Chapter 443 - 90: Foundation Establishment
"But you are different! You are a Legend of the Vilt Kingdom, the Guardian of the Monte Territory, and what’s more, the hero who saved the Saint today! The Church Court will remember your achievements and your goodwill! If you stand with order now and assist the Church Court in completely suppressing these sources of chaos, I swear in the name of Oriane that the Church Court will forever be your friend. As for the past—including the Path you have chosen—the Church Court will respect it, as long as it does not endanger the peace of the Continent. We can even offer you sanctuary and support! The peace of the Northern Territory and the prosperity of the Monte Territory will have the Church Court’s most steadfast guarantee!"
Pope Ete I’s words were resolute and powerful. An oath sworn in the name of faith by a Pope carried immense weight.
The Northern Great Shepherd Leader’s cold voice followed immediately: "Your Excellency, Thunder Sword, do not be blinded by fleeting power and empty promises. The foundation upon which the Church Court has stood for a millennium far surpasses the Wall of Faith you see today. Those truly ancient powers and taboos are never revealed unless absolutely necessary. To side with these ancient remnants, who are destined to be swept away by the tides of history, is to cut yourself off from the light and condemn yourself to eternal damnation. It’s not too late to turn back."
The atmosphere on the battlefield seemed to freeze.
Even the distant struggle between the Wall of Faith and the wind, thunder, and water seemed to be momentarily forgotten.
For a moment, the entire battlefield’s focus converged upon the small, three-inch sword hovering in the air.
Hope and urgency warred on Muriyas’s face, his earthen body trembling slightly with agitation.
From the fissure, the telepathic waves of the three Wizards pulsed with urgency.
Pope Ete I’s gaze was heavy as he gripped his Scepter tightly. The Great Shepherd Leader’s eyes were ice-cold, an intangible chill spreading from him.
Adrian and Ambrosius exchanged worried glances.
William IV’s expression shifted, a mixture of shock, anger, and fear.
Legendary Knight Otto’s brow was tightly furrowed.
A faint glint flickered in the depths of the Ironspine Duke’s eyes.
The members of the Rotalia Imperial Envoy held their breath in anticipation.
Duke Charlie of Orleans struggled to maintain his composure, while Knight Armand was still reeling from shock.
A light flickered incessantly in the eyes of Ostun and the Wizards from the Silver Tower.
Elizabeth sat collapsed on the cold ground, tightly guarded by the Temple Knights.
The tear tracks on her pale face had dried. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, and her ink-black eyes stared, unblinking, at the small sword.
Just then, the small, three-inch sword, which had been hovering for so long, finally moved.
Upon the smooth, jade-like surface of the Dark Gold blade, light and shadow slowly swirled and converged, finally forming a hazy yet distinct human silhouette.
The phantom’s outline was identical to Murphy’s.
He floated silently in the air, seeming both one with the Flying Sword and transcendent of it.
The phantom’s face was calm, his deep eyes sweeping across the battlefield.
He did not look at the high and mighty Pope Ete I, nor at the Northern Great Shepherd Leader with his terrifying aura.
He paid no mind to Muriyas’s earthen face, full of enticement and urgency, nor did he glance toward the three Wizards in the fissure, who were transmitting chaotic thoughts.
He ignored the complicated expressions of Cardinals like Adrian and Ambrosius. He did not look toward the viewing area at the distinguished figures—the Legends, Kings, Dukes, Princes, Chancellors, and Generals—whose faces now showed a variety of emotions.
He did not even look at Elizabeth, who was close by, watching him with tear-filled eyes.
He did not look toward his loyal subordinates on the mountainside, who, unaware of what was happening, were staring at the commotion on the mountaintop plaza, their hearts wrung with worry for him.
The gaze of Murphy’s phantom passed over the broken ruins of the altar, over the chaotic torrents of Energy, over the tense experts and dignitaries, and finally...
...it fell upon the devastated land of the Holy City below.
It fell upon the common people struggling in the murky floodwaters, their lives quietly stolen by the Withering Wind, crying out in despair among the ruins.
It fell upon the vacant eyes of a mother who had lost her child. It fell upon the outstretched arm of an old man who had tried to lift his grandson above the water, only to sink along with him. It fell upon the ordinary faithful, supporting one another as they trudged through the waist-deep water, their faces etched with terror and the will to survive...
A long, drawn-out song, seeming to descend from the nine heavens yet also seeming to rise from the bottom of every heart, echoed over the Holy City, accompanied by the cries of its suffering people and the roar of the wind, thunder, and water:
"My life, adrift like duckweed in the storm,A stranger in a strange land, my heart filled with alarm.
I nested for a time beneath foreign eaves,For twenty years in warmth, my fledgling wings unfurled.
The moon once lit my journey home,The lamps of my own land, a warm and welcome world.
My family flourished, a joy for me to see,My path to power opened, vast and free.
Then sudden war-smoke burned the peace away,When all I asked for was a brighter day.
The starved now choke the streams, crows peck the dead,On ruined fields, the blood of innocents is shed.
The fires of chaos burn the helpless, small as ants,A savage wind shatters their lives, with but a passing glance.
I force myself to see this world of pain,And mourn the cold indifference of heaven’s reign.
Spirit Root Tempering Jade Foundation Establishment Realm.Sword Spirit Condensing Light Breaks Taiqing.
I will not be a faint flame on a mossy wall,But an eternal star, shining for all time.
"