to a page about the Duke's army, "do they get new swords from the north or the east?" Seraphina, bless her innocence, would provide details, mentioning occasional caravans of raw ore from the eastern territories, always passing through Church-controlled checkpoints. The Duke often grumbled about the cost, but dismissed it as the "Lord Montala's due."
This confirmed it. The Church controlled the supply line, leveraging not just piety but the very instruments of the kingdom's defense. The Duke, for all his secular power, was reliant on Montala for his military backbone. The Prince, undoubtedly, was even more so.
One evening, overhearing a hushed conversation between two minor nobles about dwindling iron supplies for new fortifications and the Church's "generous" offer of their stockpiles at exorbitant prices, confirmed my fears. The Church wasn't just extracting resources; they were weaponizing them.
The cold calculations solidified in my mind. The path to breaking Montala's stranglehold was clear: undermine their financial and resource control. Introduce an alternative source of power—the logical, reason-based tenets of the Bible—to both the common folk and, crucially, to the Duke's ear. If the Duke could be shown the true nature of the chains binding his kingdom, he might just become an unwitting, yet powerful, ally in my silent war. The task ahead was monumental, fraught with peril, but the gleam of the concealed iron gave me a cold, hard resolve.