Chapter 248 Threat
Azuka, who was also in Orendel, suddenly turned his head and stared in a certain direction as if he was sensing something.
"……What's wrong?"
Nova looked up at him, somewhat bewildered. Fortunately, Orendel wasn't far from the Fog Castle, so they didn't waste too much time on the journey. The knight, doubting whether he'd been seen through, remained silent throughout the journey, though he did make a rare move.
Azuka came back to his senses, shook his head slightly, and said thoughtfully: "It's nothing, just someone praying, trying to resonate with my godhead."
The god's words were understated, but the professor was intrigued. He inquired with great interest, "What does resonance feel like? Can you hear the other person's prayer?"
Yialos, standing by, couldn't help but prick up his ears. This was a matter involving the gods, and to obtain this information, the saints of the world would willingly give away everything they had. But now, this god spoke directly and nonchalantly, not even avoiding him.
"Like tiny, glowing tentacles, trying to entangle my essence." Azuka thought for a moment and described calmly, "As for those prayers... I can faintly hear them if I concentrate, but if I want to hear them more clearly, I need to 'hold' them."
Fortunately, the initiative was in his hands, otherwise he suspected that the gods would be annoyed to death by the countless believers' noisy prayers.
His old enemy was staring at him with sparkling eyes. "What if I want to pray to you? What should I do? Say your name in my heart? Will you hear me?"
—Like, praying to a certain god for more coffee?
The blond god was stunned for a moment, then suddenly smiled slightly. His light golden eyelashes cast long and thick shadows under his eyes and trembled slightly.
"You can try." He whispered softly, "If you can, I will always be able to hear your voice alone among thousands of people."
If that day ever comes, he will joyfully embrace it as the Source and never let it go - provided he can truly gain the devotion of someone who does not believe in any individual.
…
The outer circle of the Guillotines was surrounded by a large group of dusty and ragged civilians, while the luxuriously decorated viewing platform inside was occupied by nobles who came to watch the execution.
General Catheran could no longer conceal his unusually gloomy expression. He greeted Governor Batalia with a forced smile, his words practically slurred through his teeth, making it seem as if he were attempting to strangle someone rather than shaking hands. Governor Batalia, however, appeared composed, even somewhat complacent, clearly having the upper hand in this struggle.
"Sir, how long will the execution take?" General Catheran asked, his teeth gnashing. It sounded suggestive. "I can't wait to see the body of the culprit who killed my son hung under the bridge for public display."
"Oh, Lord Catheran, I certainly understand your grief over the loss of your son." Governor Batalia swirled his red wine and leisurely admired through his opera glasses the miserable state of the leader of the Land Freedom Party, who had caused them so much trouble. He was roughly shoved and dragged to the gallows by soldiers, and the tattered sack was removed from his head, revealing a pale yet stern face.
He should beg with tears streaming down his face, the governor thought dissatisfiedly, he should collapse on the ground, and preferably lose control of his bladder in public. Only in this way can the group of untouchables see the ugly face of the rebels and the consequences of trying to resist, instead of acting like a hero who is ready to die bravely.
"I remember he seemed to have a younger brother, or a younger sister?" The Governor narrowed his eyes.
"Yes, my lord." The subordinate beside him said cautiously: "We are still hunting down the remnants of the rebels. I believe you will hear good news soon."
The Governor waved his hand impatiently: "Alright, alright, time is almost up, prepare for the execution."
After confirming the prisoner's identity for the last time, the executioner, wearing a black hood, put the noose around the neck of the rebel leader. Out of "mercy," a priest recited a prayer in front of the gallows, but he even mispronounced James Wood's name, reading it as James Kant.
"-May the God of Light illuminate your unforgivable soul." The priest made the sign of the cross on his chest, then took a step back and nodded to the executioner, indicating that the execution could begin.
Then, all they had to do was twist the wooden handle on the gallows, and the planks beneath the prisoner's feet would open, and he would fall. If they were lucky, gravity would break his neck—if they were unlucky, he would struggle for several minutes or even hours before dying.
Wood silently watched the countless people in front of him who were ready to watch his death. In addition to those disgusting nobles, there was also a large group of dusty civilians huddled together. Their thin and dirty faces showed curiosity, excitement, fear, or numbness - only a few people showed sad expressions.
...It's ridiculous. Besides being worried about his sister and companions, he couldn't help but think blankly, am I actually risking my life for these people - have I really done something wrong?
At that moment, a deafening explosion suddenly erupted from the direction of the tower. The crowd watching the execution erupted in agitation, and the civilians looked around in terror. Some tried to leave, but were stopped by soldiers armed with live ammunition.
"Silence!" Governor Batalia stood up from the viewing platform and shouted at the voice-transmitting magic device, quickly suppressing the commotion. He looked at the people around him and said a few words. One of them, a mid-level apostle-level sorcerer, nodded and immediately disappeared without a sound.
"Don't worry! This is just the rebels' last-ditch effort. We can seize this opportunity to wipe them out." The Governor waved his hand arrogantly. "Continue the execution!"
The executioner had already grasped the handle and was about to press it down when a group of soldiers who rushed out and surrounded the entire Guillotin Square interrupted him again.
Governor Batalia's expression changed slightly. He looked at the head of the Catheran family standing beside him and said, "General Catheran, what are you doing?"
After listening to the adjutant's report, General Catheran ignored him and stepped forward. He used his voice transmission device to loudly command, "All soldiers, martial law!"
Under the Governor's furious glare, he suppressed his excitement and announced, "We have received a reliable tip-off. The blasphemer wanted by Her Majesty the Queen herself, the former theology professor at White Tower University, Nova, is now in the Place de la Guillotine!"
General Catheran's hands trembled slightly with excitement. The recently wanted criminal was just an ordinary man, yet there were hundreds of soldiers, along with numerous sorcerers and warriors, stationed in the Guillotines. Capturing this man would be a significant achievement. Whether it was the royal court, the Vatican, or even Her Majesty the Queen herself, they would all show some favor to him. Wouldn't his career be a smooth one?
"I'm truly sorry. I didn't tell you ahead of time to avoid alerting the enemy." General Catheran gave the Governor a fake smile, then excitedly looked down at the agitated civilians below. "Blasphemer, we've already laid a tight net. You can't escape. I advise you to surrender immediately!"
Where on earth was he hiding? General Catheran happily imagined the good days of being promoted to a higher position after arresting the man. His eyes carefully scanned the faces of the civilians below the stage - the man was most likely hiding among this group of untouchables. If he patiently checked one by one, he would eventually find him.
But General Catheran heard a clear click at the back of his head, the sound of a pistol being loaded.
"Good morning." A strange and young voice sounded like a ghost from behind him: "I'm here."
General Catheran broke out in a cold sweat.
He felt a distinct, cold, hard touch on the back of his head. He slowly raised his hand and tentatively glanced to his side—the attendants guarding the noble had all collapsed, their lives unknown. Governor Batalia also slumped to the ground, his fat face greasy and sweaty, his face pale as another gun was pointed at his neck.
"You, you you..." General Catheran stuttered.
"I'm Nova, editor-in-chief of the Daily News, the 'blasphemer' who published 'The Divine History' and instigated the riots in White Tower Town." The young man said calmly, his voice amplified by the magic tool, echoing throughout the Guillotines Square. "But you can also call me 'Ghost'."
"Ghost?" General Catheran repeated subconsciously, but soon realized what the name meant and screamed in surprise, so much so that his voice was split and amplified by the magic sound transmission device, it sounded quite funny: "You are the ghost in Morris Port, the chief of the People's Party--"
"Yes, it's me." The black-haired young man nodded gracefully: "Thank you for your addition."
"You may have heard of the People's Party through various channels, but I'd like to introduce myself again." He held two pistols, one on his left and one on his right, and casually threatened two important figures whose stomping of their feet could cause earthquakes in the Batalha Heights. He even took the opportunity to advertise: "We are a group of people who have come together to fight for the interests of the proletariat. My fellow workers and peasants of Batalha, if one day you unfortunately lose everything, if you no longer want to live a life of being bullied, oppressed, and exploited—grab your weapons, pack your bags, and go to Port Morris."
The young man's voice was neither hurried nor slow, his words were simple and lacked fluctuation, but there was an inexplicable charm that made people believe it: "There, you will exchange reasonable education, medical care and housing for work, and no one will oppress you, waving a whip, scolding you and demanding that you hand over most of your hard-earned income -"
The governor of Batalha Heights could not help but scream: "Shut up! Blasphemer!"
He knew he couldn't let this man continue talking, but those smoky gray eyes just glanced at him impatiently, and the next second he was hugging his bloody thigh and wailing.
"Please don't interrupt me. It's very rude," the professor, who had fired the gun without hesitation, said angrily. "So please shut up and listen to me, okay?"
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