The Holy Land of Ciaran gave many people a very strange feeling.
The atmosphere in the town of Lambas was similar to that of Satsuma in the central continent of the Abyss. Many people found that the feeling became stronger as they walked into the city.
Pious, humble.
The believers were like ants under the feet of God. For some unknown reason, such thoughts, which he had never had before, occupied his mind. Becky followed behind him silently. Along the way, the believers knelt down one by one. Even after the entire army had left, they did not straighten up. The higher-ranking priests and even the bishops, who were of the same or higher rank as Becky, all bowed down, not daring to cross the line.
Did this power come from the worship of power, or from the fear in the heart?
Perhaps this question was too profound, and many people did not come to a conclusion. At this moment, his heart was extremely calm, and his posture was like the most devout believer, but no one knew what he really believed in.
The Holy Land of Ciaran, the place where gods lived in the hearts of countless believers, was not only famous because it was the place where the pope lived.
Ramiel the Fourth, the new pope who had been the pope for five years, was 58 years old this year. For a spellcaster, this might not be the peak of their physical condition, but it was often the age when they reached the end of their power and status.
Old age?
Not really. The old man of the Inquisition was already 127 years old. For a powerful spellcaster, it was not difficult to delay his lifespan by a few years. But in the face of this team of believers who should have been worshipped and respected by his own believers, would the pope still be as kind and calm as usual?
Ciaran was a pure land in the inner circle of Lambas, a pure land that could only be watered by piety.
There were no tall walls, no heavily guarded guards, and the most conspicuous feature of the place was the marble floor. It was dazzlingly white, and under the sunlight, people could hardly open their eyes.
"Let the sunlight shine on your body. Face your sins, only then can you be redeemed."
Bishop Becky softly recited the words from the ancient book of darkness. She was no stranger to this area that most believers might not be able to set foot in for the rest of their lives.
"There are many Count Klimt from the Empire of Saint Reims."
Many people stopped in their tracks. The four beauties behind them lined up in a row, but it was not as visually impactful as the beauty pageants. The top powerhouses with different expressions gradually retracted their auras, but the indescribable aura was still there, and anyone could see that it was extraordinary.
Behind them, the troll army's footsteps stopped almost at the same time. Jia Luo quietly waited beside the carriage. He didn't seem to have the slightest interest in the buildings around him or the dazzling white 'holy land' in front of him. Instead, thirteen maids stepped down from the carriage and lined up in two rows behind the five people in front of them like a guard of honor.
Thirteen. The meaning of this number was especially special in such a place.
The original bluestone path on the ground had a conspicuous layer. Many people gently stepped on the pure white marble ground and walked forward.
There was no towering church or exaggerated sculpture in front of him. There was only a white house that looked extremely ordinary. The style was simple and unadorned, and it did not fit in with the surrounding Gothic buildings.
The marble used as the floor had no impurities. It was pure white and crystal clear, as if the believers should be able to see through their hearts.
Their footsteps were slow, but they never lowered their heads. Their black robes swept across the floor that was as smooth as a mirror without the slightest hint of sloppiness. The clear sound of their footsteps echoed. When they entered this white room, the thirteen maids behind them stopped in their tracks and respectfully lowered their heads like worshippers without saying a word.
There were no extra people in the white house. Many people didn't need to look for anything. As they walked into the circular hall, the figure in the white robe was already waiting for them.
Pure white, as if it had merged with the ground — this scene reminded many people of the black robed Aston Count who had a very similar posture.
The Dark Messenger, the spokesperson of the Demon God Garen in the abyss.
And in front of them was the Pope — holding a scepter, the spokesperson of the God of Light in the world.
"God's grace is eternal."
His voice was low, but not hoarse. It was a slightly magnetic voice.
Many people in robes as black as night formed a sharp contrast with the white robes of Pope Ramiel — it could even be said that he had a very obvious feeling of opposition to this holy land that symbolized the God of Light.
It wasn't just the visual difference brought about by the color, but also the inharmonious atmosphere.
Bowing was an action that almost everyone had to do in front of the Pope — and it had to be a pious salute.
But today, none of the five people who walked into Ciaran would do that.
Unexpectedly, Ramiel the Fourth, the Pope who almost caused the fall of Velun with a wave of his scepter, actually turned around and put his hand on his chest … and bowed to the five guests.
No one would have thought that this old man who had never bowed his head to any mortals would take the lead.
In times of crisis, perhaps some things would change.
"I've received your letter. I've come as promised."
Many spread his arms and bowed on behalf of the women behind him — there were no maids behind him. Sandinaran's status in the history of the elves was no less than that of the so-called Pope, and Madam Vasaki and Pandora had no interest in who the God of Light was.
As for Becky — as the Venerable Angel, would she bow to mortals?
Perhaps the only person Becky would bow to was Many in front of him. This inexplicable and subtle relationship put the Pope in an awkward position because the five people in front of him obviously didn't take him seriously.
Or rather, he didn't take out any chips that could make him important. Many was just waiting.
"Perhaps I should express my sincere gratitude, but I think the people of the God of Light at the frontlines don't need a few polite words from an old man like me."
Ramiel had a head of silver-white hair, and his eyes were calm, but many could see a flash of light in them.
It was hidden very deeply.
It could not be said that the old man who had reached this position was as blood-soaked as Emperor Chanak had been back then. However, once politics was mixed into anything, it would be like muddy water. No matter how much it was washed, there would still be traces of mud.
The scepter in his hand was gorgeous, but it was overshadowed by the radiant scepter in Becky's hand.
"I think it's necessary to say hello since you've come from afar."
Many's tone was indescribably casual, as if he was talking to a stranger on the street. The tone of ridicule rather than discussion made Ramiel's white beard tremble slightly, but his expression was always serene, like a wise man ready to listen to confession at any time. He didn't look surprised.
"Lambas needs you — the backbone of the Empire of Saint Reims. I think it's not too much to call you that, right?"
Ramiel's tone changed. There was no more rigid preaching, but it was surprisingly similar to Many's greetings before. "I don't think I'm a bootlicker, at least in front of the God of Light, I can say so."
In the center of the circular hall, the sunlight cast by the hollow dome overhead was warm and bright.
"I accept your compliment."
Many smiled faintly. At this moment, he didn't bow or scrape.
Words were no longer necessary for those who had reached such a position. After a few casual exchanges, Ramiel IV expressed that the Church of Lembas would provide sufficient support to Oditore after this round of support. They would naturally calculate the amount of rare materials and would not make a loss. The Pope, an old man who was sacred in the eyes of the world and could not be profaned by words, had reached an agreement with many people like a businessman under the invisible pressure of so many people. The Pope, an old man who was sacred in the eyes of the world and could not be profaned by words, reached an agreement with many people like a businessman.
After all, he was just a representative of the human world.