The Archbishop of the Holy Cathedral of Prosperity, Gregor Althaus, sat in his grand chamber, his eyes locked onto the cold man before him.
His ever-present smile remained, but there was a sharp glint of menace beneath it. "To what do I owe the honor of the Grand Duke's personal visit?" he asked, his voice smooth, laced with hidden arrogance.
Ruth didn't waste time on pleasantries. He reached into his coat, pulled out a stack of documents, and slammed them onto the table. "You owe me an answer," he said, his tone flat, devoid of emotion.
Gregor picked up the papers, skimming through them with a slight shift in his expression before placing them back down. "I don't understand," he said, still smiling. "What seems to be the problem, Grand Duke?"
Ruth's cold eyes narrowed. "You don't understand, or you don't want to?"
