### Chapter 170: In the Shadows Where the Holy Light Does Not Shine (Part 2)
When Pope Angel said this, his tone was so casual, accompanied by a smile, as if he were simply discussing what to have for a midnight snack.
However, when the words reached Aresta’s ears, they caused quite a stir in the young bishop’s heart.
His eyes widened in disbelief. He had thought it was just his wild imagination, but here was this man, who was barely thirty and had been pope for less than eight years, actually daring to make such a crazy decision.
Once the news was released, everything would change.
Unlike the past, where various factions pretended to get along, no matter how heated the internal struggles were, they maintained at least a facade of civility for the sake of the Church’s reputation. Everyone played nice, knowing that no one genuinely wanted to tear each other’s faces off.
But now, many within the Church—high officials, neutral parties—would no longer have the luxury of looking the other way. They’d be forced to pick sides.
No one could escape.
“Your Holiness, you’re really planning to shake things up, huh?”
After the brief shock passed, Aresta’s heart started racing, a gleeful expression overtaking his face.
That day had finally arrived…
Though it was sudden and perhaps not the best timing, it was here…
Inside the barracks, candlelight flickered on their faces, making the light dance in their eyes.
The man named Angel, dressed in a loose golden robe that resembled a sleeping gown, its elaborate patterns reflecting bright colors, looked just as radiant as his eyes.
He turned to the young bishop, his tone slightly wistful: “The power of the masses can sometimes be astonishing, even to me…”
“The vast majority of people in this world are blind, lacking the ability to think independently. They take every rumor at face value and never truly recognize their own mistakes.”
Angel walked around the wooden table to a nearby coat rack, taking down a golden ritual robe while continuing, “Many people, once they see something reasonable or hopeful, will believe it without a second thought. And once they believe, they often develop a pathological need to suppress any beliefs or actions that undermine their newfound hope, or exceed their understanding…”
He wrapped himself in the robe and adjusted it slightly: “They see harm as benefit, making entirely emotional and polarized choices—black and white—unable to accept any new viewpoints, governed by thoughts, traditions, shallow understanding, and impulsive feelings, always opting for the most easily comprehended, most desired choice. It’s human nature… or perhaps, that’s the nature of ‘the crowd.’”
“This era is so backward that to resonate with ‘the crowd,’ you have to fabricate an imaginary, non-existent object—a deity that they can seek forgiveness from and achieve self-redemption. That’s their easiest way out because praying beats thinking, saving their little brains from exertion.”
With his robe now looking less like a displacement map, Angel donned his crown and grasped the magnificent staff leaning in the corner.
“They don’t understand anything, like clean slates. You can paint whatever you want, just not too complicated. What you can tell them is limited to their understanding; go a bit beyond that, and they’ll think you’re insane, not normal. Too many are like this.”
He began to walk toward the barracks door: “They’re just weak individuals who often think of themselves as strong, enjoying their self-imposed ignorance. In the eyes of most, the world is just the size of a pinhead… a few houses, a small town, distant mountains, a stream flowing outside of town, and the people around them—nothing more.”
After taking a few steps, the Pope turned back, looking at Aresta, who was still puzzled and frowning by the table. With a slight smile, he said, “Alright, I know you don’t understand what I’m saying, and sometimes I don’t even understand my own thoughts…”
“Aresta, you don’t need to think too much—just understand one thing.”
He paused: “When countless individuals are stirred by emotion, when events rise to a level that threatens the very existence of many, destroying their mountains, their towns, their lives, at that moment, right or wrong, the truth becomes irrelevant…”
Angel raised his palm, pushing forward: “All we need to do is give them a gentle nudge from behind…”
“They will, without hesitation, turn their words into swords and their outrage into action.”
“That kind of force is unstoppable, a mighty torrent. Whether it’s a rugged worker from the mountains or old noble families with fortunes to rival countries, or heroes standing on mountains high, when the flood comes, no one can stop it… no one can stop it… as long as you understand this, that’s enough.”
The Pope strolled toward the door.
“And the only way to control this force is not through individuals, and definitely not through any deity…”
He turned his back to Aresta, tapping his temple.
“Only through thought.”
Creeeak—
The old wooden door of the barracks swung open, and the early autumn night crept in.
The young Pope, dressed in a golden-white robe, crowned with a magnificent crown, and wielding a sparkling staff, stepped outside. Beyond the barracks, the sky was dim, the cool wind whistling, while the night was nearly void of stars.
Eight priests from the Faith Organization, already waiting outside, lined up at the door, bowing their heads in unison: “Your Holiness.”
The young Pope nodded slightly. “Let’s go.”
He strode forward, his staff thudding heavily on the ground.
Aresta followed him quickly, pacing along at a half-step behind, and a few steps later, the rest of the priests followed, passing through the brightly lit campsite. Nearby, knights crowded around a bonfire, drinking and chatting, but as they caught sight of Angel, they all stood up and saluted. Unfazed, Angel led everyone in the direction of the northern city wall.
Beyond the camp, a throng of townsfolk from Alectine City, who had gathered in anticipation of the news, fell eerily silent as Angel approached.
“Look…”
“Is that… the Pope?!”
“It really is the Pope!”
“The Pope has come out…”
“It’s the Pope! He’s really here!!!”
After a brief hush, the crowd erupted like a dam bursting, showering him with cheers.
“Your Holiness—”
“You’ve come! It’s really you who will save us! I can’t believe it, I just can’t…”
“The Pope is with us, the Holy Church is with us, the great Deity is with us…”
One, two… beneath the night sky, countless people knelt, some praying, others moved to tears.
“It was you who saved me from the mouth of demons, saved my family… how can I ever repay you…how can I…”
“And my poor daughter, she’s alive! I brought her with me, please, take a look at us… we bask in your holy light; we’ve all survived…”
“You saved Alectine City, saved countless suffering people of Silgaya… Your mercy is unmatched, your greatness is unparalleled! Because of your arrival, even the terrible storm has receded. We thank you, we thank the Church for everything…”
Amidst the tide of voices, one shouted angrily: “Those vampires from the Currency Exchange don’t deserve your protection!”
“They deserve to d*e, they really do! The Pope has slain those filthy vampires, those cowards! The great Church will not harbor shameless people!!!”
As the young Pope moved through the crowd, ragged, shabby townsfolk parted like the Red Sea, looking up at Angel’s handsome face, their dull eyes sparkling with fanatic adoration. Countless dirty hands reached out, desperate to touch that seemingly unreachable greatness.
“Oh, great Pope, may you be with the Deity, may the Church always bless us…”
“May you be with the Deity, may you bless us forever…”
Under the night sky, amidst the crowd’s fervent gazes, Angel walked slowly, smiling and waving to the people; occasionally, he clasped outstretched dirty hands, offering a few comforting words. At this moment, the young man in his twenties truly resembled a savior.
Aresta followed closely behind, his heart racing as if he were part of the entire world.
…………
After a long time, they pushed through the crowd, exited the city, and reached the open fields at the base of the northern mountains.
There, several priests awaited their arrival.
In the distance, charred remains cluttered the hillsides, the stench of decay growing stronger. In the quiet night, golden light shimmered as Angel arrived; several priests encircled him, murmuring incantations. Angel glanced back at Aresta: “Wait for me here.”
Then he stepped into the circle, retrieved a fist-sized golden orb from his robe, and closed his eyes.
Buzz—
The sound of a divine miracle echoed; the golden light erupted, warping the air around them like a black hole, instantly pulling the Pope and the brilliant light into its depths, making him disappear.
When Angel opened his eyes again, he found himself in the dim underground cell of the northern realm.
“d*mn it, no matter how many times I use this thing, I can’t get used to it…”
He rubbed his forehead, then lifted his gaze to the people already waiting in the stone chamber.
After a moment, he exhaled: “Archbishop Ansiel, and Annasiris, you’re both here.”
