The morning sun shone gently upon Spirit City, draping its golden roofs and towering spires in a veil of pale light. Yet unlike every other day, no bells rang, no chants of worship echoed through the streets. Today, the air was solemn.
A hushed silence blanketed the city. Rows of soul masters—thousands of them—stood on either side of the wide marble road leading straight to the Pope’s Hall. Their uniforms were immaculate, their faces expressionless, but their eyes carried the same emotion—reverence tinged with unease.
From the far end of the avenue came the slow, rhythmic sound of marching.
A long procession moved forward. In its center, twelve cardinals, each clad in white robes embroidered with faint golden runes, bore a coffin upon their shoulders. The coffin itself was a masterpiece of divine craftsmanship—its surface forged from radiant Angel Gold and etched with countless ancient sigils. The faint halo of holy light surrounding it shimmered like flowing mist. Six pairs of feathered wings—sculpted from pure crystal—were spread along its sides, giving the illusion that the coffin itself might take flight at any moment.
Every few steps, the cardinals bowed slightly, whispering prayers in the ancient angelic tongue. Their solemn chants harmonized with the faint ringing of distant bells, creating a rhythm that resonated through the hearts of all who watched.
At the front of the procession walked a middle-aged man, his stride measured, his expression unreadable. His long, golden hair reflected the sunlight, and though his features were serene, his very presence radiated divine authority.
Qian Daoliu—the pillar of Spirit Hall.
Many of the older soul masters, who had once fought or served during his active years, felt a shiver crawl down their spines. It had been decades since they’d last seen him walk among mortals. Yet, even his reappearance was not the only source of astonishment.
Walking quietly beside him was a young girl—a vision of ethereal grace. Her hair, the color of spun gold, cascaded like sunlight upon her shoulders. Her face was delicate, almost doll-like, yet her eyes held purple stars. She wore a white ceremonial gown threaded with faint angelic light.
The crowd whispered softly but dared not speak aloud.
“That must be… the heir of the Qian family…”
“The next bearer of the Angel God’s blessing…”
Qian Renxue walked in silence, her expression neither proud nor sorrowful. Her eyes lingered briefly on the coffin ahead, her mind unreadable. To others, she appeared as the perfect image of divine serenity, but within her chest, her heart beat in slow,because she prepared herself internally for what she was going to do next.
When they reached the open square before the Pope’s Hall, the cardinals stopped.
Before them stood the newly constructed podium—grand and white, carved entirely of angelic marble. Its steps ascended in gentle arcs toward the statue of the six-winged Angel above. The statue’s expression was calm yet commanding, its eyes closed as if in eternal mourning.
The coffin was placed on the altar beneath it.
Golden light fell upon the scene, bathing everything in divine radiance. The wind grew still.
She raised her hand, and a faint ripple of soul power activated the Soul Guide that acted as a speaker. The entire square fell into silence. Only the gentle sound of the wind brushing past the statue of the Angel God echoed in the vast expanse.
Qian Renxue’s voice, calm yet carrying an invisible weight, resounded across Spirit City she was going to give a political speech:
“Soul Masters of Spirit Hall, and all soul masters gathered here today... this is not a day of celebration, but remembrance.”
Her gaze swept across the vast crowd — thousands of soul masters, soldiers, and clergy stood in rows, each holding their breath.
“The Pope — the pillar who stood before all of us, who bore the responsibility, and yet, never faltered in his duty — now rests here before you. For decades, he bore burdens none of us could imagine, so that the children of the poor might awaken their martial souls... so that those born without noble bloodlines could still rise in this world.”
Her tone trembled slightly — not from weakness, but from the carefully restrained emotion beneath her calm expression.
“How many of you have eaten because of Spirit Hall’s stipends? How many of your younger ones have received guidance in our academies? How many villages now know peace because our Soul Masters patrol their borders and prevent the wild outbreak of Soul Beasts.”
A murmur rippled through the crowd — countless memories of their youth, their first awakenings, the Spirit Hall examiners who came to their towns, resurfaced.
“And yet... the one who gave all of that to us, now lies here.”
Her hand brushed the coffin gently, a faint glow of holy light passing through her fingertips.
“People must have forgotten in days of old, when soul beasts used to rampage across the human settlements. The stability given by Spirit Hall by is now taken for granted, that people nowadays can even love a soul beast.”
The golden-haired girl’s eyes reflected the angel statue above — solemn, sacred, yet distant.
“Let us remember not just the Pope who led us... but the man who went and fought for the soul beast which might have been infiltrating the human society. From today onward, we shall inherit his will. Spirit Hall shall not waver. His light will not fade.”
Qian Renxue knew her speech was pure bullshit and smart people can find fault in them. But there are only so many smart people in this world.
A solemn chorus echoed as cardinals, elders, and soul masters bowed their heads. Some among the lower-ranked soul masters wiped silent tears.
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