Just as Moscow's administrator was getting a headache, inside the Red City, another person walked with a bitter expression through Rostislav Palace.
This person was also an old acquaintance of ours, Domnal Pence, the "poet" of the Moscow Court.
As for why the term "poet" is in quotation marks, it's because while Domnal wrote a heap of poems, none of them truly caught on; he was basically just amusing himself.
In the circle of those familiar with him, Domnal had a nickname, "the bad poet," but no one dared to say it to his face, because Domnal was very serious about such matters.
As for why this Gael, who was usually so cheerful, had such a bitter expression, it was because he had been scolded by Yan again.
Yan Vishatich had asked him to find evidence of Rus' pagan activities, but he hadn't found anything—to be precise, he hadn't looked—so he was scolded again.
And this scolding made Domnal determined; when the Prince asked him to escort Alexei's theater troupe on a tour throughout Northeast Rus, he would thoroughly observe and listen in the various villages, resolving this troublesome matter once and for all.
Regarding Yan's obsession with paganism, Domnal truly didn't understand it; ever since he returned, Yan had been intent on turning Northeast Rus upside down to see if those pagans were organized or plotting anything.
To his knowledge, Yan had again disguised himself and gone to the villages to investigate, and he didn't know what was wrong with him.
But for now, it was more important to play the role of a background board in the upcoming meeting.
Thinking this, Domnal opened a door under the gaze of the guards, then quietly walked to his father-in-law's side.
He originally thought his actions hadn't been noticed, but old Gvaran glared at his son-in-law, and Domnal could only give an awkward smile.
Fortunately, this father-in-law, who was usually so incredibly strict, didn't scold him at all; his face was expressionless, and he didn't drag him out to deal with him, merely continuing to stand there like a statue, and Domnal quickly followed suit.
And the only person who could command such respect from the Captain of the Guard, a top Moscow dignitary, was the ruler of Moscow, Rostislav Vladimirovich.
Unlike the image of Rostislav, who was always portrayed as confident, wise, and powerful in external rumors, at this moment, the ruler of Moscow had a bitter expression, listening to Bishop Luka's report—or rather, his reprimand.
Bishop Luka was complaining about the shortage of church personnel; ever since Rostislav had mobilized a large number of people to the Bulgar side, the manpower that should have been freed up by the use of the printing press had simply vanished.
So Bishop Luka was now complaining to Rostislav, asking why the promised people had just disappeared, and that the missionary work in Northeast Rus was short-staffed everywhere!
Bishop Luka was very angry, and Hilarion was also very angry; they had both promised some actively believing villages that priests would arrive soon, but then suddenly found that half the people had been pulled back.
The reason Hilarion hadn't returned was that he needed to appease those villages; to some villages, this looked like a slight, and it absolutely had to be appeased, so only his teacher could question (and scold) Rostislav.
And Rostislav could only listen, because besides listening, there was nothing he could do; he was indeed in the wrong for intercepting the manpower that should have gone to the church.
Moreover, Bishop Luka was also his teacher, so he could only listen obediently here.
However, Bishop Luka's sermons truly bored him; weren't they just chanting scriptures?
He had heard these scriptures countless times since childhood, until his ears were calloused; he had memorized the names of the authors and many of the chapters.
So Rostislav used a trick he often employed as a child: appearing to listen attentively while in reality his mind wandered.
The Moscow Prince couldn't help but wonder, how many troops could he muster by the day of the expedition after his declaration? Ten thousand? Twenty thousand? Or even thirty thousand?
He had never commanded an army of more than ten thousand before, and he truly didn't know what it would be like then.
Rostislav always remembered a saying, "When people number over ten thousand, they are boundless"; he had seen such a sight before, but commanding such a large army himself would be a different feeling altogether.
However, just as Rostislav was envisioning the future, Bishop Luka seemed to notice that his student's mind was wandering, so he raised his voice, forcefully interrupting Rostislav's beautiful vision of the future.
At the same time, he felt a deep regret: why wasn't this student interested in God? If he had dedicated himself to God's work, he might already be a big figure in the Imperial Capital now.
Rostislav, his beautiful vision shattered, had a look of annoyance; what was all this?
But he could only adjust his expression and continue to act like a good student, because otherwise, his teacher would only talk more.
How could he make this old man shut up?
Rostislav couldn't help but think this internally; he only dared to think these words, never to say them aloud, as he still greatly respected his teacher, he was just impatient at the moment.
Church, church, why are church matters always so bad? Can't the Imperial Capital provide some support? Just let us suffer here.
Wait, support from the Imperial Capital?
Rostislav suddenly discovered the key information within, then he looked eagerly at his teacher.
And Luka, due to this sudden eager gaze, subconsciously stopped his sermon.
"Bishop Luka, can you tell me, if news of something like converting the Bulgars reaches the Imperial Capital, will the Imperial Capital provide us with support?"
Facing Rostislav's sudden question, Luka was momentarily stunned.
But then he realized what this meant, and an eager expression appeared on his face.
"Yes, yes, if we can convert a nation like the Bulgars to Orthodoxy, the Imperial Capital will definitely provide support. And I remember that the Imperial Capital and Rome had a schism a few years ago; I believe the Patriarch greatly needs an example to prove the superiority of Orthodoxy."
Bishop Luka thought more deeply than Rostislav; as a man of the church, he knew many things, and his focus was different from that of a secular Prince, for example, he immediately thought of the impact brought by the Great Schism between the Eastern and Western Churches.
The Patriarch greatly needed an example to show off to the Pope, and they could provide just that example.
"However, one thing I'm very concerned about: what if the Imperial Capital thinks this Volga Bulgaria is something we've made up?"
After the initial excitement, Rostislav continued to ask questions, and this question hit the mark.
After all, the church in the Imperial Capital had seen many instances of people being deceived by claiming the conversion of countries from who-knows-where.
And to this, Luka merely smiled nonchalantly; to him, Rostislav's question was somewhat amusing.
"Lord Rostislav, it seems you haven't studied for a while and have forgotten many things. Have you forgotten that there is also a group of Bulgars north of the Imperial Capital?"
"Oh, those people from Bulgaria, how could I forget about them?"
Rostislav slapped his head; he was indeed foolish to have forgotten the Bulgarians.
"Moreover, in the years before the Bulgars diverged and the descendants of Kurt were not divided into five branches, the Imperial Capital had ties with the Great Bulgar Khanate; the Imperial Capital cannot be unaware of the existence of the Bulgars on the Volga River."
Luka continued to explain; the Imperial Capital's knowledge was much broader than Rostislav imagined.
"Then let's begin, Teacher. You teach me how to write the letter."
Rostislav was a man of action; he pulled his teacher over, teaching him how to write a letter to the Patriarch in the Imperial Capital to ask for help (beg), as this was a skilled task that required the guidance of a seasoned veteran like his teacher.
Luka was also very enthusiastic about this; he hadn't written anything for many years, but his ability to write official documents hadn't diminished, and now he could finally show off this skill again.
And just as the two were excitedly planning to write these things, Domnal breathed a sigh of relief, thinking that today would pass like this, but then he looked up and found his father-in-law looking sternly at him.
To this, Domnal could only wail internally.