The female disciples who had bad intentions towards me started fighting among themselves

The Pope thought so.

It was time for her to meet her end.

"The sea is clear and the river is calm, the country is peaceful..."

The Pope curled his lips and whispered softly.

His eyes were a little hazy.

She still failed to fulfill her promise to her master. When her master was dying, did he regret having picked her up and brought her home that cold night?

The Pope does not understand.

She just walked slowly out of the hall.

"The sea is clear and the river is peaceful..."

He muttered to himself as he listened.

Without using any cultivation skills, he walked on the earth step by step.

So safe.

She was not panicking at all, nor was she impatient.

She just felt so at ease.

everything is over.

"Tick."

A drop of rain passed through the tiles of the eaves and fell into the palm of the Pope's hand.

Bing Bing cool.

The Pope raised his head and looked at the sky, which was covered with dark clouds and was extremely dark.

It's raining.

4. The Pope (End) k

It has been three months since Master passed away.

Winter is over.

Spring has arrived.

It is rainy in Nanposo Island in spring, and the rainy season is extremely long. The rain always falls at unexpected times and lasts for a whole day.

The Pope looked at the sudden rain, his dark eyes blankly, and then he smiled.

She took off her boots and walked barefoot in the rainy night. She did not wear any accessories that symbolized her status, only the light blue dress given to her by her master.

The hem of her long skirt was stained with rain, becoming tight and oppressive. The Pope simply untied her hair accessories and let her long black hair fall down, stained by the cool rain.

Sweep away the stuffy air around.

What should I do?

The Pope pondered.

She had already withdrawn the surrounding guards and arranged their fate. After all, with the abilities of those criminals who attempted to rebel, they probably wouldn't be able to even step into the gate of the Demon Palace without her help.

She went to her death calmly... The Pope no longer had any interest in living.

Go to the highest place and take a look.

She raised her head and looked at the statue of the first Pope under the dark clouds, and remembered the high platform where she stood when she was supported by the people.

Go and have a look even though you are not the Pope. This time you are not going to see the supporters or the vast territory, but simply to appreciate the scenery and see the holy city in the heavy rain.

Then her steps became lighter.

Instead of that superior, steady posture, she seemed to have returned to her childhood, laughing and playing with her master in the thatched cottage.

Life was not rich at that time, and the students that the master taught were all poor children from the neighborhood, and their families did not have any extra money.

But the master still accepted them as students and taught them reading and writing, benevolence, righteousness, propriety, wisdom and trustworthiness.

They include the sons of butchers, the daughters of farmers, and the descendants of officials...

On some days, the butcher would send half a pound of leftover pork, the farmers would send fresh vegetables and eggs that were still warm, and the officials would greet the master with a smile when they met him on the road.

Although it was just in a remote small town, the memories there are so beautiful.

If only there was a pill for regret.

She could trade it for everything.

The Pope thought so.

However, although one's cultivation can reach the sky and Taoism can kill gods, there has never been such a thing as a regret medicine in this world. This is something that is imagined in the stories in those comic books. In reality, what awaits us is only the relentless rolling of fate.

There is no chance to come again.

so be it.

The Pope's steps became lighter. She walked on the road in the rainy night, passed through the corridors of the Demon Palace, crossed the wooden bridge in the garden, and walked into the market.

There was no one on either side of the road. The rain came so suddenly that everyone went home to take shelter from the rain.

So the whole street became the Pope's place alone.

She listened to the sound of raindrops falling and the sound of wind blowing through the door. Although there were thousands of noisy sounds, everything was so peaceful and harmonious.

She closed her eyes and walked quietly on the street.

Rainwater flows through the eaves and gathers into streams. The streams flow into the earth and melt into streams. The streams flow to unknown places, turn into clouds and mist, and rise into the sky, over and over again.

A slight smile appeared on the Pope's lips.

At this moment, her heart was so calm, so calm that when she thought of her master, she did not tremble all over, but tightly clenched her hands with visible veins.

Because she knew that she would soon go to accompany her master.

She even thought about those criminals who attempted to rebel.

How dare they have the courage to overthrow themselves?

Wasn't it the message revealed to them by the gods, telling them that the war should end, and that as long as the brutal Pope was overthrown, there would be eternal peace on the continent?

Those brainless people actually believed it.

When the gods first attacked them and drove them to the coast of South Posa Continent, did they ask for peace? These ministers, who were weak at heart, actually thought that if the hungry wolf gave in, it would become a docile dog.

Ridiculous, really ridiculous.

Now that the Demon Cult is unstoppable, they took the initiative to end the war and give the other side a chance to recuperate. This is simply putting their neck under the other side's sharp teeth, praying for the other side's temperament, and giving the decision-making power to the invader who once started the war.

There are definitely people in the Vatican who can see the situation clearly and distinguish right from wrong, but who can tell right from wrong?

Perhaps in their hearts, a crazy Pope is much more terrifying than the gods. They would rather believe in the gods' illusory promises than tolerate the Pope's misbehavior in the Vatican.

uninteresting.

The Pope sighed.

None of this has anything to do with her anymore, whether the continent is peaceful and tranquil from now on, or the gods invade Nanposo Continent and massacre the people, it has nothing to do with her anymore.

This was the choice made by those ministers who were said to be devoted to the evil cult.

As for her, there is no need to express an opinion. She is just the "Mad Pope" or "Tyrant" who is labeled as the opposite in all the stories, leaving it to future generations to decide.

The Pope stretched out her hand to touch the cool rain that was falling. The rain was so pure, so pure that it seemed to be able to wash away the sins and blood on her body.

But the Pope didn't care. She walked barefoot in the rain, and her feet rubbed against the gravel road, leaving wounds and bleeding.

The bright red blood merged into the water, forming a red trail behind her.

Strangely enough, she didn't feel any pain at all.

It was quiet around, with no one passing by.

The Pope knew that at this moment, there were countless assassins quietly following her, but they were frightened by his crazy scene and didn't know whether they should take action.

Yes, the once decisive and ruthless Pope walking barefoot alone on the street on a rainy night would seem weird to anyone.

The Pope chuckled silently, chuckling at their cowardice. They were so indecisive in carrying out the regicide, so how could they preserve the cult in this chaotic world?

The Pope did not think about it, nor did she want to think about it. She walked like a girl, the ink-colored body leaping gracefully in the rain, and then scattering raindrops, rising and falling, jumping and skipping.

She came to the square of Nanposozhou.

In front of the square stands a magnificent statue of the first Pope.

She once thought that she would be like the first Pope, with achievements to be admired by the people, but now, this wish has probably become a luxury.

The Pope stared for a long time, then looked away.

The rain is getting heavier.

The rain from the sky fell to the earth, making a fierce symphony. The stone road was washed violently by the rain, and a white mist rose up, like clouds in the sky, but it was just bursting, tiny water droplets.

The mist obscured everything in front of him, making it seem unreal, like a layer of hazy gauze. The noise in the Pope's ears faded away, and he listened to the rustling sound of the endless rain.

I remembered the night when the candles were lit.

She sat in the private hall, reviewing memorials. His master brought her some warm chicken soup. His sleeves and hem were also stained with water and were extremely damp.

It seemed that the rain that day was just as heavy.

The Pope looked ahead in a daze, as if he saw the master in white, holding an oil-paper umbrella in one hand and a lunch box in the other, walking in the pouring rain. The mist blurred his figure. The Pope stretched out his hand, and the cold rain hit her hand, waking her up.

She withdrew her hand in a daze and looked at her palm.

Nothing was caught.

She pursed her lips and a tear flowed from the corner of her eye, but in a flash it was carried away by the rain and fell into the bustling rainy night, and no trace of it could be found anymore.

At this moment, she could cry freely.

There is no need to suppress or pretend. The barrier that decorates the strong heart collapses at this moment as the regret in the heart is expressed.

She was like a child, crying helplessly in the rainy night.

You can cry until you are hoarse.

The heavy rain in the sky became her disguise. The noisy sound of water covered up her crying, and the cold rain made her tears disappear in the night.

No one noticed, not even the Pope himself, he didn't know that he would cry so sadly.

She wiped away her tears and looked at the magnificent platform and the throne on it.

His eyes were firm.

She made up her mind, took a step forward, and walked up step by step.

The white hands held the white jade steps and walked on them.

She did not take the central stairs that only the Pope could walk on, but instead walked up step by step along the outermost stairs.

The blood from the bare feet was flowing more and more, and it couldn't be stopped. The Pope's face turned pale, but he didn't care at all.

The rain on the platform rolled down the slope fiercely on the stairs, washing away the blood on her feet. With every step she took, a little blood would seep out, but it would quickly disappear under the rain.

Finally, she leaned on the white jade railing and climbed to the top of the stairs.

Came to the high platform.

At this moment, she had no strength left. She could clearly mobilize her spiritual power, but the Pope did not want to. She came clean and naturally wanted to leave cleanly.

Back to the moment I met my Master.

Back to that cold yet warm winter.

She was before the throne, overlooking the holy city.

Normally this place would be crowded with people and noisy, but at this moment there is not a single person in sight, it is empty and silent.

For her death, the regicides cleared the square.

It is somewhat useful, at least it won't hurt civilians.

The Pope thought with relief.