Damian on the high platform was no different, his heart transitioning from anxiety to struggle, and now to calm acceptance. He resolved to yield to fate’s guidance and compromise to it.
Because the one who governs the Empire’s fate was seated right beside him at this moment.
This execution carries profound implications.
The people in the square raised their heads and saw the Pope’s dignified yet indifferent gaze, silently declaring the end of an old era, signaling that the Empire would usher in a new epoch centered around ecclesiastical power, a new era belonging to him.
Until, the roar of lightning shattered the square’s silence.
The vertical strike of lightning obliterated the pyre, yet, astonishingly, Collins emerged unscathed from this formidable lightning strike. Not a single wound could be found on him, and he himself was left stunned by the unexpected turn of events.
Before anyone could react, the torrential rain obscured everyone’s vision.
The sacred fire that symbolized the Church’s majesty merely flickered a few times before being extinguished by the downpour, ushering in an unprecedented chill that touched the soul, prompting the people in the square to instinctively want to flee.
This was a heavy rain, the droplets pressed upon their shoulders, preventing them from standing upright, forcing them to bend down. They had never encountered such a storm, and in the vicious cycle, people could not make out the road ahead, frantically clutching their heads.
Screams erupted, and the crowd in the square descended into chaos.
The four individuals on the high platform, representing the pinnacle of Empire power, heard this voice at the same time, a voice seemingly emanating from the heavens. Instinctively driven, they hurriedly retreated to their fortress with the escort of guards, braving the storm.
This rain was extraordinary, as was the lightning.
This invoked a strong premonition within them—that if they lingered on the execution platform even a moment longer, the lightning might very well strike them.
The onlookers in the square cried out while scattering in panic.
The downpour blanketed everything, as if the entire city was about to be submerged by this watery curtain.
Ave stood motionless at the center of the deluge, her clothing untouched by the rain. The raindrops seemed to recognize her presence, forming a vacuum area beside her. She stood beneath the platform, locking eyes with her father atop the execution stage.
Collins quickly became aware of the anomalies happening to him.
The lightning had avoided him, just as the raindrops did.
He also noticed his daughter holding a peculiar device, resembling a crystal for energy storage, speaking toward it.
"This is Ave. The Pope should be leaving soon; you have about ten minutes to retreat."
Then, responses came from the strange device.
"Received, we’ve already taken care of things on our end."
Yet, the rain was too heavy, the sound intermittent, leaving Collins unable to distinctly hear the complete dialogue.
Ave took one last deep look at him, knowing there were many things awaiting her attention.
Or rather, everything that had transpired thus far could be considered part of a plan.
At the onset of this grand execution, someone infiltrated the Church, the Judicial Court, and Prince Freeman’s mansion. This plan was never about venting rage by killing someone, even if Freeman, Ganniss, Julius were dead, replacements would swiftly rise.
Their forces, like roots, entrenched within the Empire’s soil.
At the end of the crowd, a youth in a black cloak, half of his face hidden beneath his hood, witnessed this seemingly epoch-signaling execution, then moved toward the alley once most people had dispersed.
The square was located in the civilian area, with houses tightly clustered, creating countless intricate alleys, and a figure clad in knight armor followed him into the alleys.
Abaddon saw the youth pass by shops, their walls plastered with wanted posters that they had spent a night covering the entire Imperial capital with. All posters depicted the same person—a D-grade investigator from the Reception Bureau. He also saw the wind whimsically snatching the posters, and one of them mysteriously fell into his hands.
To be killed on discovery.
Abaddon swallowed hard.
Rationale urged him not to linger in the square any longer, but another voice within enticed him.
After experiencing failure in the north, he desperately needed to prove himself.
He bit his lip, crumpled the wanted poster into a ball, and pursued the youth.
"Yes, I’m about done here too. I’ll be back shortly."
Abaddon followed the intermittent voice. The sound guided him into the deepest part of a nearby alley, a dead-end where the hooded figure stood, holding a strange device resembling an energy crystal.
Upon meeting the eyes, Abaddon immediately drew his sword, and under the Holy Seal’s blessing, the blade emitted a dazzling silver glow.
"I am Abaddon, a high-tier knight from the Kingdom Army. Do not act rashly!"
Clearly, the youth had no intention of heeding his advice.
After receiving the warning, the figure directly approached him.
The bizarre sight made Abaddon’s pupils contract, his hands gripping the sword trembling uncontrollably. He wanted to say something but couldn’t utter a word.
He distinctly saw all raindrops avoiding the youth, leaving no trace on that black cloak!
Abaddon felt as if he were under the Immobile Curse, losing the courage to swing the sword before him.
"Knight, are you here to arrest me?"
The youth gently placed a hand on his shoulder, under the cloak’s hood was the face Abaddon had envisioned.
Yet, what Abaddon saw was not an opportunity for proof but the approaching Death God.
He had apprehended many branded as Evil God’s Followers by the Church, but this time... he seemed to have encountered the real deal!
He couldn’t speak, only shook his head vigorously, released his grip, and dropped the longsword symbolizing knightly honor to the ground.
"Thank you for showing mercy."
The youth thanked him, "This way, I won’t have to make a last stand."
Until the youth’s footsteps faded, the coldness that had overwhelmed Abaddon gradually dissipated, causing him to collapse and fall into the rain.
Abaddon turned over, lying on the ground, gasping heavily.
In the corner of his eye, on that silver knight shoulder armor, was a red mark.
That was the source of all chill—a layer of blood-red ice.