Chapter 147: Found You
George received the manuscript.
He didn’t flip through it. Though the Prayer Technique wasn’t like the Revelation of a Bishop-level ability that could project images, it could help him discern the truth of words.
Under the Prayer Technique, it told him that everything High Priest Everton had said was true, and the manuscript in his hand was indeed an official copied version.
“I understand. Thank you for your generosity,” George said.
“Ah, if not for the current state of the Church Nation, I truly would have wished to keep you here for a while,” High Priest Everton said with a sigh.
“To talk with you about matters of some Believers in the Church Nation, to consult you on some issues of the Church, to listen to the Church’s interpretation of the Holy Scriptures.”
“If in the future, when the Church Nation still exists, you’re welcome to visit again.”
“If such a day ever comes,” George replied. Then, after a moment’s hesitation, he added, “I will report the matters of the Church Nation to the Bishop.”
...
George left. He had merely walked through the Holy City, talked along the way, and then hurriedly departed.
Once George’s figure could no longer be seen, High Priest Everton slumped down onto the ground, his back leaning against a piece of wood. His head tilted backward, leading his upper body to recline, and his waist, supported by the wood, bent, letting out creaking sounds.
“Ugh~” High Priest Everton let out a sound of relief.
“You’re getting old too. Just walking this short distance, and your back’s already giving out,” a voice tinged with indifference rang out.
“I’m already seventy-three. Give these old bones a little sympathy,” High Priest Everton said, looking toward a figure that had somehow ended up sitting atop the wood.
Clad in a pure black robe, with sleek black hair and a long beard, his eyes were cold and his skin covered in wrinkles.
He looked like an old man, yet his thick, dark hair and beard made for a bizarre sight.
“Is this enough? He is powerful—far beyond ordinary knights—and his character is noble. He wouldn’t allow ambition to swell through greed,” the man said.
“He is the most suitable person for us.”
“It’s enough. It’s enough,” High Priest Everton shook his head.
“His Faith is exceptionally firm, and like you said, he is far stronger than ordinary knights. If he wants to leave, we cannot stop him.”
“Even though you embraced the Curse of the Earth Vein and obtained the power of the Earth Vein, letting us connect with it, it only made your mind stronger, enabling you to monitor every corner of this Holy City.”
“If you dared to appear before him with hostility, perhaps you too would be slain by him.”
High Priest Everton sighed as he spoke.
“And even if he is suitable, so what? That being fully holds the authority over the Church Nation. We are merely a scattered group that stole land rights from the Church Nation.”
“A scattered, divided group with different intentions—even if we manage to steal more than half of the authority, can we truly wield that power?”
“Impossible. That being is probably watching our struggle right now, laughing.”
High Priest Everton looked up at the sky, as if he saw a pair of mocking eyes gazing at them—like a group of clowns desperately performing.
“Instead of forcing him to stay, it’s better to let him carry the news of the Church Nation outward, to that mysterious Bishop of the Church of the Sanctuary.”
“Perhaps, there’s still a slim chance.”
“Regardless of whether the Lord of the Church of the Sanctuary is some form of Mystery, or a mighty existence.”
He stood up and looked at the knights still in training.
“Then why didn’t you tell him that it was the Patriarch who sold the authority to that being?” the seated man asked.
As he spoke, the diagram High Priest Everton had drawn earlier showed the top square expanding, enveloping the circle that represented the authority.
“Because I’m afraid,” High Priest Everton shook his head.
“You saw his nobility. If he truly follows the Holy Scriptures and takes them as his life’s standard, then upon hearing this information, he might consider all of us as enemies.”
“You’ve read the Holy Scriptures. You should know how great the sin the Patriarch committed is—and how many sins we’ve committed.”
“If that Lord is merely a form of ritual power, then according to the stipulations in the Holy Scriptures, that being might be judged as engaging in a fair and just transaction.”
“The Patriarch was the rightful holder of the authority, and that authority was traded to that being.”
“From the viewpoint of a mere transaction, that being is simply exercising its right, while we are the thieves who stole its rights and have committed the sin of theft.”
The seated man let out a cold snort. “The Holy Scriptures also say the Lord loves mankind. Is that being human?”
“Although we can’t see what that thing is, one thing is certain—it’s not human, and it’s judged as evil by the Holy Scriptures.”
“Alright, alright, I’ve said enough today. I don’t want to waste more breath arguing theology with you,” High Priest Everton cut the topic short, shaking his head helplessly.
“Why hasn’t the Erosion of the Earth Vein wiped away your scholar’s instinct to argue theology?” he said with some regret.
“The Erosion of the Earth Vein only erodes my emotions. Eventually, it will turn me into a puppet lost in slumber. But arguing theology is part of my character. As long as even a sliver of emotion remains in me, I will never stop debating,” the seated man returned to his emotionless expression.
“Everton, I don’t have much time left. I will soon fall into slumber like Tus. Now, it’s only you left,” he said.
“Yes, none of us have much time,” High Priest Everton said with a sigh. “So we have no other choice.”
...
After leaving the Holy City, George rushed westward. With the Prayer Technique, he wouldn’t lose his way.
However, George thought of Landon and the other one. After a brief hesitation, he decided to leave the Church Nation first and return to find them after delivering the manuscript to Marl and the others.
Given his speed, two days would be enough. The serpent they had would be enough to feed them for another two days.
With that in mind, George quickened his pace once more. The land beneath his feet shifted from desertification back to normal terrain.
Yet George found it odd that every so often, there was a dried-up lake.
Very large lakes, each the size of a village or a small town.
Shouldn’t this be hilly terrain? Why were there such round lakes?
Still, in his hurry, he didn’t think too much of it.
At last, before nightfall, he saw a figure clad in Dark Golden Armor.
“That’s... the Patriarch of the Church Nation?” George was surprised. He then understood what High Priest Everton had meant by being able to recognize him at a glance, and what made him special.
Nearly four meters tall, his body encased in Dark Golden Plate Armor, his head covered by a helmet, a massive greatsword nearly his height resting on his shoulder. He stood there in silence.
Their Patriarch—was a giant?
Was it still due to some special power?
In front of him was a massive lake shaped like a slope, and at the bottom of the lake were traces of something having scraped across it.
Was it a lake that had been dug out not long ago?
After a moment of hesitation, George recalled what High Priest Everton had told him—not to greet, not to linger, and to pass through the border as quickly as possible.
So he suppressed his curiosity, turned his gaze away, took a deep breath, and accelerated to overtake the Patriarch.
The Patriarch was the very forefront of expansion, so beyond the Patriarch would be the Principality of Patlin... no, it should now be territory of the Nation of Werewolves.
However, just as he was about to cross the edge of the lake, George’s body suddenly trembled violently—danger, immense danger—and the danger came from behind.
The Patriarch?! Shocked, he turned his head, and his pupils shrank sharply.
It was a radiance even more dazzling than the Morning Star, scorching heat, and with the wave of what seemed to contain boundless power sweeping past, the earth was gradually plowed open, as if it were being dug away.
George finally understood how all those ‘lakes’ he had seen along the way had come to be.
Yet he could not dodge. The area this power covered was too vast. He could only let out a loud shout, then grabbed the long spear from his back and plunged it deep into the ground, facing the power that would engulf him in nearly a blink.
His body felt like it was exposed to scorching heat. The storm scraped against his flesh.
The armor and hemp clothes he wore had already dissolved, followed by his skin, then deeper flesh and blood, as if meticulously dismantled by a precision butcher.
George felt like every knife used was red-hot.
Ten thousand cuts?
No, it was a number countless times greater than the largest unit George had ever learned.
When the heat and light finally receded, George felt as if he had been suddenly plunged from a fiery inferno into freezing water.
Then his entire body screamed in pain.
Even the act of opening his mouth was accompanied by a sharp sting, and he could no longer sense his own voice.
He could see his own hands.
Still held in a grasping pose—the spear had already vanished.
His own hands had been stripped of flesh and blood, leaving only clean hand bones.
Lowering his gaze slightly, even that simple movement brought overwhelming pain.
What appeared within his sight filled him with horror and disgust.
Charred muscle clung to the bone, unrecognizable in shape, still steaming from the high heat.
The farther from the hand bones, the more roasted, smoking meat clung to them.
When his gaze reached his abdomen, he could see that only a nearly transparent, charred thin layer remained to encase his internal organs.
Amidst the endless agony, a strange thought popped into George’s mind.
Had his internal organs been fully cooked?
But he could still see his heart—still beating faintly.
Suddenly, George felt as if he were shrouded in shadow.
Trembling, he looked up—it was the Patriarch.
That figure, head cloaked in a massive helmet, was looking down.
This place had already become a vast, sunken ‘lake,’ with only the spot where he stood remaining slightly elevated within the depression.
The other stood in that hollow, standing before him.
George felt as if the other was saying something, but he couldn’t hear it.
Perhaps his ears were gone already.
In his pain, George felt he must already be dead.
Who could survive such grievous injuries?
What a pity. He hadn’t completed the Bishop’s task, hadn’t finished the Lord’s Holy Knight’s trial.
Just as his thoughts were drifting, George saw the other pick something up from the ground.
It was the manuscript given to him by High Priest Everton.
But how could such a paper document have survived that force?
Yet... my eyes haven’t been destroyed?
Even the sturdy iron armor had been reduced to nothing.
George felt the Patriarch seemed to say something again, then raised his head and met his gaze.
In that instant, fear so profound it chilled the soul replaced the pain.
Within the narrow slit of that helmet, two crimson lights flickered—beast-like, vertical red pupils.
No—not merely beast-like. They were vertical rectangles.
Those vertical pupils locked eyes with him—no!
George suddenly felt that the other wasn’t actually looking at him.
...
Church of the Sanctuary, Great Church.
Corleon suddenly opened his eyes, his pupils still a brilliant golden.
“Found you,” he said in a low voice.
Then, his brilliant golden eyes burst open with a roar.