Chapter 577 - 561: Taking Turns on the Stage
Chapter 577: Chapter 561: Taking Turns on the Stage
"...purified by Divine Punishment!"
The Pope’s final words still echoed across the square.
"The people of this land do not need salvation!" A furious roar suddenly exploded from the crowd. Upon hearing such blasphemy, the Believers turned angrily toward the voice.
A burly man abruptly drew a dagger and hurled it viciously at the nearest Holy Order Army soldier.
THUK!
The short sword pierced a Holy Temple Knight’s throat. Blood spewed out, splattering across the pristine white ground. That single drop of blood was the spark that ignited the riot!
In every corner of the crowd, dozens of robed Minstrels simultaneously drew short swords gleaming with a faint green light from their instrument cases. The resistance fighters hidden among the masses and the Noble Private Army disguised as pilgrims instantly dropped their facades. The scrape of unsheathing blades, furious roars, and agonizing screams tore through the square’s hypocritical peace in an instant.
The execution ceremony descended into utter chaos in the blink of an eye.
"The good show has begun." Allen stood amidst the crowd. With a casual wave of his hand, an invisible Force Field deflected the splattering droplets of blood.
"There is no god in this world—!"
The chant erupted from all directions, each wave louder than the last. At the same time, the resistance forces on the outside charged in, plunging directly into the flank of the Holy Temple Knight formation.
However, the Church Court had operated on this continent for over a century; with their profound foundation, they had laid an ambush well in advance. Thunderous, heavy iron-clad footsteps echoed around the square. An endless stream of Holy Order Army soldiers surged from the streets, rapidly forming a counter-encirclement. Thousands of Red Robe Priests stood on high ground, their fingertips exuding a sweet, metallic blood mist that spread out like a massive net.
"Heretics!"
Before the first wave of resistance fighters charging the high platform could even climb the steps, the skin on their chests exploded out of nowhere.
"The Holy Blood Mark... they can detonate the mark!"
"Cut the mark off! Cut it off!"
Some swung their blades with bloodshot eyes, forcefully gouging into their own chests, their screams blending with the gory sight of mangled flesh. Others simply couldn’t bring themselves to do it; they stared blankly at their chests before their knees gave out. Falling to the ground, they clutched their heads and wept in despair, "O Lord, I was wrong..."
[Memetic pollution backlash. Approximately thirty percent of the resistance forces are experiencing cognitive regression.]
Allen lowered his eyelids, noncommittal. The deep-rooted indoctrination that had tamed generations could not be completely severed by a single, passionate cry for Freedom.
Instead, those who had not been implanted with the mark stood the firmest. Thousands of Violinist Alliance members formed a loose formation, a peculiar low hum rising from their throats like cello strings vibrating within their bones. Faint silver-white patterns surfaced beneath their feet, and the green light on their short swords surged, restabilizing the situation.
"Star’s Lament." Allen committed the name to memory.
[The principle is Natural Magic Power resonance. A crude method.] Jarvis had already completed the analysis.
The Holy Temple Army crashed into the formation from the perimeter like a torrent of steel, but the resistance soldiers showed no fear. They built a defensive line with their flesh and blood, throwing themselves into the fray wave after wave, swearing to fight to the death. For a time, battle cries shook the heavens as both sides fell into a tragic, bloody stalemate.
However, at this critical juncture, the defense line near the high platform suddenly collapsed. The elite members of the Violinist Alliance breached it like Ghosts, their drawn blades as swift as lightning. A gap was torn through the platform’s defenses, and more people surged madly toward it like a burst dam.
Up on the platform, the Pope’s expression finally changed. He slowly raised his right hand, pointing toward the sky.
"O Lord."
The air across the entire square froze as the sky suddenly darkened.
It was as if the sun’s rays were being forcibly sucked away by a massive gravitational Force Field. A thick, viscous black cloud spiraled down from the peak of the Holy Mountain. Its center split open, and a crimson beam of light struck straight down, smashing directly onto the execution platform.
The "Seventh Violin"—the dying, tough man whose hands and feet had been pierced by iron nails—did not even have time to utter a muffled groan before he instantly dissolved into a mist of blood within the red light.
Only four empty iron nails remained on the cross.
A miracle had descended!
A second later, the sound of people dropping to their knees spread like a tidal wave. First were the commoners, then the Noble Private Army, and finally the resistance. The CLANG of iron weapons hitting the ground merged into a continuous din.
"Divine Punishment... It really is Divine Punishment..."
"The Lord is truly watching over us!"
The Pope spread his arms, his white robes billowing in the wind. He looked down at the Believers kneeling all over the ground, his voice as gentle as if he were coaxing children.
"Lost lambs, the Lord forgives you."
Allen’s mouth twitched. He put on a good act, but that was clearly the Blood Melting Beam, the signature Witchcraft of the Black Wizard flesh faction.
Just as he was about to step toward the edge of the crowd, a voice rang out from directly beneath the high platform.
"The Miracle of the Holy Spring thirty-seven years ago was just like this."
A middle-aged man in a gray cloak walked up the stone steps of the platform, one step at a time. No one had noticed how he suddenly appeared. He held no weapon, his fingers tracing lightly in the air as if keeping a beat.
"The Fire Rain Punishment forty-nine years ago felt like keeping time for a silent symphony.
"Every ’miracle’ is nothing but a cheap trick to deceive the ignorant masses."
The compassion on the Pope’s face froze. "You are..."
"A member of the Violinist Alliance." The man stepped in front of him and bowed slightly. "They call me the Conductor."
His hand suddenly dropped. It was like drawing a rest at the end of a passionate movement. A jeweled dagger slid from his sleeve, instantly traversing the hundred-meter distance to plunge directly into the Pope’s heart.
A flower of blood slowly bloomed across the gold-threaded white robe. The Pope looked down at his own chest, his eyes filled with incomprehension.
"Im... possible... I have the Lord’s... blessing..."
"You have no Lord."
The Conductor turned around to face the hundred thousand people. His voice suddenly rose, tearing across the entire square. "Look closely! This is no god! This is a trick! He pulverizes people into blood mist and claims a god took them! He drains your blood and calls it a divine blessing!"
He kicked the Pope’s body over.
"The Pope is dead! The Blood God Sect’s scam ends here!" the Conductor declared loudly, his voice spreading clearly across the entire square.
This scene plunged everyone into a daze once again. The resistance fighters were momentarily stunned before erupting into earth-shattering cheers. The Believers and the Holy Order Army, however, were completely stupefied.
Their supreme leader, the spokesperson of the Holy Spirit, was just... assassinated in public like this?
"There is no god—in this world!"
First came one shout, then two, and then countless others. The roar of "There is no god!" exploded from all directions, ten times louder than the previous chant.
Allen stood in place, watching the situation unfold with great interest.
[Public faith is experiencing a cliff-like drop. On-site memetic field strength has decayed by forty-one percent.]
Beautifully done. It was even more decisive than he had anticipated. This "Conductor" understood human nature very well; he didn’t debate scripture or reason with them. He simply used an unknown piece of Wizard equipment to completely shatter the idol’s golden facade.
Unfortunately, the tragedy of this world lay in the fact that there truly was a "god" behind the Church. Even though it was an evil god born of flesh and blood mutations, it was absolutely not something this group of mortals could overthrow with just their passionate fervor.
At the very moment the crowd was boiling over, up on the high platform, the Pope’s corpse twitched.
No, it was collapsing.
The gold-threaded white robe deflated in an instant, as if the person’s skin, muscles, and bones had all melted into viscous blood, trickling down the stone steps.
The Conductor abruptly took a step back. "...What?"
SPLASH.
A second sound rang out across the square, then a third, and then thousands more.
The armor of the red-robed Holy Temple Knights CLANGED to the ground, leaving empty husks behind. The Priests praying in the bell tower melted like wax, spilling streams of red over the battlements. The twelve Saintesses of the Bishop’s Court stood in place, their white dresses collapsing one by one into pools of blood.
The resistance fighters, who had been cheering just a second ago, felt their throats seize at this extremely bizarre sight. The kneeling Believers screamed as they scrambled backward, trampling over one another.
"Monsters! They are monsters!"
Tens of thousands of bloody streams converged into a river. Defying the Laws of physics, the river of blood flowed backward along the square’s radial stone patterns, surging entirely toward the hundred-meter-tall faceless idol in the center.
In the direction of the Holy Mountain, all the doors and windows of the grand cathedral exploded open simultaneously. Blood rushed out like a tsunami.
[Warning. High-purity Essence of Life detected. Total volume exceeds 1,200,000 standard units.]
[Warning. Dawn Star Level Magic Power fluctuations observed. Target energy level continues to climb.]
The blood waves climbed fiercely up the idol’s ankles, knees, and waist, finally completely engulfing the white stone statue with its upraised hands. The blood writhed, contracted, and solidified, as if being molded by an invisible cast.
CRACK—
Large sections of the statue’s surface began to peel away. White debris rained down on the crowd, revealing a pulsating, crimson body underneath.
Two thick, powerful arms hung down, but its broad shoulders and back were covered in twisted tumors. A face slowly emerged from the flesh and blood. This appearance was exactly identical to the painting hung in every church across the three kingdoms.
One hundred thousand people stared blankly upwards, as if struck by a paralyzing spell. No one dared to shout "There is no god" anymore.
The Conductor stood on the high platform. The short sword slipped from his hand, splashing a red bloom in the pool of blood. He opened his mouth, but the sounds in his throat couldn’t form words.
"...God... is real..."
The Blood Giant had completely taken shape. It slowly opened its eyes, lowered its head, and indifferently swept its gaze over the ant-like crowd below.
An indescribable malice and brutality swept across the entire square like a tsunami, instantly shattering everyone’s mental defenses. Countless people clawed out their own eyes on the spot; some frantically tore at their hair, while others knelt on the ground, smashing their foreheads violently against the pristine white stone slabs until their skulls cracked open.
Fear was no longer sufficient to describe this Purgatory.
Allen, who had been standing at the edge of the crowd all along, tilted his chin up slightly. His deep blue eyes reflected the colossal Blood Giant, and countless streams of data flashed rapidly deep within his pupils.
[Comparing with the ’Crimson Hand’ member database...]
[Match successful.]
[Target: Morning Star Wizard, ’Blood Sea Monarch’ Kesuga.]
"So it’s you." A cold glint flashed in Allen’s eyes.
"You dare to use my Plane as your incubator?
"What incredible nerve."