Chapter 401 Era
In the lean and turbulent summer of 1852, His Holiness Marion Sablic, the then Pope of the Glorious See, died.
An unfortunate and funny old man, many people said that he would not survive the winter, and everyone was speculating on the death date of the oldest saint - but he survived miraculously, outliving the great shaman Salvador of the Fellos people, the mysteriously missing "Guardian of the Royal Court" Sandro, and even became the only remaining saint of the Silver Iris Empire.
And just when everyone thought he would continue to live like this, suddenly one day, he sat on the papal throne, adorned with the sevenfold crown, with his eyes wide open, and died. His death left the land in turmoil, the papacy in turmoil, and the foundations of faith, once unbreakable for centuries, gradually slipped away like quicksand. The death of this current pope didn't even spark the same worldwide mourning and panic as those of previous popes. Clerics and believers remained silent, while sorcerers looked on with cold eyes. It was clear that the future history of this unfortunate old man would not be kind.
The old pope is dead, and the new pope is about to take the throne. The most qualified successor is Cardinal Pavaton Miller, who can be said to be the "only surviving one".
Compared with several other pope candidates who were hastily promoted and almost used to make up the numbers, he was young, handsome, capable, knowledgeable, and famous for his tolerance. He had a good reputation among the lower-level priests and ordinary believers. He was the famous "Immaculate Light" and "Commoner Bishop".
In the past two years, the Holy See has been frequently at a disadvantage in its competition with the Oakensale Society. The "Holy Inquisition" launched by the previous Pope has come to nothing due to the war in the empire, and even had the opposite effect. As a result, people have been angry and blamed the Holy See for its hypocrisy and cruelty. To make matters worse, the number of believers has dropped sharply, and even the sorcerers who should have loyally supported the Holy See have begun to leave. At this time, the Holy See urgently needs a spokesperson with an outstanding image and "gentle" means to win back the hearts of believers throughout the empire.
As for divine will? There was no room for it. With the Ferros and the People's Army watching closely, the séance ceremony held for the new Pope was pitifully simple compared to the usual extravagant customs of the Glorious Church. It was like a small-scale farce in which we were both acting and knew each other's secrets. Not to mention any show of my divine power—
In short, the next Pope, Pavard Miller, took office in a hurry. With the glorious mission of revitalizing the Glorious Church, he sat on the shaky papal throne carrying a mess that was difficult to reverse.
However, the new Pope, who should have been "getting what he wanted", was not very happy about it.
If he was a guy with no ambition who just wanted to live a life of idleness and wait for death, he would be trembling with fear about his uncertain future and having nightmares every night.
Moreover, Pavard Miller was actually a man of great ambition, even overambitious. He longed for power, longed to sit in that position of public attention, and to change the Church and even reshape the world according to his own will.
He did want the throne of the Pope, but the coronation of the Pope in his dream should be welcomed by all the people and miraculous. He would be bathed in great glory and receive awe and love from all sides - not the ridiculous situation now.
The Pope's chambers, nestled deep within the Cathedral of Redemption, were protected by countless precious, intricate arrays, akin to layers of defense. The exquisite decor, every detail of which spoke of the supreme majesty and glory once possessed by this ancient, majestic complex, now emanated a faint aura of decay.
Pawanton Miller stood silently in this luxurious silence.
He dismissed all the priests and servants around him. The private study belonging to the Pope himself was unusually spacious. The huge arched window could theoretically overlook the entire Cathedral of Redemption and even the Royal City. However, it was now tightly closed with dark green curtains embroidered with exquisite patterns in gold thread, leaving only a gap through which a ray of sunlight filtered in, shining on the pile of files on the desk and the letter neatly placed in the middle of the desk, as if waiting for the new owner of the room to read it.
The masseter muscle on the side of Pavaton Miller's face throbbed violently, as if in pain. He stared expressionlessly at the crudely crafted, yellowed piece of paper that stood out from the surroundings. It lacked the wax seal customary among the nobility, nor the gold foil customary among the Vatican, nor even a signature—yet the new Pope acted as if he were looking at some monstrous beast.
After a long time, he finally picked up the letter: damn, very familiar handwriting, sloppy, casual, with a sharp hook at the end, as if the writer was always in a hurry, but with a sharpness that could cut people.
"Your Majesty, Pavardon Miller, congratulations on finally getting what you wished for," the letter was casually written. "I also hope you will still remember that the deal between us always works."
The very existence of this letter, which even disdains to be signed, is a warning that is almost humiliating. It appeared without warning and quietly in the Pope's own residence, on one of the most secure tables in the world.
Miller's fingers trembled slightly, and he immediately creased the letter. He paused, then carefully smoothed it out and continued reading. The more he read, the uglier his expression became.
This guy was simply asking for too much, completely ignoring all respect. He was extorting money from the moment he opened his mouth. He wanted him to cut off his own limbs, to make enemies, and to feed the increasingly greedy people's army that was vying to swallow up the entire empire. But Pavaton Miller couldn't even think of how to resist, even though he was now the supreme ruler of the Glowing Church and theoretically one of the most powerful people in the Silver Iris Empire.
Perhaps at first it was just cooperation, a mutual calculation, each taking what they needed. But the ghost had a strange ability: he seemed to always plan several, even dozens, steps ahead, factoring in all his options and escape routes, making the "benefits" irresistible and the cost of "rejection" unbearable.
Thus, unknowingly, every chip he handed over, every reward he received, had already been secretly wrapped with soft spider silk. Now, the hand holding the string only needed to pull lightly, and the rope around Pavaton Miller's neck would suddenly tighten, suffocating him completely.
In his early years, Pawanton Miller admired Nova Brody's talent and disdained his ordinary identity.
Later, he became wary of the god behind the ghost and resentful of the man's arrogance.
But as for now, he only vaguely felt a huge fear about that person's existence.
It was as if he had a premonition that he would always dance with the shackles in the other's hands, not knowing when he would be abandoned or pushed into the abyss without any warning.
"...I know what you want, and now I am the only one who can give it to you...whether it's the divine seal you hate, or the fame you desire."
The Pope's fingers paused, and the hooks of the letters coiled around his fingers like a hissing venomous snake, but he had to continue reading.
"I will not allow the current Silver Iris Empire to continue to exist. You are a wise man, good at judging the situation. You should be able to see that the end of the Glorious Church will also come with the fall of the empire and the gods."
He could almost hear that flat voice and see the black-haired young man sitting in front of him, staring at him with those cold, smoky-gray eyes, as if he was just calmly stating some fact.
"The old order must be shattered before a new one can be built from its ashes. Now no one can stop the fire that will destroy the world, but whether the Church of Radiance will turn into the dust of history or be reborn in the fire of a new era depends on your choice - or I will find someone else who is willing to make the right choice."
Pawanton Miller: "..."
How arrogant! How presumptuous! This guy really deserves a beating when he threatens people.
But he had to admit that the ghost was right.
Although the royal city was still peaceful and prosperous for the time being, in the eyes of Pavaton Miller, the people of Ferros were pressing forward step by step, Cassius II could not be relied upon, and the only reliable Esmerel was now being increasingly suffocated by the enemy's slowly tightening iron chains.
The sorcerers who tried to become gods increasingly disregarded the Church. The Okensele School used knowledge to deprive the lower classes of their ignorance. The method of taming believers through practice and scriptures was destined to no longer be feasible in the future.
As for the great nobles, Pavaton Miller simply couldn't bear to look at them. They were stupid, arrogant, cowardly, weak, and only good at internal strife. They were not enough for the Ghost to defeat with just one finger.
——Besides, the Empire doesn’t even have a saint now, while the People’s Party has at least one saint, one god.
There was no doubt that time was no longer in the Empire's hands. And at this moment, the Glorious Church needed a chance to untie itself from the crumbling chariot of the Silver Iris Empire and plunge into the unknown currents. Although Pavaton Miller didn't know what lay beneath the surface, whether it was being calculated to be completely dismembered until it reached the "harmless" state in the Ghost's mind, or truly be reborn...it was better than the "doomsday" the Ghost spoke of. He sincerely believed that the madman could really do it.
The new Pope slowly closed his eyes, slowly suppressing the ambition and anger burning in his eyes.
He longed for fame and fortune, but in the end, would he rather be a pope who didn't even know how long he had left to live, who was hastily pushed to the forefront by the current Glorious Church and used as a ridiculous mascot to appease the believers, or would he rather be a pope who led the Glorious Church to embark on a brand new path in the torrent of the new era and was destined to be remembered in history?
This doesn't seem to be a difficult choice.
Pavaton Miller took a deep breath, slowly walked to the table, and placed the unsigned piece of paper steadily over the candlelight on the corner of the table. The orange flame licked the rough paper, turning it into a curled gray-black mark that silently fell on the gorgeous carpet.
He watched the last bit of dust settle, then turned and yanked open the heavy, tightly closed curtains.
“Wow—”
The hazy yet genuine light of heaven instantly flooded into the study, illuminating every corner and the ornate, heavy robes of Pavaton Miller. He looked down at the crowd swarming like ants below, and beyond, at the vast, ancient royal city of Amacatio, a breeding ground for a new madness.
...His era, the era of Pavard Miller, is about to begin in a humiliating and sinister way.
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