Chapter 103 Chapter 103 Cyril/Pope Cyril...
Isabel stared into Belle's eyes and spoke rapidly, "Please help me."
"Don't be afraid, I won't hurt you." Isabel quickly pulled the sapphire out of her teeth. "I am Heinrich's wife."
Hearing Heinrich's name, Bailey was stunned. She opened her mouth and revealed a broken tongue. She made an "ah ah" sound in vain, trying to say something.
Isabelle handed her the gem and said, "Please help me take it out."
Belle looked at the sapphire with a dazed look in her eyes.
-
Hannah's burned face was reflected in the mirror. She stared at the sapphire, then looked at Belle, who was gesturing with her hands. Her eyelids drooped slightly. "I understand. Thank you for your hard work, Belle."
Bailey's mouth hung open, tears unable to flow from her scabby eyes. She could only make "ahhh" sounds. With trembling hands, she wrote crooked letters on Hannah's palm.
Hannah was silent for a long time: "He is really a lunatic..."
She took a deep breath and reached out to hug Belle. "I will avenge you. For you, for your daughter... for him, for everyone."
Belle sobbed, hugged Hannah tightly, shook her head, and mouthed: No, I want you to be alive, you are my other daughter, the living daughter.
Hannah squeezed her eyes shut, tears falling onto the sapphire.
The Atlantis sapphire, a rare and precious gemstone found in abundance in Heslan, had been a gift from that man. It was something she knew all too well, and now it had passed down to another girl.
She clutched the gem tightly, collected herself, and walked out the door.
As dawn approaches, the flames in the furnace gradually die out, and Hannah becomes a disfigured mute nun again, sweeping silently.
She saw the shadow in the corner of the furnace and calmly revealed a corner of the sapphire.
Sure enough, the next moment a sharp dagger was against her throat.
A familiar voice sounded in her ears, and Hannah was stunned for a moment.
The dim light of dawn illuminated his dark eyes, and his profile was firm and deep, just like his father.
But when Hannah looked at his face, she remembered the young boy who had just reached adulthood and was at a loss when he witnessed the death of his grandfather and father.
There was also the seven-year-old boy who fell off a horse. He endured it for a whole day without crying, and then cried in his dream in the middle of the night, looking for his mother.
The little boy grew up, became taller, and his shoulders became broader. He has become a man who can bravely protect his wife.
I heard him ask, "Do you know me?"
Hannah lowered her eyes, dug her fingertips into her palms tightly, and shook her head.
No, I don’t know him.
-
Late at night, Cyril woke up again.
Sophia and countless people crawled out of hell to claim his life. Even in his dreams, he was not afraid at all, and he was even interested in identifying the identities of those dead souls.
There was no Georgiana in it.
She has not appeared in my dreams once since her death.
He really holds a grudge.
He closed his eyes for a moment and shouted in his mind, "System, did you find the right sacrifice this time?"
The system paused for a few seconds: "Hmm."
Cyril realized its hesitation and slowly opened his eyes. "I used my points to predict the plot. You said that Heinrich's wife would be replaced by Georgiana."
The system disagreed, "My authority is limited. I can only get a brief summary of the plot. It was you who interpreted it as a sacrifice."
Cyril sneered: "Are there any other ways to resurrect the dead?"
“…” System: “No.”
Cyril lowered his eyes, the moonlight outside the window shining on his golden hair, his expression filled with weariness: "Even if the sacrifice is useless, I will use all my points to exchange for her life."
System: "Host, please consider carefully. Your points are precious."
"I've thought about this long enough." Cyril looked up and gazed out the window. "I will leave here with her and go to the real world."
The system sighed: "What is real? What is illusion? Host, you enjoy a high reputation in this world and are worshipped as a god. Isn't that good? Why sacrifice everything you have accumulated in the past?"
Cyril was silent and looked out the window.
The moon was high in the sky, and a mocking smile flashed across his eyes. "Of course it would be great to become a god, but unfortunately... I'm tired of it."
The ice on Mount Morpheus never melts year-round, just like the people's faith in the Church of the Holy Light. Cyril opened the window, and the night wind howled with a chill.
Ever since he was chosen as the Son of God and entered the Holy Temple at the age of seven, he had stayed on top of this high tower for so long that he had forgotten that he was a human being, not a true God.
It was a power outside the world that gave him the power to become God's spokesperson.
The pale golden eyes reflected the moonlight. Time passed, but the bright moon remained unchanged. Cyril's memory seemed to be pulled back to a long time ago.
At the age of seven, he knew he was different from others since he got something called "System".
The old Pope was incompetent and stupid. Cyril watched him coldly as he used medieval sacrificial rituals to try to prolong his life and gain eternal life, and he found it ridiculous.
Until he extended his claws to himself, Cyril used the knowledge granted by the system for the first time, performed a small "miracle", and successfully made everyone in the Galan Temple stand in awe of him.
The old Pope began to fear him, but at the same time was extremely curious about his divine knowledge.
In this environment, seven-year-old Cyril learned to flatter, to give a slap and then give a sweet treat, and to establish himself. Gradually, the Son of God's position became more and more solid, and he was able to move freely in the Temple of the Holy Land.
Seven-year-old Cyril was enthusiastic about "divine power", but fourteen-year-old Cyril began to feel bored with a life without challenges.
In the same year, the royal family of Ceylon sent a princess to serve the Pope as the Saint of the Temple of the Holy Trinity.
Although she was called a saint, everyone knew that she was just a hostage sent by the shocked royal family in an attempt to win over the church.
The hostage certainly couldn't be the favored princess. It was said that she had filthy blood, unspeakable identity, and was a disgrace to the royal family.
The princess was very young, only thirteen, a young girl barely grown up. She was quiet and always stayed in her tower, gazing at the sky in a trance, clutching a lily of the valley hair ornament. It was said to have been given to her by her sister, and she never took it off.
Cyril was not interested in this. He occasionally heard the nuns talking about her and thought that she was a girl as weak as a rabbit.
But even a rabbit will bite when it is angry. The first time was when someone played a prank on her and stole the hair ornament. She wrestled with the strong believer in front of everyone, her eyes red, and she bit off the flesh on his arm like a madman.
The second time was late one night when she was summoned to the main hall by the Pope. When she emerged, her clothes were tattered, a bloodstained dagger clutched in her hand, and she was trembling all over. Behind the half-open door, the old Pope lay in a pool of blood, his cloudy eyes staring at the sky.
In that quiet courtyard, she ran into Cyril.
Cyril did not tell her that he saw her committing the murder, from the moment she entered the room, how she struggled, how she escaped, and how she stabbed the dagger into the Pope's abdomen.
He saw the rabbit stabbing her again and again in a frenzy, watched the blood splatter all over her head and face, and then watched her come to her senses, trembling with fear, like a truly weak girl.
Cyril watched all this and suddenly found it interesting, so he hid the poison he had prepared and did not tell her that in fact, the people in the palace had been sent away long ago. Even without her, today would be the day the Pope died.
He was tired of being the Holy Son, tired of having his achievements taken away from him, and tired of watching that stupid old man being worshipped by stupid commoners.
He is the real god, and he will usher in the era of Cyril Hosnard.
When everything was ready, he didn't expect that someone would kill the old man for him.
That night, the moon was as full as it would be years later, but the boy wasn't yet the venerable man accustomed to wearing compassion as a mask. He made no secret of the amusement in his eyes, even folding his arms and smiling maliciously, "What are you going to do, Georgiana?"
It was the first time he called the princess's name.
Georgiana was panicked for a moment, then lowered her head honestly: "I will turn myself in."
This answer was obviously beyond Cyril's expectations.
A crazy rabbit who dares to kill people, but on the other hand he is so law-abiding.
Cyril narrowed his eyes. "That would be perfect. When you are sent back to Mellenvik as a criminal, the entire royal family will be ashamed of you, and your dear sister will probably be ashamed too..."
Before he could finish, Georgiana's face changed: "No, please don't do this. I can pay with my life, but please don't implicate my sister."
She raised her head and knelt neatly on the ground, her brown eyes full of sincerity.
This irritated Cyril. He had always hated so-called true love. He believed the world was fake; how could anything be real? Cyril laughed sarcastically, then suddenly felt bored and gave up trying to tease her. "Go and dispose of the body."
Georgiana was stunned, realizing that he had let her go.
From that day on, there were always some things inexplicably appearing in Cyril's room, sometimes cakes, sometimes lily of the valley bookmarks, all little things.
The young man, still a young man, was disdainful of this, but in the vast Galan Temple, there was only one person of his age who was somewhat interesting. It was like having a little pet by his side. He didn't have to worry about anything, he could summon her and dismiss her at will.
After all, this rabbit was easy to raise, and she was so grateful just for letting her go that day, without even thinking about whether his intentions were pure.
Most of the time Cyril was too lazy to respond to such flattery; he had a lot of things to do.
After the death of the old Pope, archbishops from all over the country began to think about it. They wanted to win over people, develop their own power, and prepare for ascending the throne.
So no one noticed that rumors began to spread in the Temple of the Holy Trinity, saying that the Pope's death was due to Georgiana. It was said that someone saw Georgiana burying the blood-stained clothes. Of course, no one dared to say that they saw Cyril that day.
Everyone bullied her more and more. The crazy rabbit would still bite when it got angry, but it could not defeat the strength of numbers.
It was the day before he ascended the throne when Cyril realized that he had not seen the small gift on the table for a long time.
The young man was already very tall. He put on a new snow-white robe, held high the scepter and walked up to the throne.
At the waiter's command, the black-clad believers knelt down, and the Gryffindors who came to surrender kissed his feet devoutly.
Looking at those flattering faces, Cyril suddenly felt that the throne under his feet was boring.
He knew that the so-called loyalty was all for the sake of interests.
Who truly believes in God? Everyone believes in interests.
Cyril glanced at everyone and walked back to the bedroom with a dull look on his face.
It was also at that time that he realized that he had not seen Georgiana for a long time.
But the next moment, the girl limped out and moved from the corner to his front. "This is for you."
She handed over a bouquet of fresh lily of the valley flowers, tilted her head back, her eyes bright, and smiled shyly as she performed a somewhat unstandardized Holy Day ritual: "Pray for the Venerable, from your devout believer."
A devout believer.
The breeze blew his golden hair, and Cyril repeated this sentence unconsciously.
The clear sky reflected the snow-capped Mount Morpheus, and the bunch of lilies of the valley was still covered with morning dew, as pure as her eyes.
Pope Cyril Hosnard gained his first true convert.
He thought it was an ordinary day, and even after many years, the memory of that day was still etched in his mind, with even the smallest details.
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