Chapter 672: Two Future

Seville City, the Holy Cathedral of the Church of Light. Hebrew stood solemnly before the statue, softly chanting a hymn recorded in the canon.

Sunlight poured through the rainbow-colored cathedral windows and fell upon the man.

Deep shadows stretched across the steps before him, staining the pristine marble statue with a gray-black edging. The robe draped along the statue’s legs was carved from stone, yet under the master artisan’s meticulous sculpting and the interplay of light and shadow, it appears delicate and weightless.

The Light Scripture teaches that the all-knowing, all-powerful Lord possesses no permanent gender or definite form. As the origin of both the material and spiritual realms, He is the beginning and the end of everything. He is both One and the entirety of existence, the supreme ruler and creator of all that exists.

Therefore, the statue of the Lord before Hebrew was merely a fictional existence modeled after the human form.

It was not the true visage of the Creator God, but the embodiment of the only faith upheld by the Church of Light.

And exactly because of this, the statues enshrined in churches across different lands did not share a single appearance, some were old men, some children, some compassionate mothers, some men in their prime; there were also arbiters who raised the Sword of Holy Judgment, and bards who held long harps.

Countless such forms exist, each no more than one of the many possibilities among His myriad incarnations.

So long as one’s faith was pure, the Lord would feel it.

No one knew how much time passed before the cathedral doors opened. A beautiful woman in a black nun’s habit, wearing a silk headdress shaped like flower stamens, stepped into the hall.

Light brown hair, exquisitely striking features. A white side-laced support garment upheld and concealed that is heavy, abundant fullness. Two long, slender, delicate pale legs were wrapped in white thigh-high stockings; at the stocking tops, an intricate pattern formed silver-ring-like bands that cinched the flesh of her thighs. On her feet were slim high heels with side cutouts. With each graceful step upon the cathedral tiles, crisp, bright taps rang out.

The newcomer was none other than the Saintess of Light, Monica Angelis.

"Your Holiness, the Saintess of Light, Monica Angelis, has arrived in obedience to the summons."

Her melodious voice echoed through the sanctuary. Monica lowered her head, lightly holding the ribbons at her sides with both hands, her tone respectful and devout.

A few days earlier, she had volunteered to go to the plague-stricken region in the kingdom’s south to conduct treatment and isolation work for the afflicted. And after Grand Duke Grant lost a border city and the Valeria Empire, backed jointly by the Regent and the Empress, advanced in force, Hebrew immediately issued an order calling her back to Seville City to await instructions.

Although she did not quite understand Hebrew’s intention, a decree from the Pope was something Monica had to obey.

Hearing Monica’s response, Hebrew did not stop at once. He continued chanting in the same rhythm until the hymn ended. Only then did he turn around and look at the Saintess, who had maintained her prayer posture all this time, silently waiting for him to speak.

"Monica, you arrived quickly."

The man’s low voice reached Monica’s ears, carrying a faint pressure, suggestive, as if hinting at something, yet also as though it were mere small talk.

A ripple passed through Monica’s heart, but her expression remained unchanged. She replied with utmost deference.

"After receiving Your Holiness’s summons, I departed at once and hurried to the royal capital."

Of course, she did so not merely to obey. She had other thoughts as well.

From the available information, the commander-in-chief of the Valeria expeditionary force was the battle-hardened military merit noble, Grand Duke Charles. Under him, the divided army commanders were his adjutant, the royal side’s commander of the Imperial Guard responsible for the northern territories, and Valeria’s bulwark, Lyra Beckett.

As for the Regent, Astrid, her actual authority did indeed surpass the grand duke’s, yet this imperial eldest princess seemed not to concern herself with the details of the battlefield frontline, instead overseeing logistics and the allocation of military supplies.

Now the empire’s expeditionary army had already pried open the kingdom’s gates, driving straight in from the east. If the Church of Light made no response, would that not betray the very reason it had once given for war? Back when they invaded the Valeria Empire, their banner had been "spreading the faith."

Now that the heretics had come pounding at their own doorstep, to remain indifferent would only allow matters to escalate further.

Whatever Hebrew planned to do next, Monica hoped she could take part.

On the steps, Hebrew revised at Monica. After a few seconds, he spoke in a low voice.

"Rise first."

"Yes, Your Holiness."

Ending her prayer posture, Monica lifted her head. The brightness beyond the windows dazzled her for a moment, and then she heard Hebrew ask:

"How are things in the plague zone? I’ve heard the bishops say that neither [Holy Healing] nor [Blazing Sun Sweeps Forth] can cure this bizarre hemorrhagic disease."

To have an illness with both extremely strong infection and an extremely high fatality rate was already rare. Yet now, whether folk physicians or believers proficient in light magic, none could erase it at the root. Only preventive isolation could slow the spread.

It was foreseeable that if a method of curing the plague could not be found soon, the Kingdom of Velys might not even need foreign invasion, this plague alone could overturn it.

"Reporting to Your Holiness: I examined this condition on site. It is not a disease caused by dark-element corruption of the body, but an existence that directly attacks the origin of life," Monica answered softly.

Thus, the purification-type light spell [Blazing Sun Sweeps Forth] could not take effect, and the underlying logic of [Holy Healing] was similarly to guide life energy and stimulate the body’s own defenses to remove the source of illness. With the origin of life weakened, [Holy Healing] naturally had no effect.

"Our current methods can only prevent it, and it is difficult to cure..."

"As for patients already infected, those with mild cases can still use [Holy Light] to ease symptoms and prolong the overall course. Those in severe cases... can only be aided with certain spells that dull pain, so that their final stretch of life is not so unbearable."

After the outbreak, some Light bishops from neighboring regions also rushed to the scene, joining local physicians in research aimed at the plague. But this intractable ailment, rare even in Velys’s history, was not something that could be cracked in a short time.

"The only piece of news that may or may not count as fortunate is that this plague seems lethal only to those below the Great Knight rank. Once one reaches the Great Knight, the patient’s physical resilience is enough to withstand it."

"And those who have long bathed in holy light, the Light Knights, are not easily eroded by the plague either."

For the Church of Light, this was good news. At least the Holy Light Knights involved in isolating patients will not easily become infected and die in service.

Moreover, since the holy light had a suppressive effect on the plague, many people even slept inside churches, trying to draw strength from the Creator’s statue to resist death, indirectly deepening their faith.

Hebrew frowned deeply. After a moment, he spoke.

"I heard earlier that half a year ago, the Valeria Empire also encountered a similar illness."

"The afflicted developed fever, coughing, internal bleeding, and ultimately died."

At the time, Hebrew believed this was the all-knowing, all-powerful Lord’s punishment upon the heretics, a price they had to pay for accepting holy grace, a manifestation of the Creator’s will.

Otherwise, how could it be explained that the outbreak happened exactly when the cathedral knights reached the front, and that it raged only in Valeria’s rear logistics zones, yet did not infect the mercenaries under Grant’s control?

But now, Hebrew felt uncertain.

Hearing his words, Monica paused briefly, then quickly continued.

"Later, the Regent Astrid and that... sinner who usurped the Lord’s authority worked together to heal the suffering."

And it was exactly that time that strengthened Monica’s conviction that Astrid Calliste was an incarnation of the Lord

Hebrew fell silent. Under the light, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes stood out even more.

After a while, he spoke.

"Monica, pure one who exists to serve the Lord, how do you view this matter?"

It was a casually phrased question, yet it made Monica unconsciously tense her waist. Her beautiful eyes narrowed slightly, and the legs wrapped in fine white stockings straightened.

To engage in underground dealings under the eyes of the Pope of Light carried risks no less than those of the frontline. It was her repeated caution that had kept the undercurrents within the Church submerged beneath the surface.

Facing what might be a probe from Hebrew, Monica answered warmly.

"Perhaps... it was the holy relic that took effect..."

This answer was relatively moderate, something the Pope before she had likely considered.

Sure enough, Hebrew’s thick brows still knitted as he replied in a low voice.

"But this time, I similarly handed the right to use the holy relic to you."

Monica Angelis, as the Saintess of Light, was the being closest to the Creator apart from him. If even Monica could not cleanse the plague, then Hebrew likely could not turn the tide either.

"..."

Could it be that he... was not devout enough...

The moment such a thought surfaced, Hebrew’s gaze lowered on its own. He soon turned around, once more facing the Creator’s statue.

No longer being watched by the Pope’s oppressive gaze, Monica relaxed slightly. After waiting a while and confirming Hebrew had no intention of speaking again, she parted her pink lips and said:

"Your Holiness, I heard the heretics have made some moves recently."

"...You are quite concerned about this matter?"

"I have only heard a little. After all, Lyra Beckett is the one who stole the holy relic, she may well be traveling with them."

Without revealing how much intelligence she actually knew, she answered in the tone of one concerning the church. Like Hebrew, her gaze rested upon the holy image of the all knowing all powerful as she spoke softly.

"Forgive my presumptuousness, Your Holiness."

"What do you plan to do next?"

With the plague encircling them from the south and a powerful enemy pressing from the east, the Church of Light could not possibly have everything at once.

From selfish motives, Monica naturally hoped the cathedral knights would stay far from the war, first, to avoid losing their lives due to fanatic faith; second, to truly do something practical for the suffering patients.

Hearing the woman’s voice behind him, Hebrew stood quietly, letting the sunlight fall upon his shoulders, illuminating the papal robe that symbolized his clerical station.

"The Lord will give us guidance," he said.

Monica’s eyelids twitched. Her chest rose and fell slightly. Yet considering Hebrew’s overwhelming strength, even the slightest change in her body might be noticed. She forcibly steadied her heartbeat and spoke gently:

"Your Holiness... are you still receiving the Lord’s baptism every night?"

"..."

The moment those words fell, the cathedral turned deathly silent. Monica could even hear her own heartbeat, and the tolling bells from the center of Seville City, spreading outward until they reached the Holy Cathedral.

Perhaps the heavy bell tolls concealed Monica’s breath, which had slipped half a beat; or perhaps Hebrew had already sensed her oddity. Facing the statue, he spoke flatly.

"You have overstepped a little, Monica."

Monica’s gaze sank. She bent her knees and bowed to Hebrew in salute.

"I ask you to forgive my lapse, Your Holiness."

"You’ve just returned from the south and have seen so many patients die. Your anxiety is understood."

"But as the Saintess, what matters most is to heed the holy oracle, not to act on your own."

"...Yes."

Hearing Monica’s response, Hebrew spoke in a low voice.

"Go and rest for now. Remain on standby at all times."

"I understand, Your Holiness." The brown-haired Saintess rose. The thin straps that crossed to secure her ankles slightly bit into the white stockings.

Monica took her leave.

The conversation ended. The rhythmic tapping of high heels echoed once more through the cathedral. When the footsteps finally faded into the distance, Hebrew closed his eyes again and, facing the statue before him, softly chanted the hymn.

The Lord could not be wrong. It must be that in the course of carrying out His will, he had overlooked something.

......................

Elsewhere, Coldwind City. After being bombarded for several consecutive days by Astrid’s magical machinery, the Duke Grant, already in a foul mood, received news that made his spirits even worse.

"You’re saying these... were placed inside magical weapons by the Valeria expeditionary army, and then fired through holes in the defensive array into the city?"

"Reporting to Your Grace: that is indeed the case."

Staring at the stacks upon stacks of parchment on the table, Grant casually picked up a few sheets, read for two or three minutes, then put them down. The anger in his eyes cannot be hidden.

"Heh... the terms are generous enough. After surrendering, they’ll receive the same level of pay here, and when building roads and bridges, they’ll be assigned first to areas where their families are."

"Astrid, and Lyra, do those two bitches think my territory has already been entirely folded into Valeria rule?"

He wasn’t dead yet, and these imperial nobles were already thinking about carving up his wealth and swallowing his land, not placing this Arcanist mage in their eyes at all.

After a brief loss of control, Grant reined in his fury, then read the letters several more times. His gaze gradually changed.

These family letters, directly or indirectly, all mentioned one thing: that on both flanks of Coldwind City, Kaelrent City and vast stretches of towns and villages in the south had already fallen, becoming territory controlled by Charles’s forces.

Grant had long expected such a development, yet hearing it confirmed still left him incredulous.

The speed at which the Valeria Empire captured cities was far too fast. The letters even claimed that Duke Charles’s army had already pushed into the northern holdings, drawing an edge city, where Grant’s land bordered another noble’s territory, into the imperial map.

And his "good neighbor" turned a blind eye to all of it, showing not the slightest intention to stand together with a fellow colleague.

After thinking carefully for a moment, Grant shook his head, convinced it was impossible.

Even if Charles’s military abilities were strong, it was still not possible for both station heavy troops to besiege Coldwind City and simultaneously swallow the outer lands like a whale.

If Valeria truly had such marching speed and combat power, he wouldn’t need to fight at all, he could have accepted Astrid’s persuasion letter from the start, surrendered with dignity, and been done with it.

This had to be false intelligence released to muddy the situation, taking advantage of Coldwind City being surrounded and information not flowing, to shake his will to resist.

Unfortunately for them, no matter how clever their calculations, they missed one step. As the core ruler, Grant could not leave Coldwind City simply without causing instability in the army, but his other elites still had the ability to break out and scout for information, at worst, it would simply be more difficult.

Thinking this, Grant was just about to feel some relief when he suddenly recalled the weariness hidden in the servant’s eyes when he had delivered the letters.

"Besides me, who has seen these letters on the table?"

"Reporting to Your Grace: when they were fired into the city by magical weapons... they scattered from the sky..."

"What you see here is what the soldiers are collected piece by piece themselves to prevent the enemy from poisoning anything, and then submitted upward."

"..."

Meaning the vast majority of people at the scene had already read them, perhaps many originals had already been hidden away, waiting for things to turn bad, at which point they would bind their hands and press them to their chests, offering themselves to the enemy as a pledge.

Realizing this cruel reality, Grant’s eyes faintly feral.

"Destroy all these things that affect morale. Also, inform all soldiers: anyone who conceals surrender letters and fails to report them, once discovered, will be treated immediately as guilty of surrender."

To prevent the Valeria Empire from continuing this kind of propaganda warfare to reduce morale, Grant added:

"I will establish a separate supervisory unit to deal with this trash being thrown in at any time."

"Yes, Your Grace."

After the servant left, Grant thought it over and felt that relying solely on harsh punishment was not appropriate. He rose from his seat, left the command room, and headed for the eastern city wall that directly faced the main force of the Valeria expeditionary army.

He had to set an example and say something himself, to stir up the already low morale.