Chapter 367

"Your Holiness the Pope?" Ling Wu called out as she stopped.

Her pale face made her look very fragile.

Because of her young age and underdeveloped body, the fact that she had expended so much energy for the first time without replenishing it left her feeling somewhat exhausted.

Lingwu's vision blurred, and seeing that Mu Nashe was still silent, she had no choice but to grab Mu Nashe's white-gold robe, which had never been wrinkled in all these years.

The moment the grip came, Munashe finally came to his senses.

He looked down at the little girl.

The long-dormant hope in his heart made him forget the rule that the saintess could not be touched, and he immediately bent down and picked up the little girl.

"I'm sorry, this was my oversight." Mu Nashe's voice, usually tinged with snow, was much softer now.

He held the little girl in his arms tightly, his hands, which had just been healed, still trembling slightly.

But he had no time to care; his mind was completely overwhelmed by the towering waves of the Danube Sea.

This was the only glimmer of hope he had seen in all these years.

He would not let this glimmer of hope die out, no matter what.

He slowly carried the tired little girl back to the Temple of the Holy Maiden.

The moment he stepped into the Saintess Temple, he seemed to see Caucasus staring at him, his eyes filled with displeasure.

And in that instant, those indifferent eyes also awakened his long-forgotten memories.

However, Cynthia was showing signs of falling asleep, forcing him to immediately stop recalling the events.

After placing Ling Wu down, Mu Nashe continuously channeled healing magic into her body.

He thought that if there were a mirror in front of him right now, he would see himself with eyes that were much the same as the old, cow-like eyes he had seen a month ago.

He has lived for far too long.

In his life, which was both rich and ultimately impoverished, he could not die.

because……

A hurried female voice interrupted his thoughts.

"By the God of Light! What has happened to Her Majesty the Holy Maiden?"

Jola was so anxious that even her usually steady steps became disordered and noisy.

"Your Holiness, is Her Majesty the Holy Maiden ill? Can't your healing magic cure her?"

Jora, clutching her nun's black and white gown, frantically tried to turn away, "I should pray for the coming of the God of Light! Yes! The great God of Light will surely..."

"Ruola," Lingwu called her back in time.

Mu Nashe also withdrew his hand. When he saw the little girl's lips regain their color as she spoke, he breathed a sigh of relief.

He didn't say anything and stepped aside.

"Your Majesty, are you... are you alright?" Nora's dress and hair were somewhat disheveled, clearly indicating that she had rushed over.

"Why is Ruola here?" Lingwu asked.

Nora only came to her senses after she asked the question.

“I heard…” A spark ignited in Nora’s eyes as she asked Munashe, “Was it His Holiness the Pope who carried Her Holiness the Saintess back to the Saintess’s Palace?”

"It's me," Mu Nashe said succinctly.

He had realized that he had touched Cynthia and was prepared to take the blame upon the God of Light.

"Please forgive Nora's disrespect, Nora wants to know why Her Majesty the Saint was injured today under His Holiness the Pope's guidance?"

Munashe hadn't expected that Ruola would ask this question.

During the time he didn't reply, Nora added:

"Previously, under the tutelage of other believers, Her Majesty had always completed all her studies excellently and had never experienced the slightest discomfort."

"..." Mu Nashe was puzzled.

He watched Nora grow up.

From a young age, Nora displayed a meticulous and etiquette-bound personality, and had never before shouted like this.

At least in his presence, Nora had never shown such a loss of composure.

Even worse, they directly questioned him.

As Jura was puzzled by Munasha's words, she gradually recalled how she had lost her composure due to her anxiety, her hands hanging limply at the sides of her nun's dress.

Nora did not regret it.

Since Her Majesty the Saint fell ill six months ago, Nora has been consumed by self-blame.

Lingwu interrupted the awkward atmosphere, saying, "Your Holiness, I am alright now. Nora was just worried and confused. I hope Your Holiness will not punish my friend."

With the words "My friend" uttered, Munashe, who now sees Lingwu as his salvation, would never blame Ruola.

Munashe: "I have no intention of punishing her. You should rest well."

Nora: "This has nothing to do with Your Majesty. Your Majesty needs to recover now. Nora is willing to take responsibility for the mistakes she has made. Once you are asleep, Nora will kneel before the God of Light and repent for her sins."

Lingwu, who knew Ruola well, did not try to persuade her further.

At this moment, Munashe answered Ruola's angry question: "It was I who made the saintess learn higher healing arts, but I neglected her young age. It was indeed my fault."

Although she was answering Ruola, she was looking at Lingwu.

His bright blue eyes shone with a radiant devotion.

Ruola frowned, "Then please advise Your Majesty to be more considerate of your health in the future."

Munashe nodded, intending to grip the scepter tightly, but realized that in his haste, he had left it behind in the temple where healing spells were learned.

The empty hand clenched slightly, then finally fell to the ground.

Only after Lingwu closed her eyes to rest in peace did the two leave.

In front of the statue of the God of Light.

Munashe lowered her eyes and murmured:

“By the God of Light, your poor believer Munashe has committed a heinous sin.”

He looked up.

There was no piety in those azure eyes.

“I have touched the saintess you personally chose.”

Bathed in divine light, he saw the God of Light, whose face he could not see, seated high on a divine throne.

“Munashe,” He said.

The sound made Munashe feel a sweet, metallic taste in his throat, but he seemed not to feel any pain. He simply looked up and tried to see through the dome.

“You are punishing me,” Munashe said, “punishing me for the mistake of killing Celia with my own hands back then.”

He remained aloof and indifferent, even unmoved by the appearance of the name "Chilya".

But He stepped down from His throne.

Step by step, we approached that place at dawn and dusk.

Surrounded by divine light, He reached out and placed His hand on Munashes's forehead.

“I can hear your thoughts, Munashe.”

"You're thinking of having Cynthia kill you."

Beneath the ethereal divine music, Mu Nashe's azure eyes met a pair of golden eyes.

Under those golden eyes, all secrets will have nowhere to hide.

“Cynthia is kind, she won’t,” He said.

Munashe swallowed the surging blood.

No, Cynthia, she will!

He silently curled his lips, but his golden eyes were colder than the coldest icicles on the summit of a snow-capped mountain.

Cynthia, she won't.