Jasmine gracefully walked to the altar, parted her red lips slightly, closed her eyes, and began to sing a nursery rhyme that had been passed down in the Church of the Dead for a long time.
We sleep in the arms of bones.
Wandering in the bustling dream world
We drift on the ship of life
It carries us to the distant place we will eventually reach.
Do not be afraid of the light, do not fear the long dawn.
After a long wait, we can finally embrace our hometown.
Open your eyes
Here lies the hope of eternity and tranquility.
This is a song her mother often sang to her.
All she could think about was her mother's image.
The mother was a powerful spirit of the dead. For the sake of the church's survival, she was willing to remain on earth for decades using special methods, until she married and had children, before going to the abyss with the father.
She was a valiant female knight, a powerful leader of the legion of the dead, but also her mother, whom she missed dearly.
The singing was gentle and melodious, captivating the believers. Just then, black mist suddenly filled the altar, and the figure of a female spirit gradually emerged from the mist.
She appeared to be a zombie, but unlike other zombies, she was not ugly. Instead, she retained her original beauty and delicate skin. Her face was calm, and she looked at Jaslin with incredibly loving eyes.
Jasmine's tears fell suddenly as she ran forward and hugged the spirit of the deceased: "Mother, I missed you so much!"
The elders stood up and paid their respects to the undead. The eldest elder, Sid, smiled and gestured to the undead. Both were undead and had worked together for many years, so they were considered friends.
"Silly child, I miss you too. Your father and I think of you every day, but don't worry, we will be reunited someday."
The spirit wiped away her daughter's tears, her gaze sweeping over everyone present. "In the cathedral, what are you doing? And why did you summon me here?"
“Mother, we are summoning the dead; it’s one of the Pope’s selection rituals,” Jaslin explained.
“Okay, but you know I can’t stay too long. I might have to leave soon.” The mother didn’t ask too many questions. Instead, she stood beside her, sweeping over everyone present with unparalleled authority, as if she were protecting her daughter.
“That’s right, I’m already more than satisfied to see you again.” Jaslin’s lips curled up playfully, revealing a faint smile. The believers were surprised to find that this usually gentle and noble saintess could act like a child, being coquettish and cute.
The archbishop clapped his hands and laughed, "Excellent! I never expected our saintess to summon a god-level undead, and one we know so well! Although it may only stay for a short time, in battle, a god-level expert undoubtedly has an overwhelming advantage. Even if it only appears for a moment, it is enough to turn the tide of battle. Do you wish to continue summoning?"
The archbishop's gaze held a hint of mockery, as if urging the saintess to summon her father, who had become a ghost, as well.
Jasmine gently shook her head: "My divine power has been exhausted."
The archbishop nodded in agreement: "Very well, you and your father can enjoy this rare time together. Now, let's invite the next candidate."
Since the appearance of the spirits of the dead, Bishop Marshall's face has become increasingly gloomy, as if shrouded in dark clouds.
Although he summoned many high-profile undead, compared to those who had descended to godhood, they were nothing.
He, who had been so confident of victory, now felt incredibly frustrated, as if a bucket of cold water had been poured over him. But there was nothing he could do, since the other person was summoning his mother, and he didn't have such a high-level undead to contact.
Hoping the others weren't too strong, Marshall turned his attention to the next person to take the stage.
This time it's the holy son bearing the mark of a god.
He felt a sudden surge of tension. This holy son carried the mark of a god, and last night, his family unanimously analyzed that he might be a formidable rival to his election as pope.
"Keep it up!" Phil Gray encouraged softly.
Eli walked gracefully up the altar, and Phil Gray couldn't help but recall the scene in Durr City where Eli had performed in front of everyone.
Does he have some other solution? He just looked so troubled.
Eli shouted loudly:
"Great God of Death! I humbly invite your guests from the abyss to come and visit. I will surely offer you the finest nectar and delicacies, and treat my honored guests with blood and flesh!"
With his voice, he took out various kinds of fine wines and delicacies, as well as the blood and bones of unknown animals from the space stone and arranged them neatly on the altar.
In the blink of an eye, the altar seemed to transform into a sumptuous dining table.
Phil Gray finally understood why the bill for dinner yesterday was three times higher than usual; the guy hadn't even told him.
Let's deduct the salary for the next six months.
Eli was still rambling on and on, and Phil Gray was wondering if these things could really attract powerful undead.
The other believers held their breath, filled with anticipation for the spirits the Holy Son might summon.
As Eli's voice slowly faded, black death power surged through the air like a raging torrent, then transformed into several black and gold invitations, which, like dancing butterflies, landed lightly in his hands.
Eli, like a noble gentleman, held the invitations lightly in his hand like a folding fan, bowed gracefully to everyone present, and then said with a slight smile, "Let's see which guests we've invited."
Putting everything else aside, it was quite entertaining, Phil Gray thought to himself. Eli might indeed be suited for a magician-like performance job, having a firm grasp on stage effects.
"Phew—" Eli exhaled and tossed one of the cards into the air.
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