Chapter 294 Pirate Ship
Pawanton Miller: "..."
For a god, most of the secret places in the world were not accessible to him. However, he wisely did not refute, but bowed respectfully to the black-haired young man and the being behind him.
"Good night, Your Excellency."
I don’t know whether this respect is for the ghost or for the god.
"Good night." The professor blinked and casually threw the Vatican's secret documents used to pass the time on the sofa, making a slight clattering sound.
He acted as lazy and comfortable as if he was sitting in front of the fireplace in his own living room, and he couldn't wait to stretch his legs. However, one of the other two looked indulgent, while the other was helpless.
"I've heard some good news." The black-haired young man leaned forward, his gray eyes observing the Cardinal's facial expression with interest. "The 'Dustless Light', under the pretext of 'blasphemy,' has issued a strict order to purge a group of 'Sons of Life' who were roaming around the Constantine Diocese and surrounding areas. A total of 124 people have been accused of participating in cult activities and sent to the Inquisition. So far, 98 have been sent to the guillotine. This group of cultists brutally murdered 96 civilians, including 47 women and 41 children, causing quite a stir."
Pawanton Miller stared at him expressionlessly, his eyes dark and gloomy. Ever since their last falling out, the Cardinal had ceased to maintain a gentle facade in front of him.
"The reputation of 'Dustless Light' has once again gained popularity among the people, and believers praise you as the 'Commoner Bishop'—but Bishop Viterbo and the remnants of Bishop Matthews' faction have considerable complaints against you, because among these 124 individuals, 35 are clergymen enrolled in the Radiant Church, three of whom are Bishop Viterbo's right-hand men."
Despite being far away in Port Morris, this man acted like he was fully acquainted with what should have been the secrets of the Church. "As a key member of the Sacrificial Cult, this cardinal has caused you considerable trouble. You've been besieged, framed, and even assassinated... But as the youngest of the five cardinals, I must say you've done a good job. At least so far, your head remains securely on your neck. I applaud you. While fulfilling your promise, you've also suppressed your competitors and restored your reputation."
After finishing the annual work summary with satisfaction, the black-haired young man ignored Miller's frosty face and began to applaud as if no one was around.
It's very infuriating.
Pawanton Miller responded indifferently, "You are very well-informed."
"Thank you for the compliment." The guy nodded at him seriously and slightly reservedly. Pavaton Miller finally couldn't help but twitched the corner of his mouth slightly for a moment.
——Who praised you? !
Bishop Miller took a deep breath and suppressed his turbulent irritation. "You suddenly came to visit me in the middle of the night. Could it be that something has happened with the Divine Seal?"
The pair of gray eyes, lacking any emotion, suddenly met his gaze without a trace of emotion. "Are you referring to why Zephyr, the God of Light and Glory, transferred his 'favor' to Percy Brody?"
“…”
"Did you really expect the God of Light and Glory to descend as a god and announce in public that you will be the next Pope?" The black-haired young man showed an annoying expression of surprise. He had obviously never participated in the secret meeting between Miller and the Pope, but this person casually talked about what he and the Pope had just talked about. Miller couldn't help but feel a chill down his spine.
"Please don't tell me you harbor such naive illusions about the gods," the other man said bluntly, commenting on a particular deity. "According to divine history, Zephir is not one to repay kindness with vengeance. If he weren't afraid to recklessly waste his divine power, he would have inflicted severe divine punishment upon you the moment you failed the mission he assigned you, perhaps even killed you, just like those generals under his command who died as a token of their guilt—ah, it seems he's already 'punished' you."
As Miller's expression grew uglier, the black-haired young man suddenly approached him, his terrifying gray eyes examining him coldly, as if he were just a bug crawling in vain in a petri dish.
The ghost's voice was soft, yet it swept over like a thunderstorm. "Do you think the gods have discovered what you've been doing behind his back?"
——Enough!
Pavaton Miller's pupils trembled violently. He thought he had shouted, but when he saw his own frozen reflection in those gray eyes, he realized that he was just standing there motionless, his hands clenched like cramps under his robes.
He could not ignore the psychological intimidation caused by the silent god, but he also could not deny that at this moment, he was so frightened by an ordinary person that cold sweats covered his back.
...This conversation couldn't continue like this. This person, simply by observing his micro-expressions, was picking up information he wasn't even aware of. This was a completely unequal battle, and he was completely defeated in this confrontation.
The cardinal's gaze drifted calmly over the god behind the black-haired youth. He appeared calm, allowing a divine servant to behave so recklessly and arrogantly before the god, a stark contrast to the scene they had previously staged in the catacombs.
——No matter how benevolent a god is, would he really love and even indulge his servants so much?
"So what do you want me to do?" Pavaton Miller heard himself speak in a stiff voice, and the premonition that he would never get off the pirate ship became stronger and stronger.
"You are a clever man." The ghost twitched the corner of his mouth at him, a half-smirk. "Smart, ambitious, and adept at assessing the situation—that's why you are more suitable to succeed the Pope than the other three candidates."
——Of course, it is also more threatening.
Nova stared at Pavaton Miller's face. After a moment's silence, he asked him for more information in a slightly weak manner.
When the building is about to collapse, top-down reforms may continue some new vitality for the decadent old world, but it is more likely to be a last-ditch struggle, achieving nothing, or even causing the still fragile new forces to be swallowed up by the sudden counterattack of the old forces.
Therefore, he understood very well why his previous self had killed such a smart, cold-blooded, good at disguise and young and energetic reformist candidate for Pope. At that time, he no longer had time for the Holy See to reform itself. He only needed to use his thunderous force to shock everyone in a very short time and build momentum for his next actions.
As for this time...
By the time we left Amacadio Cathedral, the city was slowly waking from the darkness. The gas lamps on the street corners cast a dim yellow glow through the thick fog. In the distance, the sound of a newsboy peddling newspapers could be heard, mingling with the rumble of horse-drawn carriages rolling over the bluestone slabs.
Nova looked up at the towering buildings standing tall in the morning mist: the church occupied most of the western district of the royal city, and countless golden and magnificent spires were like swords reaching into the sky. There were countless layers of stained glass windows, emitting a hazy and dazzling light, like countless eyes peeping into the world, arrogantly overlooking the dirty and narrow streets below, where tens of thousands of poor people lived.
"What are you thinking about?" The savior beside him suddenly spoke up. He was dressed very simply, wearing a dark gray cloak that covered half of his face, like a traveler from a distant land.
"I'm recalling the documents," the professor said calmly. "The Cathedral of Amacadio, also known as the 'Cathedral of the Redemption,' has been under construction intermittently for over four hundred years, using tens of thousands of tons of gold and gemstones. It houses over thirty thousand rare and precious treasures. The most outstanding artists throughout history have devoted their entire lives to this work."
He silently gazed at the majestic cathedral, even more stunning than in his dreams: "It is the pinnacle of human architectural art, an unquestionable jewel in the history of civilization... But it is also the golden spoils of the Church's extortion and exploitation, a testimony to its crimes, built with the blood, tears, and corpses of countless civilians."
The God of Struggle and Change, who hadn't even owned a temple since becoming a deity, remained silent. He also looked up, gazing silently at the temple, so tall it seemed to be about to collapse.
"So even this time, I will not compromise. I will once again do my best to remove as many obstacles as possible for the new world of the future." The ghost's voice was very soft, as if he was analyzing himself, or as if he was persuading himself.
He seemed to be completely fading into the deepest mist of dawn, and the blazing scarlet faintly emerging from the horizon: "Even after I die, even after we die, the traitors and termites will return again, trampling underfoot everything we once won, and once again heaping ridicule and slander on the heads of the victims..."
"My God, I believe someone will stand up again." The professor turned around and called out to his companion half-jokingly. He looked into the gentle and clear eyes of the blond young man, but it seemed as if he was looking through him at an incomparably passionate and violent illusion - that was not God.
“…Because humans are just like that.”
“And I believe in the vision you see.”
Azuka sighed, took a step forward, and reverently kissed the martyr's cold, pale forehead.
“If you allow me,” his voice was soft, gentle, sincere, and without hesitation, “I hope that this time I will have the honor of accompanying you to witness all this with my own eyes.”
“…Hmm.”
His nemesis was visibly stunned for a moment, and subconsciously reached out to touch his forehead.
"I already gave my permission," the other party corrected with an uneasy frown. "As it's my personal property, don't you think it's a little too late to say this now?"
Azuka couldn't help but chuckle. He reached out and tightened the coat on the black-haired young man, then took his lover's hand and walked towards the gradually waking street together, leaving only a light whisper.
"Sir, I prefer the title 'Private Property' to 'My God'... But if you want to call me that on special occasions, I have no objection."
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