(Author's Note - This interlude chapter should have been posted after chapter 11 but got left out by accident. D'oh!)

Gabriel Gautier de Gaetane, Duke of Atrebatois and brother of the Rhin-Lotharingie Emperor, knelt in prayer before the Cross of Holy Hyperion when the gates to the stone chapel opened.

The atmosphere grew tense as the guards tightened their grips. The three figures who just entered this holy sanctuary were all hooded and cloaked. However their footsteps clinked with the telltale sounds of heavy plate underneath. Behind them the oak doors slammed shut, blocking the view to the myriad of banners flying outside.

Duke Gabriel, however, did not react immediately as he finished offering his prayers. The chapel had been used as the rallying point for all forces mustered throughout the region of Belges in northeastern Rhin-Lotharingie. It now lay in the center of a massive camp that held over thirty thousand retinue, militia, and levy. The building was further secured by forty of his loyal retainers, who had been instructed to keep out all others... except for two dozen assembled nobles and the three anticipated guests.

It was strange for a mere village to be the site of such ceremony. However, while the old chapel and its stone altar might look worn and unremarkable, it nevertheless held great spiritual significance. Historical records maintained by the Trinitian Church claim that this chapel was the first place of worship erected to the Holy Father in Belges territory. The centuries-old building and its stone furniture had all been chiseled to perfection by the very hands of Saint Guillaume the Apostle.

"Please, give me courage to do what I must..."

Gabriel muttered as he looked up to the statue that hung from the wall. It was a depiction of Hyperion the Dragonlord casting the unknown spell that Saint Peter later named 'Ritual of the True Cross'. The grand sorcery played a pivotal role in history, ending the Dragon-Demon Wars and saving humanity from centuries of unending conflict. Perhaps it shouldn't come as a surprise that Hyperion became the center of Trinitian worship, widely seen as the 'son' in the Holy Trinity -- one of three aspects of the 'one true god'.

We call them 'saviors of humanity'... even though it was their kind's fault that the war began in the first place. The Duke thought as he stared up at the dragon whose arms and wings stretched out upon a magical cross.

Yet despite knowing this, despite never having truly believed, Gabriel found himself in need of prayer at a moment like this.

Such is the limitation of human fortitude, He exhaled before slowly standing up. His lips formed a welcoming smile as he turned towards his guests. Now, time to kiss up to my 'benefactors'.

Everyone had a natural talent, and Gabriel's was playing to people's desires. The Belges duchies in northwestern Rhin-Lotharingie had long been neglected by the Emperors in Alis Avern, due to the fact they were neither a region that saw frequent conflicts nor held an abundance of resources. As a result of this, the discontent of merchants and nobles had been slowly rising for decades if not centuries. And Gabriel took advantage of this after he failed to summon a phoenix and thus forfeited his claim to the throne.

Today, the people of Belges loved him as the humorous yet virtuous duke whose name was recognized by even the pope. His vassals loved him as well, as he had been just enough of a pushover when it came to tax collection and noble privilege. The only ones who weren't fooled were his few confidants, including dear Heleen -- the loving wife that he had married.

Thankfully for his image, Heleen was a diligent actress herself. She had realized the truth ever since their wedding night, but she tried so hard to pretend -- in front of him, the family, the world.

Gabriel might never love her as a proper husband ought to, but over the years she had proven to be a true friend. She was also a faithful woman who stayed true to the scriptures. But the Holy Father... the Father had abandoned her alongside him.

"Your army is quite a sight, Your Grace," the leading knight spoke before taking off his hood. He was a square-faced man just beyond his prime, with blond hair, a full mustache, and a well-trimmed beard.

"Thirty thousand strong," Gabriel replied through a handsome smile and confidence worthy of a true zealot. "But they are not mine. It is the Holy Father's will they follow. And among us stand many other noble lords who share our just and righteous cause."

So righteous, in fact, that we're plotting to murder my own brother, the Emperor they all swore before Holy Father to obey... his thoughts ran with biting sarcasm.

Two dozen bowed heads nodded along respectfully from both sides of the room. Here within the sanctity of the chapel, they paid their homage in silence to the authority of the Holy Church.

The Knight Commander scanned through them with approval before declaring in a much heavier monotone:

"But you speak for them. Just as you spoke to them. It was you who led them from the tyranny of the apostate Emperor. And it was you who returned them to the grace of the Holy Father and the Mother Church."

Gabriel wondered if the Knight Commander was merely upholding formalities, or if he actually idolized his own self-righteousness. Maybe it was part of the Inquisition's arsenal: to torment their victim with bullshit just as the priests' holier-than-thou sermons conned people into buying indulgences for 'sins'.

To extract gold and confessions by taking the immeasurable soul hostage. What else could one call this except for a racket, a pyramid scheme?

Yet, even as the duke thought this, he opened his arms and bowed deeply, his torso almost forming a right angle to his long legs. There was no choice but to accept, for the Church brought with it power and wealth. He had to embrace this hierarchical 'pyramid' to achieve his own aims:

"I am the Holy Father's humble servant first and foremost. It is our solemn duty as true believers to bring his love back to the people."

Love enough to start a civil war while being invaded. Love to send thousands to their graves...

The irony of his own words was not lost on Gabriel. The fact he could speak such blasphemy before the sanctity of the altar only reinforced his belief that the Holy Father cared not at all.

Only the clinking echo of steel interrupted the silence that followed as the Knight Commander strode forth.

Then, just three paces away, he stopped. His leveled gaze soon met Gabriel's, while his eyes revealed a thin halo of gold surrounding the cerulean iris. It was a blessing that marked the brothers of the Knight Templar, sworn in service to the Holy Church.

Their order's full name was the 'Poor Fellow-Soldiers of Hyperion and Defenders of the Holy Temple of Arcadia', which of course was too much of a mouthful for any conversation. Instead, everyone simply referred to them as the 'Knights Templar', the paramilitary arm of the Papal Inquisition.

...Although the 'Papal' name was becoming questionable these days: the Inquisition had grown so powerful that even the Holy See often had trouble controlling them. The 'Poor' was even harder to take seriously, as the order had become so wealthy their monasteries often managed funds like banks for the elites.

"In the name of His Holiness the Pope, please kneel, Your Grace," the Templar Commander beckoned.

Gabriel gracefully lowered himself onto one knee without a moment of hesitance. Before the messenger of the Trinitian Church, he could not afford to show even the slightest doubt. For otherwise his piety might be seen as insufficient to become the Holy Father's chosen, unworthy of becoming the 'savior' of the realm.

He bowed his head in reverence as the knight opened the cloak to pull out a glistening sword.

"By the powers invested in me by His Holiness Pope Vigilius..."

Gabriel felt the cold, deadly steel lay flat against the back of his exposed neck. Only by prostrating one's life before the mercy of the Holy Father could true devotion be proven.

"--I, Preceptor Caelestis of the Poor Fellow-Soldiers of Hyperion and Defenders of the Holy Temple of Arcadia, hereby recognize Gabriel Gautier de Gaetane, Duke of Atrebatois and Prince of Rhin-Lotharingie, as Defender of the Faith and, by the grace of the Holy Father, the rightful liege to the Empire of Rhin-Lotharingie."

Caelestis then withdrew the blade from Gabriel's neck, before he tapped the Duke's shoulders one after the other:

"May you deliver the realm from the apostasy of the false Emperor, Prince Gabriel."

Yes... how dare that tyrant improve our laws, network our roads, and expand our borders... Gabriel scorned in his thoughts.

Nevertheless, he did not allow even a hint of his inner emotions to surface. Even his mental shields were running at full capacity, just in case one of the Knights Templar flouted the laws -- as they often did -- and tried to read his mind.

"In the name of the Holy Father, Noblesse Oblige," Gabriel answered the calling of his faith as though he truly believed in it.

After sheathing his sword, Preceptor Caelestis pulled the entire scabbard from its straps. Then, he carefully laid it in the Duke's open palms.

It was a beautiful arming sword of untarnished white and gold. Its blade was straight and elegant, with two crosses laid into a hilt of metallic feathers, stretching outwards like a pair of angelic wings.

This was the Sword of Fortitude, one of the seven holy swords of virtue that belonged to the Trinitian Church of Holy Arcadia.

The excommunicated Emperor Geoffroi might still believe that his brother would march south with thirty thousand reinforcements. But on this day, in this moment, Gabriel had baptized himself for a new role: one armed with the 'sword of the just' and dedicated to a path of no return.

Forgive me, brother, for what I must do. This is the 'best' course for our nation, our people...

Gabriel prayed in silence as he stood back up to face the Preceptor. Drawing the sword from its sheath, he raised the cross before his eyes in a symbolic gesture of loyalty.

--And it is the Holy Father's will... apparently.

Maybe by the time this was over, the Church would canonize him as a Saint. He could be the patron of hypocrisy, defending the faith even unto death.

Sometimes Gabriel wondered if it would be better that he went to hell. Surely the Devil, as a rebel against the Holy Father, would be better company than the tyrannical hypocrite who lorded over them all.

...

Ultimately, Gabriel's facade lasted only as long as the audience remained. Satisfied with his reverence and piety, the other lords and templars soon departed, leaving him for a private moment with Preceptor Caelestis.

"Is there a 'Goedendag of Fortitude' that I could use instead?" The duke asked casually as he flourished the new sword to test its balance. "A sword like this is rather light in the hands."

"What is a Goedendag?" Caelestis asked, his voice stuttering over the unfamiliar syllables as he raised his eyebrows questioningly.

"It means 'good day'. It's how the locals greet unwelcomed guests," Gabriel joked with a beaming grin. "A long pole with a rounded weight and a pointy tip at the end. Excellent hospitality for armored knights."

--Like yourself. The duke left the last two words unsaid.

"No." The Templar declared with a puzzled frown.

"How about a 'Mace of Fortitude' then? Oh! Better yet -- a Morphic Blade of..."

"The virtues of our faith are not to be altered at will!"

Caelestis' steep frown clearly took offense to Gabriel's carefree and playful emphasis. But the Duke paid no heed as he continued on:

"Yes but don't you think the Holy Father is a little biased?" Gabriel purposefully mocked the preferred weapon of the Inner Sea. "I mean does it have to be a sword? It just seems so... ornate."

"Swords are the embodiment of knightly grace and chivalric virtues!" The Templar was downright fuming now.

"Yeah, just like a rose... enemies of the faith, feel my thorns!"

Gabriel swashed it with embellished waves before spinning around and bowing, as though presenting a flower to the knight commander.

"Great for the ladies, I'm sure," he flashed a perfect smile. "But we Lotharin men prefer something with a little more substance: like a trusty mace, to shatter shields and rend steel."

He stopped just short of mentioning that the Lotharins also had adopted their preferences for bludgeoning weapons to rebel against Imperial legionaries, whose famed heavy infantry relied upon their steel mail and towering shields.

Judging by the twitching brows, Gabriel was certain that the Preceptor already regretted naming him Defender of the Faith.