Chapter 108: Negotiations Outside the Holy City (Part One)
A few days later, at the junction of central Western Continent.
The sky rolled like a tumultuous sea, clouds swirling in great waves, deep shadows dancing alongside brilliant golden streams. It looked like the tides of an ocean, with light ripples playing across the dome of the heavens, casting an otherworldly glow that made it hard to tell day from night.
Far in the distance, where high mountains met flowing waters, lay the sacred land of pilgrimage—a place once known as the Holy City of Abedoria. Now, it was enveloped by a towering column of light shooting into the sky.
Golden rays, entwined with countless shimmering runes thicker than the nearby mountains, formed a massive cylindrical barrier piercing the clouds. It appeared to encapsulate the once-thriving Holy City, completely and utterly sealing it off from the outside world.
Those magnificent cityscapes and grand ancient structures now lay dormant beneath the luminous curtain, shrouded in a mist of golden ether, looking more like a mirage—shadowy and indistinct, cutting off sight of its lights and lively streets.
Golden radiance seeped through the heavenly dome, replacing the sun’s warmth and outlining the land below. The withered trees looked like a lawn struck by disease, fertile soil showing signs of strange pollution. Although conditions didn’t seem dire yet, it was definitely not a sight for sore eyes…
Five kilometers outside the Holy City, in the City-State of Lahram.
As a town free from control by any of the Republic, Empire, or Kingdom, Lahram was celebrated in the Western Continent as a land of sanctuary, established specifically to accommodate pilgrims barred from entering the Holy City.
Thus, over the years, this place became a melting pot for those on a spiritual quest.
However, it was clear that Lahram had now fallen under the control of foreign forces. Armored warriors wielding long swords and cloaked mercenaries were a ubiquitous presence in this town.
Among them were the most numerous—the underground prison’s claw-shaped emblem-wearing henchmen, the fearsome group dreaded by Western Continent’s citizens, renowned not just for scaring children but for terrorizing bandits even more effectively.
You’d think that seeing these folks swaggering about would send shivers down the spines of the townsfolk, yet Lahram seemed oddly calm. Given that this bustling city-state had dwindled to near ghost town status recently, this wasn’t too surprising.
Since the day the Holy City’s light pierced the heavens, in just a few short days, the soil around it began to grey, plants wilted, fish flopped belly-up, crops withered, and both humans and livestock fell ill. The first to suffer from this mysterious calamity was none other than Lahram, the closest town, already a satellite of the Holy City.
Once it became apparent that the skyward light was not a divine gift, nor a great miracle, but potentially a sign of divine wrath, most who could fled the scene as fast as their legs could carry them.
On her journey, Annasiris noticed many refugees heading north, and some had even established makeshift settlements farther along the way.
But as they drew closer south towards the Holy City, the number of people dwindled; no shadows meant no food, and even the mountain hares and deer were practically non-existent. The Sword Demon Miss had found herself hungry quite a few times during this trip.
Upon reaching the foot of the Holy City, she hid in the woods outside Lahram, leaning against a half-dead tree. Using fallen leaves as a makeshift mat, she took a breather, pulled out the last half of a hard biscuit, and washed it down with cold river water.
Suddenly, a sharp caw echoed through the sky.
The Sword Demon looked up to see a black bird flapping its wings as it swooped down, landing squarely on her shoulder. Annasiris recognized it as Silvya’s bird, affectionately named Goat Cheese.
“Goat… Cheese…”
She attempted to call it, cautiously extending her hand to offer some biscuit crumbs. But the bird retorted with a grating croak that sounded suspiciously like, “Idiot!”
It turned its head away and shoved its claw in her face, with a message cylinder tied to its leg poking her squarely on the nose, its expression dripping with disdain.
“……”
The Sword Demon grumpily removed the message.
The wrinkled parchment sprawled out in her hand; after a quick peek, she frowned and munched on the last tiny piece she intended to feed Goat Cheese.
Then, tucking the letter into her clothing, she rose from her resting spot. With a loud “caw,” the raven took off again. The Sword Demon looked to ensure the direction was right before bolting after the bird, her body crackling with speed like lightning.
Meanwhile, deep inside the grand hall of the Holy Angel Fortress in the center of Lahram, what appeared to be a mysterious ceremony was underway.
At the forefront stood a colossal statue of the Mother God of Abundance, depicted as a woman with a tree sprouting from her back, cradling an infant. Scattered around were various figures wearing claw-emblazoned cloaks and bizarre masks, alongside many guards strutting about like peacocks.
Right in front of the statue was a young man with one eye covered, seemingly quite youthful yet marked by the world’s trials. He stood there, gazing intently at the glowing eyes of the statue, appearing to wait for something.
If the girl named Peilo were present, she would likely recognize him as Beiyard, a classmate from the Royal Academy who had ventured to Silgaya with her, only to disappear during the chaotic attacks of the heretics before they could really get to know each other.
She might also recall multiple facets of his identity, such as being Nick Williams’ son and St. George’s grandson.
And if she were to take a closer look around the hall, she’d find she wasn’t the only familiar face here.
Toward the back of the hall stood the Pope Knight, a tall double-order swordsman named Tarlasya, characterized by his calm demeanor and substantial build, who had recently left Chielis City, mingling with a group of oddly dressed individuals.
In front of them was a small, delicately fashioned woman leaning on a cane.
She looked like she might still be in her fifties, dressed in a somewhat masculine white gown, complete with white gloves and a high-crowned hat pulled low over her eyes. She sat quietly in a chair, crossing her legs.
Scanning the crowd, she was the only one seated.
Although the hall was bustling with activity, an air of eerie calm hung over the place. After a moment, an elderly man wearing a peculiar but clearly expensive mask approached, bending down to whisper in the woman’s ear.
After listening for a moment, she impatiently replied, “That’s an issue for your owls, not for me to weigh in on. The one causing the trouble should solve it themselves.”
Buzz—
Suddenly, a hum resonated from the miracle itself, catching everyone’s attention.
Golden streams burst from the statue’s eyes, showering the enormous hall with light so bright that many people raised their hands to shield their eyes, blinded by the brilliance.
After a few moments, as the glow dimmed, a voice emerged from the luminous haze.
“Ladies and gentlemen…”
“Very… pleased… to meet you…”
The voice started off muffled but soon became clearer: “Welcome to the Council of the Temple Church.”
