The Alchemist's Guide to Flesh and Blood Ascension

Chapter 146 Heresy, Execution

"What are we going to do next?" Iseria jogged over to Yunevo's side and asked softly.

The black-robed alchemist pinched his cheek, his smile fading, and continued, "Execution, for heretics—execution."

As he said this, his gaze was fixed on the "charred remains" by the roadside, which was covered with a sack of anti-magic stone and remained motionless.

rustle----

The sound of the "coke" rubbing against the ground as it was dragged was long and drawn out. With each step, the once invincible thing inside would even let out a muffled groan of pain.

The flames burning in the church had not yet died down, casting long shadows in front of Yonivore and Iseria.

The black-robed alchemist remained silent throughout the journey, and the pale-haired girl did not inquire about the execution location—they simply walked slowly along the road until they reached the square of the residential area in the lower city that had been half-demolished.

It is also the starting point of Eunicev.

The square was filled with all sorts of creatures, but the majority of them were poor people from Hart City, dressed in tattered burlap sacks and covered in dust.

They remained silent, but the eyes fixed on the sack in Yonivore's hand burned with an unprecedented fire—

Yonivo stopped and threw Uriel, who was covered by a sack, onto the makeshift execution platform.

With a "whoosh," the magic-suppressing sack was casually ripped open, revealing the charred, broken body that still clung to its last shred of dignity.

Uriel, the former bishop, looked like a "half-finished product" pulled from a crematorium; his hair and scalp were stuck together, and his deep red bishop's robes were long since tattered rags.

But in this almost humiliating situation, those deep purple eyes regained a sickly calm.

"Pathetic—" His voice was hoarse, as if he had been thirsty for three days in the Morse Desert. Then, he struggled to lift his head, looked at those hateful eyes, and laughed.

"Anger, violence, trampling of order—what difference is there between you and me in this chaotic world filled with desire?"

"The Alchemists' Guild has been replaced by the Church, and you have replaced the Church—but eventually someone will replace you."

Ionevoy did not interrupt Uriel; instead, he wanted to see what kind of "truth" this madman, who treated the entire city as a petri dish, would utter before his death.

"The 'objectification of God' was never for my own sake," the latter's eyes were veiled in a deep, unfathomable light in the darkness, "as long as 'humanity' remains—"

He abruptly raised his head, shouting hysterically, "We are all here to correct this! Only by stripping away the filth of humanity can the entire world be controlled by an absolutely perfect, absolutely rational god—"

"Only then can this world be saved, isn't it?" Uriel's voice suddenly softened.

"We are simply bearing this necessary sin for all humanity, paving the way for perfection for all mankind."

His gaze toward Yonivore was full of mockery.

"Yonev, time will prove you wrong. You have preserved the root of the evil, and the gods—will ultimately punish you and the world."

"Only when you truly see what a perfect god is will you understand—how foolish these repeated transgressions have been!"

The black-robed alchemist responded with an even more mocking smile.

"Uriel, my purpose in doing all this is 'liberation,' and only secondly—revenge."

"I didn't say that alchemists would rule this city again."

He turned around and looked at the ragged, yet incredibly vibrant masses of people before continuing to speak.

"In this world, the most moving thing is never perfection—but truth."

Immediately afterwards, Yunevo turned to the side, handing over the power of life and death to each of the silent poor people in the lower city.

Snap—

A broken brick hit Uriel on the head.

Then came the second piece, the third piece —

A deluge of stones rained down on the instigator of this oppression!

And Uriel—

Amidst this "humiliation," he erupted in an insane burst of laughter!

He looked at those humans he had once regarded as ants, who were now venting their violence, at those faces twisted with rage, as if he had received the final confirmation of that!

"Behold, Yonevo! This is the truth you've been guarding—violence, madness, ugliness!"

Uriel's face was smashed to pieces, but he was still laughing loudly.

Eunice said nothing, but slowly walked to the execution platform, slightly raised his hand, and then clenched his fist—

The chaotic square suddenly became "quiet," and the poor people with bloodshot eyes stopped what they were doing and looked at the alchemist who had written the legend.

This is prestige, built upon repeated acts of selfless courage in the face of danger, and the resulting transformation of seemingly hopeless situations.

.

Yoniv kicked Uriel's straight spine, breaking it, and dragged him to the execution platform, lowering his voice.

"Before I die, I'll give you one last message—"

"I have seen the world I have described with my own eyes, and even if I fall—there will be a second me who will raise the banner of resistance again."

He turned his head, looked at Iseria beside him, and nodded.

A bright blue blade, constructed from "freedom" ether, slowly condensed in mid-air.

Uriel stopped laughing at some point and stared at the blade that was about to sever his head—as if he could see the truly ever-renewing world that Yonivo had described.

"Hahaha—foolish—"

'

chap!

The blade slashed down.

The blood loss was not as great as Yunevo had imagined—beneath Uriel's skin, it had long been hollowed out by false holy light and withered magical veins.

It was already late at night, but the lights gathered in the square only increased rather than decreased.

The golden dome that had been obscuring the sky faded away, revealing a clear, unpolluted starry sky to everyone.

Eunhaw stood before the execution platform and let out a long sigh of relief.

This journey signifies that he has long since forged a life-or-death feud with the church—the struggle he instigated is still long and seemingly endless.

Santo Speranza — the headquarters of the main church.

He squinted, gathering his thoughts, and turned to look at the impoverished people who felt helpless and disoriented because the war was over and rule had collapsed.

Now, the post-war reconstruction of Harttown should be put on the agenda.

And then there are the "roots," these roots buried deep underground should also begin to spread to the surface at this moment—

"Busy, huh? It's good to be busy," the black-robed alchemist stretched.

Forget everything else, he just wanted to enjoy that luxurious half-day vacation where he didn't have to think about anything.

Then it was invested in the reconstruction project of Hart City.