Chapter 448 - 92: October Revolution
Life and death. At times, they are the most significant matters in the world.
Yet at other times, they seem utterly insignificant.
Everyone understood that it was impossible. No matter how terrifying the power the Thunder Sword had displayed, no matter how compassionate and grand his song had been, getting the assembled nobles, Clergy, and Legendary Powerhouses to unanimously voice their approval was an impossible task. They all hailed from different factions, held their own allegiances, and harbored their own agendas.
Fear, self-interest, loyalty, ideals, duty, ambition... an endless list of reasons would always compel someone to speak out in opposition.
In the delegation from the Phlanis Kingdom, an Archbishop clad in a Sacrificial Robe with a high-ranking Holy Emblem pinned to his chest went beet-red.
His name was Roland Breton. He hailed from an ancient, pious family in northern Phlanis with close ties to the Church Court. He had always been a staunch supporter of the College of Cardinals’ policies and a firm ally of the Saint Cyril Faction.
He could not tolerate a Wizard of unknown origin and terrifying power humiliating the Church Court so publicly, threatening the Pope, and even making such a ridiculous proposal.
’This is a desecration of the sacred order!’
He had to stand up, to use his loudest, most solemn voice to represent the orthodox faith of the Phlanis Kingdom, to denounce this arrogant fool, and to defend the majesty of the Pope and the legitimacy of the Church Court!
"I—!"
His lips parted and his vocal cords vibrated. A single, clear syllable was about to burst from his throat.
Yet, in the very instant the word "I" was about to become sound, an indescribable chill froze the muscles in his throat and the air in his lungs.
He could ’think’ the word. He could ’feel’ the urge to speak it. He could even ’simulate’ its sound in his mind. But he simply could not bring it into reality.
He tried to move his arm, to make a gesture of protest, but discovered he couldn’t even bend a finger. His entire body felt as if it had been sealed in invisible amber, with only his horrified eyes able to move.
All the while, Murphy’s gaze hadn’t shifted so much as an inch in his direction.
He remained calmly suspended upon the sword’s phantom, as if merely awaiting the inevitable response.
The same scene was playing out all across the square.
In the viewing area for the Vilt Kingdom, the veins on a middle-aged Knight Captain’s forehead bulged. He belonged to King William IV’s personal guard and was renowned for his courage and loyalty.
Within the Rotalia Imperial delegation, a General famed for his iron will knitted his brows. His lips moved a few times, but he found himself voiceless.
Several Bishops and Priests, all belonging to different Cardinal factions, had faces contorted with a mixture of fear, fury, and struggle.
They wanted to shout "Blasphemy!" and "Heresy!" They wanted to quote the Holy Scripture to refute Murphy’s accusations and use the power of their faith to fight this terrifying suppression, yet not one of them could utter a single meaningful syllable.
Even the lower-ranking Clergy and the Temple Knights maintaining order suffered the same fate. Upon witnessing the Pope’s humiliation, their hearts filled with righteous fury. They tried to mutter curses or pray for resistance, but they too were silenced.
The square remained deathly silent. Not a sound could be heard.
Finally, Murphy spoke again, shattering the suffocating silence.
His voice was calm, betraying no hint of emotion:
"It seems... no one objects for now."
His gaze swept slowly across the square. Wherever it landed, those who had tried and failed to speak instinctively averted their eyes. Their bodies were rigid, their hearts filled with either indescribable humiliation or lingering terror.
Then, as if just noticing it, the phantom tilted its head slightly. Its gaze shifted to the sky, toward the "Wall of Faith" that was still emanating a pale golden light.
"Oh, right," Murphy’s voice was flat, as if stating some trivial fact. "Since the Plane Rift is closed and the threat has been temporarily eliminated... this ’Wall of Faith’ is no longer necessary."
The moment he finished speaking, the three-inch dark gold small sword floating beside him—smooth and lustrous as jade—let out a soft hum. WHIR! As if answering its master’s call, it transformed into a streak of light and shot into the hand of Murphy’s phantom, a hand woven from light and shadow.
Murphy gripped the small Flying Sword. He faced the vast Holy Domain in the sky—a field of power gathered from a millennium of Faith Willpower, sustained by the combined might of the Pope and the Great Shepherd Leader. Then, with a seemingly casual motion, he swung the sword forward.
SHIIING!
A magnificent, dazzling, impossibly pure beam of dark gold Sword Qi erupted from the tip of the blade. It sliced through the air and vanished into the pale golden radiance.
Wherever the dark gold Sword Qi passed, the seemingly indestructible radiant field of the "Wall of Faith" disintegrated as silently as morning mist touched by the sun.
Countless interwoven Chains of Faith shattered, link by link, dissolving into motes of golden light that drifted down like dust.
The holy pressure that had enveloped the entire square vanished as quickly as a popped balloon.
"PFFT!"
"Urk!"
At almost the exact same moment, high above the altar, both Pope Ete I and the Northern Great Shepherd Leader shuddered violently, each spitting a mouthful of blood!
Pope Ete I’s face instantly turned white as a sheet. The light from the Crescent Star Crown atop his head dimmed drastically, and the hand gripping his Scepter began to tremble violently. His withered body swayed, and he nearly plummeted from the sky, saved only by two quick-thinking Cardinals who managed to catch and support him.
The Northern Great Shepherd Leader was in slightly better condition, but for the first time, a crack appeared on his perpetually frozen face.
He let out a stifled grunt. The blizzard in his left eye and the polar night in his right eye descended into chaos, their light flickering erratically. His figure recoiled slightly, and the biting chill that radiated from him diminished by more than half.