Industrial Revolution of the Mage Lords

Chapter 611 The Interweaving of Light and Darkness
The group followed the winding stone steps of the Grace Church down to the Saints' Gap underground. After passing through the secret area where the Inquisition was located, they arrived at the prayer room at the deepest bottom floor.

A gray-robed secret worshipper had been waiting at the end of the long, narrow passage. Upon seeing the cardinal walking in front, he bowed calmly and said, "Your Majesty has been informed of this matter, but only Monsignor Ismael has been allowed to enter to discuss it."

Bamoa was stunned for a moment, then looked down at Isaiah lying on the stretcher in a limp state, and finally stopped with a gloomy expression.

Ismael nodded to Rivera and followed the conspirator into the inner room alone.

This place is not much different from the small prayer room in the Privy Council where the Pope lives every day... The rough and flat stone brick floor, the four gray walls that are dark as if there is no sunlight, and the twelve brass lamps with ancient shapes, which are immediately sent here by someone no matter where His Majesty moves to, and are always with him.

Taking a deep breath, Ismael whispered to the gray-robed elder who sat cross-legged in the center of the room with his back to him, "Your Majesty, according to the canon and divine revelations, the alien disaster from the north... has appeared near the Holy City, and the northern monastery has already fallen."

The Pope's hunched shoulders suddenly trembled slightly, and he said in a hoarse voice, "I know... This day will come sooner or later, but it's coming too soon, and we're not ready yet."

Ismael's breathing quickened as he quickly explained, "Your Majesty, rest assured. We still have three Knights of Judgment stationed in the Holy City. We are not completely defenseless... Moreover, your Holy Prayer Guards are a powerful trump card."

"Holy Prayer Guards..." The Pope slowly turned his head, his aged, wrinkled face seeming even more haggard than before. "There are no more Holy Prayer Guards anymore, Ismael... For the past thirty years, I've dispatched a guard into the depths of the Saint's Gap every month. Once they've gone, they never return. The last guard... departed just before I officially went into seclusion."

The cardinal was stunned upon hearing this. After a long moment, he said in astonishment, "Five hundred Holy Prayer Guards... are all gone?"

He wanted to ask further, but suddenly remembered the secret rumors about the identity of His Holiness the Pope. His body, which was already stiff in place, suddenly felt an uncontrollable chill running down his spine.

"I know what you're thinking. It's alright... Without the constant and devout sacrifices of the guards, I wouldn't have been able to survive this long. Now the Holy City no longer has anyone qualified for transformation..."

The Pope paused, chuckled self-deprecatingly, and continued, "So I had no choice but to take a risk. A few days ago... I personally entered the depths of the rift."

What lies deep within the Saints' Gap? This has always been the answer that Ismael has been unable to find, no matter how hard he tries. Only the three cardinals who have held real power in the Holy City, through the vague oral traditions passed down from generation to generation, can give a glimpse of the answer.

Since the earliest days of the church, the first pope came from among the saints, claiming to be inspired and gifted by God, and determined to spread glorious miracles throughout the human kingdom.

Since then, the succession of each pope has been quietly and step by step completed in the gap between saints. More than a hundred years ago, the previous pope, His Holiness Pope XII, realized that his life was coming to an end, and took the initiative to enter the gap between saints... Then they successfully welcomed His Holiness Pope XIII, who has been in charge of the Holy See ever since.

The new Pope was virtually identical in appearance and stature to his predecessor, inheriting the wisdom and foresight passed down through the millennia since the Church's founding. He was deeply versed in all the secrets of the Church known to previous popes, and the divinely gifted arts he imparted were constantly updated... only appearing slightly younger than his aging predecessor. A common rumor among the Vatican's high command was that there had been no orderly succession of popes over a dozen generations. There had always been only one Pope, a living immortal who, through divine will and grace, had been continually granted new life.

At this thought, Ismelton suddenly realized something. He stepped back a few steps, knelt down, and said in a trembling voice with his forehead pressed against the ground, "You are... You are His Holiness the Fourteenth Pope?"

The old man, with white hair and beard, smiled bitterly and shook his head, saying slowly, "I am still myself... The gods have not given me the revelation I deserve, and after rashly entering the Saint's Gap, He has not responded at all."

Do the gods no longer respond to the Pope's prayers?
Ismail raised his head again, and his confused expression could no longer be concealed.

"Disaster has struck, aliens have invaded... They are here to destroy us. The Holy City has absolutely no ability to resist or retaliate. Ismael... I order you to gather the remaining Knights of the Judgment Army who are still loyal to the moderate faction, as well as the devout priests and pastors who remain neutral. Lead the people of the Holy City to migrate south immediately to avoid the impending war of destruction."

The cardinal felt his heart clench as he struggled to respond, "Your Majesty, abandoning the Holy City, abandoning the birthplace of our Lord's glory, would undoubtedly inflict a heavy blow upon the entire Vatican... Besides, where could we escape to?"

"It's better than staying here and waiting to die. Disperse the Judgment Army and the believers throughout the southern border. Saint Valen may not be willing to accept us, but the royal families of various countries, as well as the independent dioceses and monasteries scattered across the land, will all be our future homes."

The Pope paused, then soothed the distraught Ismael, saying, "The fall of the Holy City is of no consequence. As long as the flame of the Church remains preserved throughout the southern border, we will always have a chance to rise again. Let us set aside all preconceived notions about faith and truth, and, just as we did over a hundred years ago, join forces with the spellcasters to fight humanity's mortal enemy!"

This is the position that the moderates have always held. If the Divine Punishment Faction that suddenly emerged in the past decade had not interfered, the human race in the southern border would not have experienced frequent internal unrest among the extraordinary people.

Ismael's heart ached. He suppressed his grief and nodded, then asked, "Your Majesty, what about you? You won't leave with us?"

What worried him most was, of course, that the Pope intended to hold on to the Holy City. In order to preserve the last bit of glory and face of the church, he would lead the equally extreme Divine Punishment Faction to perish together with the impending alien disaster.

In this way... the succession iteration of the Pope's lineage has not yet been completed, and the church will directly lose the supreme power they rely on and depend on.

The Thirteenth seemed to have anticipated his thoughts. He blinked, made a strange expression, and sighed, "Don't worry. Although I am a useless old man now, I still have places where I can make use of my remaining energy."

He coughed twice, then stood up with difficulty. He looked at Ismael with a piercing gaze and said, "I will carry the [Inheritance] I brought from the Saint's Gap and travel alone to the northern border of Saint Valen... to beg for aid from the Spellcaster Emperor."

(End of this chapter)