Chapter 9
Standing there, Tuosi watched helplessly as the few pages he had painstakingly searched for turned into a wisp of smoke and followed God away.
...which also marked the complete failure of his plan.
Even though all the memories were neatly arranged in his mind, as clear as soldiers on inspection, Dostoevsky would still pull them out and go through them again.
He was involved in an accident on his way to Gusinger prison. He hitched a ride with Dashaeva’s rescue vehicle to Volgograd, but left while the convoy was stopping for supplies.
He had nothing he needed in Volgograd, and the young lady seemed so eager to repay his life-saving grace.
As for deciding to save her, Dostoevsky found it difficult to say whether it was a whim or an unknown, more instinctive decision.
His target was never an ordinary person; he was simply destined to make unavoidable sacrifices on the path to redemption—but unlike the indiscriminate killings of criminals, those were helpless abandonments.
Conversely, if an ordinary person falls in front of him, and that person has no connection to the necessary conditions for him to achieve his goal, he is equally willing to lend a helping hand.
After leaving Dashaeva, Dostoevsky revised the plan that had originally been kept as a backup.
Going through the process of [disguising identity - arrest - detention - trial - transfer] again would take too long, and there are other ways to get into prison.
This is the Church of Our Lady of the Saviour on Spilled Blood, which is closest to Gusinger Prison. It is not only revered by believers, but Gusinger Prison also frequently invites its priests to conduct related ceremonies in a sanctuary specially built by the prison.
In this country, the Orthodox Church has been the state religion for over a thousand years, with hundreds of millions of believers scattered across the land, including the prisoners in jails.
Or rather, he was no exception.
With just a few clever lies, he successfully became one of the deacons of the Church of Our Lady of the Saviour on Spilled Blood, and the bishop and priests also favored him—if it weren't for his overly youthful appearance, he might even have become a priest directly.
Based on the clues previously gathered, the bishop of this church had visited Gusinger Prison and had contact with the target he was originally supposed to contact.
Could that thing have already been handed over to the bishop? His appointment as a carabinieri in the Church of Our Lady of the Saviour on Spilled Blood would confirm this speculation.
Life in the church was everything he had ever known. His devout faith in the Lord might have deviated slightly from theirs, but no one could be more thorough in his study of the Bible.
Confirming the intelligence went smoothly as well; even though the bishop intended to conceal it, the evidence shone like a fluorescent light in the darkness in his eyes.
However, before he could go to the prison as an assistant priest and make contact, he read the news that his target had died in the conflict. This surprised him for a moment, but he was not discouraged, after all, there are always unexpected events and variables in the world.
Moreover, the church had already brought him good news, and the plan only needed to be slightly modified.
Originally, he should have been able to easily obtain those pages after releasing a small lure or bait.
And indeed it was so; he patiently waited in the church for five days... until tonight, his memory showed that the thief who had taken the bait mistook him for a lackey and was killed by him.
According to the script, he should have told the bishop about what had happened with a sense of trepidation, but the loving and compassionate bishop chose to keep the target in a more suitable place.
That moment will be the time when he is absolutely certain of the target's location—every action will leave a trace.
The plan was progressing smoothly, even more so than anticipated. The bishop witnessed it all, and he only needed a little persuasion to achieve his goal.
...That's how it should have been.
But things always take unexpected turns. Instead of changing the location of the items, the bishop led him through the iconostasis known as the "Heavenly Gate" to the Holy Sanctuary where the altar was located.
Then, the flickering flame from the candlestick was enough to burn it all away.
...Could it be that the bishop guessed something, which is why he chose him as an observer?
The candlelight could only illuminate a small area; the deep darkness enveloped everything on earth, with only the cross of Jesus on the altar casting a huge, blurry shadow on the wall, as if it were some unshakable divine will.
Doss slowly shifted his gaze away from that spot, and spoke in a gentle voice.
"Does that mean everything is foolproof? There will always be people who don't believe it's completely gone from this world."
"Yes, after all, even I have never read the contents of the paper, and interrogating this old man would not yield any satisfactory results—besides, I have little time left to live, and the Lord will soon take me to heaven."
The bishop nodded in approval of his caution, his tone relaxed.
"After this, I will cause an accidental fire. There may be a lot of loss, but this church should not shelter the dead, my children. Your safety is all that the Father cares about, and I have only truly understood this tonight."
No. After a moment of silence, Dostoevsky silently refuted him in his mind.
God does not care about those who believe in Him; He does not even exist here, just as He does not exist anywhere in this world.
"Yes, that's true. It's just a loss of property, nothing compared to the value of life."
But when he spoke again, he only said this, without any unusual expression on his face.
"Thank you for your boundless love and generosity, Your Excellency."
“I’m glad to hear you say that, but it’s something I should have done long ago.” The bishop placed the empty wooden box back on the altar. “It’s getting late, you should go to sleep.”
“I would like to stay a little longer, please allow me to.” Dostoevsky lowered his gaze. “I am not qualified to come here, but I hope that at least for now, with your approval, I can have this honor.”
After a brief moment's thought, the bishop granted the request.
Not only that, he also winked at Dostoevsky before leaving, as if to tell him not to feel too much pressure.
"Tomorrow I will tell Vadim to make more delicious food."
After saying this, whether it was a celebration or a reward, the bishop's footsteps gradually faded into the distance.
Dostoevsky stood still for a long time without making a move.
The arched seven-lampstand is about to burn out, and the long, thin beeswax candles are a golden color representing sacred majesty.
He only came to the altar when even the reflection of the huge cross on the wall gradually dimmed.
The embers from the burning paper fell onto the dark red holy blood cloth, not very noticeable in the candlelight.
Doss reached out and picked up one of the pieces; it shattered so easily at his fingertips, along with the faintly visible words on it.
This was indeed the original instruction manual, but it no longer exists.
His plans took another turn when his target was burned right in front of him.
His original plan has completely failed, and his path to achieving his ideals through supernatural weapons has been blocked by the falling boulder.
“Now you must know…I am God alone, and there is no other God besides me.”
The strained classical Greek murmured softly within the solemn sanctuary. Dostoevsky, dressed in pure black robes, spoke in a gentle tone, his prayers as clear and serene as a stream lapping against white pebbles.
But his actions were not so devout.
The altar is a rectangular box that is not very tall, symbolizing the tomb of Jesus and the throne of God. There is also a declaration that the Father sits on it in an invisible body that is not visible to mortals, so nothing other than icons, the Gospels and the reliquary is allowed on it, leaving a large space empty.
At this moment, Dostoevsky sat on the altar as if it were his rightful place.
Not arrogant, not humble, not haughty, not resentful. It is simply a matter of course, as natural as rain falling from the sky.
“I kill, I live, I wound, I heal, and no one can escape from my hand…”
Reciting proverbs from the Bible, Dostoevsky slowly rubbed his right thumb against the joint of his index finger, his eyes closed in a serene expression, as if listening to divine revelation.
The skin there felt smooth and delicate to the touch, without any bite marks.
In other words, it should have persisted for a long time due to a bad habit, but it faded a lot in five days, as if he had suddenly given up this subconscious behavior when thinking.
Every action leaves a trace.
Before the unexpected fire occurred, Dostoevsky, who no longer needed to stay there, left the Church of Our Lady of the Saviour on Spilled Blood.
He was never in a hurry to achieve results, nor did he have the personality traits of being impatient or rash.
Discouragement was out of the question. Tuosi was well aware that his ambitions were too great and would be unacceptable to the vast majority of people in the world. Even if the plan succeeded this time, it would only be a small step forward.
However, on this path, it seems that... he first encountered an accident for reasons that are not yet clear.
…………
After two periods of waiting for the system to awaken her consciousness, Ye Yihe discovered that during the intervals, she felt as if she had slept a long, dreamless sleep, just like a baby's sleep.
But every time he opened his eyes again, the scene around him would jump around so much that he would be at a loss.
Similarly, the original owner's identity was switched at an unbelievably fast speed.
The building not far away is a magnificent classical style. The exquisite large-scale reliefs and strict symmetrical Greek aesthetics make it look more like a kind of art in full bloom, a kind of elegance and solemnity that is completely opposite to the church.
In addition, his clothes looked like ordinary attire...
The weight on his shoulders and back was heavy. He wondered what the original owner was carrying. Ye Yihe then picked it up and brought it to his eyes.
A cello case that looks exactly like a cello.
Ye Yihe: "…………"
In addition, the building looks very much like a school, and there are young people coming and going carrying various musical instruments.
Damn it, is he going to become a music student this time?!
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