The Heavens: A Qing, the Yue Girl at the beginning

Outside the porthole, dark blue shadows were moving silently. They were strange marine creatures, the shortest being seven or eight meters long and the longest reaching more than ten meters. Their broad membranous wings clung to their sides like faded silk, shimmering with tiny phosphorescent lights as they paddled.

Their bodies blend the robust spine of the southern python with the smooth lines of a sea snake. The most terrifying feature is their mouths—from the lips and teeth to the depths of the throat, layers of fine, sharp teeth are nested together, making a crisp "click" sound when they bite.

The submarine's deliberately smooth curves made it impossible for the dragon subspecies' teeth to get a grip, leaving only shallow scratches that made them anxiously circle around.

The closer they get to the finish line, the more pronounced the food chain characteristics of the hatchery become. The winners devour the losers and also consume their genetic fragments. The advantages of the losers are taken by the winners, and they fight day and night in pursuit of evolution.

……

Inside the clock tower, the discussion about Caesar continues.

"No?" Xia Mi tilted her head in confusion. "You mean, the power he awakened isn't fire-based? It doesn't correspond to the color red?"

“It does not belong to the four elements of earth, water, fire, and wind,” Zhao Qing said calmly, “but is closer to the spiritual element and the ethereal ether, a… more essential power.”

"More precisely, in my perception, it's like a set of keys to time and space, representing the favor of the world and destiny..."

Undoubtedly, this represents extremely high research value.

Perhaps the key to the riddle Odin presents lies in his experiences and the principles of transformation, which are the selection and cultivation of "those destined for destiny".

"How is this possible?" Xia Mi sat up straight. "The key to time and space? A human being, possessing this level of power?!"

“This is just my personal judgment,” Zhao Qing said calmly. “Of course, this power is currently just a seed buried deep in his soul. Although it is awakening and has begun to sprout, the process is extremely slow and may even be delayed indefinitely due to some kind of obstacle. It may not be able to truly break through the soil in his lifetime.”

"Is he awakening?" Xia Mi pondered before speaking. "But he's still far from the power level of the first generation... You mean, he's already unknowingly embarked on that... path to godhood?"

"It should be very close."

Zhao Qing's eyes flickered slightly: "It doesn't seem like an active 'blood rage,' but rather more like the parasitism and guidance of a 'sacred relic.' The problem is, I can't sense the key item that should have been beside him, used to stimulate and elevate his bloodline rank. It... is missing."

"Right now, he's like a gear that's been put on pause; he has potential, but he can't get it moving."

"disappeared?"

Xia Mi was stunned: "What caused the awakening to be interrupted? What could it be? Some kind of alchemical artifact? Or... a living sample?"

"Too much speculation is pointless," Zhao Qing said, withdrawing his gaze from the distance. "It would be better to let him answer for himself."

Of course, a descending "god" or "angel" should not interrogate believers like an interrogator.

That would only expose one's own cowardice.

The most skillful approach is to create a sacred atmosphere, using an attitude of being omniscient and omnipotent, proactively answering the other person's deepest questions, to guide them to voluntarily pour out everything.

That's when you let your guard down.

……

The rain outside the window had long since lost its intensity.

Large raindrops pounded against the stained glass windows of the prayer hall, making a crackling sound, like countless hands knocking on the windowpanes.

Thunder rumbled through the clouds, occasionally flashing a pale white light that stretched the shadow at the doorway long before shrinking back into a ball in an instant.

As the heavy oak door was pushed open, Caesar, still damp from the rain, walked in, folded his umbrella, and leaned it against the wall, moving slowly and almost silently.

A keen observer might notice the unusual thing about his wrist—a dark strip of cloth could be vaguely seen under the cuff of his school uniform, inside which a folding knife was tied.

This is not something a believer should bring when worshipping a miracle; it's more like something a hunter should bring to deal with a crisis at any time.

Caesar knew very well that the beast with the highest survival rate in the herd was not necessarily the strongest; it might be thin and look tired, but it was unusually alert.

Its thinness and exhaustion are precisely because it is overly vigilant.

This vigilance will buy a little more time when a real crisis arrives.

He also understood that when faced with things that are incomprehensible and contain hidden risks, the worst thing to do is to turn around and run away.

Running away will only expose your weaknesses and allow predators to catch up faster. It's better to take the initiative; even if you can't see your opponent clearly, you should still hold your sword firmly in your hand.

The fragrance in the air was even stronger than Anne had described, and the warm glow of the "Messiah Shepherd" statue eased Caesar's tense nerves a little—but only a little.

This seemingly aloof and silent boy attended a church-run charity school in his childhood, where he took theology classes from the first grade. At the age of seven, he was appointed as a pastor of the province of Valencia and put in charge of the church property of the entire province of Valencia.

In the same year, he donned the Seraphim armor, becoming the youngest officer in the history of Emerald Cold; at the age of eight, he was appointed chief secretary of the Papal Secretariat, and at the age of nine, he became the diocese chief of Gandia Province; at the age of fifteen, he led the Seraphim Knights to conquer the capital of Ceylon, achieving great military exploits.

However, it was also in that year that he committed a heinous crime that the Vatican considered "enough to be hanged a hundred times." The specifics of this crime are widely debated, but all that is known is that he was ultimately expelled from Florence and never allowed to return, falling abruptly from the heights of fame to the depths of despair.

The name Caesar Borgia was once a household name in the Papal States and even in the upper echelons of Elop, but it quickly faded into obscurity, shrouded in a dark shadow.

His life trajectory is itself a condensed history of power struggles within the Papacy, shaped by countless acts of oppression.

Ironically, despite being raised with sacred texts from a young age, he remained a rare atheist in the Papal States, simply because he had witnessed too much darkness within the Church and the world at large.

The pope, who claims to be God's agent, seems to have a devil inside his body; the cardinals arrogantly proclaim, "We are the law! We are God!", and they have the power of life and death in the blink of an eye.
Behind every solemn mass, the dirtiest deals and the coldest calculations are being made. How sordid!

In this dark forest built of power, desire, and lies, everyone is a beast that preys on others; compassion and pity are the most useless luxuries, and no one will sympathize with the weak.

If God and angels truly exist, and if they are truly omniscient, omnipotent, just, and merciful, then they should have opened their eyes long ago to see this rotten world cloaked in divine garb.

A thunderous judgment should have been handed down long ago, turning those hypocrites who usurped God's name, those executioners whose hands are stained with the blood of the innocent, and this twisted system, to ashes!

But there was nothing. Nothing at all. Only endless prayers, and equally endless blood and lies.

So-called "divine grace" has always only descended upon those who hold power; it is carefully crafted to fool the world.

When Anne, with an almost dreamlike excitement, described the “manifestation” she had witnessed in the church to Caesar, his first reaction was wariness, sarcasm, and suspicion: What kind of trickery was this? Why would they deliberately display a false “miracle” in this remote “small town” far from the center of power?
Who is the target? A simple-minded noblewoman like Anne? Or... is it after him, the exiled "sinner"? Or perhaps, is it the prelude to a plan by the Cardinals and the Papal Court to build momentum for war?
According to the Law of Religious Secrets established in 1794, any event involving gods or demons, which are beyond the scope of human understanding, is a sacred calamity and must be intervened by the Papacy's exclusive army. No country or government may interfere.

From this perspective, the "divine intervention" or "demonic descent" in the scriptures seem to truly exist, but they would be blocked, covered up, and embellished as soon as they appeared, and it would be impossible for the information to be leaked. Only those fake miracles would be known to the public and serve the specific political purposes of the Papacy.

If this were deemed a sacred disaster, the entire Marston Royal Academy of Mechanics would be immediately placed under forced control, and I, Adele, and Anne would all be severely affected, their lives in the hands of others. In comparison, it would be better if it were just a clumsy hoax.

Just as Caesar was filled with doubts and calmly assessing whether everything before him was an illusion, a trap, or something else, and how to deal with it, the scene in the hall changed again.

The light and heat emanating from the statue suddenly surged, completely dispelling the lingering dampness and chill in the air, as if stepping from a rainy spring night into a warm summer afternoon.

Above the altar, an even purer and more intense beam of light appeared out of thin air, within which a sublime figure with six emerald-green wings on its back, a blurred face, and outlined by light and shadow, vaguely emerged. One pair covered its eyes, one pair covered its feet, and one pair was used for flight.

This is exactly the typical image of the Seraphim, the "seraphim" who are at the top of the angelic hierarchy as described in ancient texts! Legend has it that because they are composed of the ultimate divine light, mortal eyes cannot look directly at them, or they will die; therefore, they need to be covered.

Particles of light fell softly from the edges of the wings, landing on the stone slab and blooming into fleeting golden flowers.

At the same time, in Caesar's perception, the entire space of the church seemed to be expanding infinitely, becoming higher and wider, with the dome as high as the sky and the surrounding walls receding into the endless distance, disappearing beyond the boundaries of light.

Faced with this sudden grandeur and magnificence, he felt incredibly small, like a speck of dust.

Like an ant that accidentally crawls into a temple, it looks up blankly at the towering pillar that supports the entire world.

“Lost lamb, I see the thorns and fog in your heart, and I hear your silent questioning and cries.”

A majestic voice echoed in the church, carrying the power to soothe all restlessness: "My people, you stand before the light, yet the shadow of night lingers in your heart."

"You carry the heavy burden of the past, like a camel carrying straw, walking across a dry wilderness; you thirst for the truth, yet are trapped by lies, like a ship adrift in the fog."

"Do not be afraid, nor be in a hurry to hide your sharp blade. I have appeared here today not to seek blind worship, but to dispel the shadows before the true seeker."

"Whatever puzzles you, I will answer; whatever worries you, I will comfort. You only need to speak, and voice the deepest questions in your heart!"

Caesar was shaken—the voice understood him so well, understood the vigilance hidden beneath his indifference, understood his doubts about "God," and even understood the fear behind the folding knife at his waist.

He felt the gravity he was experiencing more clearly, and it seemed to shrink proportionally as the space changed. With a gentle push, he floated up like a feather and flew higher and higher.

A breeze blew in from the pillar of light, carrying a warm fragrance, brushing against his cheek, as if urging him to voice his doubts.

The radiant "Seraphim" gently flapped its wings, showering down an even more magnificent rain of light. The light rain intertwined and coalesced in the air, instantly constructing a magnificent aerial city suspended high in the sky—that was Marston!
Caesar would never be mistaken; every street, every landmark, even the kestrels circling in the square, is lifelike, with details so perfect that they surpass any model that any craftsman in the world could create!

Besides divine power, is there really any other way to explain this miracle of creation out of thin air?

It made him want to believe, yet he dared not believe easily.

The Messianic Church repeatedly emphasizes in every scripture that as long as you sincerely believe in God, God will give you everything you need.

Because God loves all people unconditionally.

But he had never experienced this kind of love that was given without reason or expectation of return.

How can there be giving without any reason in the world?
Every seemingly generous gift inevitably hides some form of transaction behind it, requiring a corresponding price to be paid.

When you gain one thing, you are unknowingly sacrificing another; this is an ironclad law of the world.

The devil often masquerades as a saint to tempt humanity, using beautiful promises to conceal his ulterior motives. Is the "angel" before us truly a messenger of God, or merely a disguised entity with ulterior motives?

Caesar took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down.

He was no longer the boy who would be intimidated by superficial authority, driven by impulse, and rushing headlong into things. He didn't presumptuously question the other person's identity and purpose; that would be too naive and too dangerous.

"Thank you for your inquiry, esteemed guest."

Caesar carefully chose his words, avoiding the direct use of attributive terms such as "angel" or "god":
“I am not one of your ‘people,’ nor have I ever believed in the ‘lamb.’ During my years in Florence, I witnessed countless killings carried out in your name, and countless wolves in holy robes. But I do have some long-standing doubts that I hope to find answers to.”

He paused, and as he had done in the Cardinal Council meetings in the past, calmly listed the most crucial questions in his mind, his tone steady and even, but his gaze sharp as a knife:

"First, Miss Anne Stuart, is the change in the girl who brought me here due to your grace? What price does this grace require her, or us, to pay?"

"The fervor in her eyes was like a lit candle flame, unaware of what would be left after it burned out."

Deep within the pillar of light, the silhouette of the six wings slightly folded, like a silent breath.

“Second,” Caesar continued, his voice even lower, “I have heard a story that more than two hundred years ago, what the pioneers of the Order first found in Avalon, the northern Iceland, was not some divinely granted paradise, but the remnants of another civilization, a lost… prehistoric civilization.”

"If this record is true, then I would like to know, what is the relationship between the 'god' you represent and that prehistoric civilization? Does the 'divine power' you display also originate from the technology of that civilization?"

Are the so-called "divine grace" and "miracle" merely effects produced by "tools" left over from prehistoric civilizations?

Of all the strange events he has experienced so far, the closest to this "angelic descent" is the "berserk" that can be triggered by mental energy after donning the Seraph Armor; the two are mostly related.

So it all stemmed from the inducement of this technology? The "Seraph" mobile armor? Far surpassing the original model of the current Seraph Iron Cavalry? Zhao Qing murmured to herself, listening as Caesar, under her influence, gradually released his usually hidden emotions, revealing his true thoughts and reasoning:
"Third, more than a hundred years ago, on the day the Praetorian Guard burned Emperor Nero to death, the Pope gloriously declared, 'The history of monarchical rule over this world has ended. From now on, the world will be bathed in divine grace. As long as the Papacy exists, it will absolutely not allow any monarch to arbitrarily wage war!'"

"Nero, however, mockingly retorted amidst the flames, uttering his final words to the public: 'When you have suppressed all the kings, you yourself will be the new king. You will use the hand that holds the holy staff to wage a new war!' This prophecy, considered the words of madness, later came true..."

He spoke slowly and deliberately, his tone growing increasingly somber: "I want to ask, why is this world forever like a forest overrun by wild beasts, repeating cycle after cycle of the survival of the fittest, filled with the products of a cold power struggle, devoid of any true order or justice..."

"Isn't there another way to truly end them?"

All three questions have been asked.

Caesar fell silent, gripping the folding knife tucked into his sleeve. He waited for the "angel" before him to unleash his fury, for this sacred illusion to shatter—after all, in Florence, those who questioned the Papacy always met only two fates:

They were either branded as "heretics," convicted of the grave crime of communicating with the devil, and burned at the stake, or, like him, expelled from the center of power through bargaining and compromise, bearing the mark of a "sinner" for life.

The expected thunder did not fall.

As the last word echoed, the light in the church dimmed for a moment, as if even the divine power fell silent over the question: "Well done, child! Though your heart is filled with ice, you hold the sword of truth; this is good. I will answer your three questions one by one!"

Now, listen—

“Lost spark, your question is itself a reflection of the answer.”

...(End of chapter)