Chapter 184: The Embers (Part One)
A sliver of dawn light pierced through the mist from afar, casting its glow upon the towering blue-white city at the edge of the fields.
The city was still thriving.
But the protective barrier, which once shimmered like golden gauze, was now nowhere to be seen.
To the north of the city center, infernal fires still raged. In the collapsed neighborhoods, thick smoke transformed half the sky into a charred black.
Disheveled people were standing, huddled, or lying in a distant circular square, a sea of black stretching as far as one could see.
Among them, some appeared to be in slightly better shape, but most were ragged and pale, speaking rarely and gazing blankly towards the direction of the roaring flames. Some knelt down, whispering prayers, as muffled sobs occasionally broke through.
“Everything’s gone… nothing left…”
“My son is dead… he was only seven… why am I still alive…”
Many lost the meaning of their existence in last night’s inferno.
Ding—Ding—Ding—
The deep chimes echoed through the sky.
Soon, a new dawn would inevitably arrive.
“Look… what’s that!”
Someone started pointing at something in the distance behind them, causing those around to instinctively turn back—at the edge of their vision, what appeared to be a church was lit up with a golden light, ascending into the heavens and breaking through the clouds.
Rumbling…
Suddenly, half the sky over the royal city was covered in dark clouds.
Drip, drip… crash—!
A torrential downpour began.
The rain gushed as if it were being poured out, drenching the streets and flooding into the ruins, gradually quenching the ferocious fire.
“That’s… a natural miracle… a great natural miracle!”
“God bless… God bless… You haven’t abandoned your children… Oh, thank goodness…”
Many faces, as pale as ashes, burst into tears upon witnessing this scene.
They opened their arms, letting the rain wash away the grime, tilting their heads back with mouths wide open, unable to tell if it was tears or rainwater streaming down their cheeks, wailing like small children.
“Is that… Sister Teresa?!”
“Of course, it has to be… she must be praying for a miracle from the divine!”
“But she… I’ve heard she has abandoned her faith…”
“What nonsense! That’s just slander from those nobility! A group of faith-abandoning, fat-brained folks… because of them, the royal city suffers divine punishment, and I… my family is ruined!”
“They should be hanged and then fed to the dogs—”
Voices were becoming increasingly chaotic.
It seemed a peculiar fury was quietly sprouting in the air, spreading like a lurking plague.
At the front of the square.
Rect, with his shoulder bandaged, stood alone in the rain.
He gazed at the dying inferno in the rain and then turned to look at the crowd behind him, his expression grim.
Soon, several members of the Knight of Kanli hurried to his side. “Captain, Her Majesty the Queen has awakened.”
Rect relaxed a bit.
He nodded gently to the messenger and turned to leave, but after taking two steps, he suddenly stopped and shouted towards a nearby silver-armored guard, “Captain Campus, once the Saint puts out the fire, please take your men and… clean up the battlefield over there.”
The guard signaled his understanding with a wave.
Rect finally felt relieved and thought for a moment before instructing the Knights of Kanli behind him, “You stay here and assist them.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Captain, you haven’t slept all night, and you’re injured… you should rest a bit. We’ve got this.”
Rect shook his head gently without answering.
His figure quickly disappeared into the rain.
…………
In the northern district of the royal city, inside St. Zayeli Cathedral.
A young nun with phoenix eyes lowered her tightly clasped hands and stood up.
An elderly man in a golden robe stepped forward. “Saint Margaret, thank you for arriving just in time, I—”
Saint Margaret turned around, her delicate brow furrowing deeply as she asked, “What on earth happened in the royal city? Where is Boswell, and what is Sister Teresa doing?”
“Uh…”
The old man opened his mouth.
He looked unsure how to respond… but Margaret didn’t really expect him to.
She knew the elderly man before her was just a newly appointed bishop, completely clueless. Meanwhile, the seasoned clergy had mostly already received the Pope’s orders and were likely on their way to Silgaya.
But Margaret understood.
One of the two divine relics positioned in the royal city, Boswell, had been hidden by the church beneath the orphanage’s bell tower. For years, Sister Teresa had been responsible for its care, and even Queen Elizabeth was unaware.
“How’s Cataloma?” Margaret asked casually.
“Uh…”
The old man hesitated.
He didn’t know how to explain this matter but realized he couldn’t hide the truth. After a moment’s pause, he finally said, “Cataloma has suffered some damage…”
Margaret pressed on, “What about the bell tower?”
“…It’s destroyed.” The old man answered honestly, “Before you arrived, I took some clerics to check it out, and I found what seems to be a cellar beneath…”
Margaret grew impatient and interrupted, “Did you see a blackened vertebra?”
The old man was taken aback.
“Vertebra?”
He thought the Saint looked quite anxious, yet he didn’t quite understand what she meant by “vertebra.” Still, he instinctively responded, “No.”
Margaret’s heart sank.
Not caring about the old man anymore, she turned and quickly walked toward the cathedral’s door.
“Saint Margaret.” The old man hurriedly followed after her, “Do you know what’s going on? And about that vertebra…”
“Has Miss Silvya awakened yet?”
Margaret suddenly asked the old man, not waiting for an answer before adding, “Keep an eye on her, and let me know the moment she wakes.”
The old man halted in his tracks.
“…I understand.”
Miss Silvya was the sixteen-year-old Pope Knight who had battled fiercely with the monsters in the royal city last night; the old man knew this well.
He understood that the implication behind Saint Margaret’s words was: you don’t need to follow me anymore.
…………
Victoria was leaning against the intricately carved red canopy bed, appearing quite weak.
Her once delicate features were now devoid of color, her lips cracked and peeling, and her bright golden eyes had lost some of their sparkle. Even her hair seemed faded, slightly disheveled and casually draped over her fragrant shoulders.
Yet her demeanor remained calm as ever.
She blinked and turned her gaze to Rect, who was half-kneeling by the bed, and spoke, “I’ve grasped the situation… where is she…”
Rect surely knew who “she” was.
“Miss Silvya is safe.”
“Where is she?”
“At St. Zayeli Cathedral; the Saint is there too.”
Victoria nodded gently, her shoulders relaxing just a bit.
She turned to look out at the rain, listening to the soft patter of raindrops hitting the window ledge, and for a long time, she didn’t speak, lost in her own thoughts. Rect couldn’t see, nor dared to look at her expression.
After what felt like an eternity, Victoria’s voice broke through again.
“The Gate of Truth’s people—ran away?”
“…They ran away.”
Rect clenched and released his fists, gritting his teeth as he spoke.
