Chapter 350 — The Stirring of the Holy Light

The bishops then continued their reports—on the progress of expanding the church knights, on the growth in the number of believers, on the spread of the Holy Light faith in various regions, and on the progress of the newly instituted "penance money" in amassing wealth...

Saint Ivan III lowered his eyelids, as though sunk in sleep, yet as though still awake and listening to report after report. The bishops' droning hum echoed in his ears, blending into one with the holier, more unfathomable, more boundless voice in his mind. With a small portion of his mind the aged pope attended to the bishops' voices, while with the greater portion he listened closely to that voice from the depths of his own spirit.

It was the voice of the Lord.

The Lord's voice murmured low, indistinct, yet containing endless wisdom; one had to strain to listen before one could discern from it the faintest thread of the world's truth.

Virodai stood quietly at the pope's side, her head slightly bowed, gentle and serene. The Holy Light radiating from her rippled out through the hall, enveloping every person present, resonating in an exceedingly complex, ceaseless faint harmony with the Holy Light given off by the bishops.

This "sacred resonance" was the source of the light that pervaded the entire Daystar Cathedral.

Only after the bishops had finally finished their reports and the droning hum in the Great Hall of Light fell quiet did Saint Ivan III slightly open his eyes and say in a hoarse, low voice: "Is it over..."

Virodai bent down beside the pope. "Yes, Your Eminence. The bishops have departed."

"I heard the voice of the Lord just now," Saint Ivan III said in a low voice. "What a great voice it was... The Lord must be pleased with our efforts."

"Yes, the Lord is pleased with what we do," Virodai said gently. "He would make this world His kingdom on earth; we must therefore clear the world's heresies and evils for the Lord."

"We must clear the world's heresies and evils for the Lord..." Saint Ivan III mumbled low, slowly sinking into a deep sleep, there to continue embracing in his dreams the nameless murmuring that came from the God of Holy Light.

In the Cecil Territory, at the buffer camp by the Whitewater River.

Having been granted permission to settle, a place to lie down and sleep, and a hot meal, those who had come from the Holy Spirit Plains, having lived in dread for dozens of days, finally felt a sliver of ease.

They gave thanks for the lord's kindness, marveling that Gao Yang?Cecil was indeed the broad-minded hero who protected his people, as the legends said. But more than that, they pondered their own future survival.

For the time being they could not yet enter the city—though they had already glimpsed that clean, prosperous city—they must live in the "buffer camp" outside the walls until they passed the final review. This was the last source of their unease.

No one knew what the review consisted of or how it was conducted, nor how long the process would last, nor what would become of those who failed. Though they understood the lord's caution in this matter, so long as they had not cleared themselves of the suspicion of being "heretics," they could not rest easy for a single day.

These people, who had fled all the way here from the Holy Spirit Plains, gathered in the large sheds allotted to them, discussing the future and the past in low voices—and then the door of the shed was suddenly pushed open.

They looked up in alarm and saw an exceptionally tall figure standing in the doorway.

They thought it was a powerful warrior, but soon they saw that the figure wore a priest's robe.

The robe was frayed at the edges and washed pale, yet it was still plainly the robe of a Holy Light priest.

Everyone tensed and stirred with unease.

"Do not be afraid," Wright said, spreading both hands and walking slowly toward those whose faces showed fear and wariness. "I carry no weapon, bear no ill will, and have not come to interrogate heretics.

"I only wish to talk with you."