Chapter 492 — The First Bell of Dawn

The White Knights wreathed in Holy Light numbered several dozen; they were only a small part of the whole crowd, yet they walked at the very front like the point of an arrow. And among these knights, a hazy patch of shadow, drawing no one's notice, drew close to the leader of the knightly order.

Amber's figure emerged from the shadow. She raised her head to look at the towering White Knight: "I didn't expect so many people to gather..."

That towering White Knight was none other than Wright. He wore no helmet, and his scarred face was full of resolve. He lowered his head slightly to glance at the petite half-elf: "They come from all across the Luan region and from neighboring Kalor City. The host has been gathering on the plain for days—this is your doing. Without you, the people would never have seen the truth of the Radiant Dawn Church's decay and corruption, nor would they have gathered of their own accord with such righteous fury."

"I'll take that compliment," Amber said, a little smugly, then a note of curiosity entered her voice. "But I didn't expect you to come in person—as the Great Patriarch of the new church, you don't stay behind... did the old Zong... did the Duke send you?"

"My own decision," Wright said evenly. Then he paused for two seconds, his tone graver than usual. "This is our mission."

Amber blinked, listening as Wright's solemn voice went on in the night:

"Cecil put down roots in the Dark Mountains, and that keeps it facing the threat of the wasteland at every hour. And whenever Cecil suffered an attack by the aberrations, the lord always stood on the defense line. From him I learned one thing—a single decision by a leader may cost hundreds upon hundreds of people their lives. Sometimes that decision is necessary; sometimes the people's sacrifice is willing. But a leader must never accept those sacrifices with an easy conscience. He must stand with those who pay the price, and be ready at all times to shed blood alongside them.

"This is a war of the Holy Light—for the transformation of the Holy Light, for freedom of faith. Unarmed common folk must challenge superhumans far mightier than themselves. Blood will surely be shed in this transformation; that blood is necessary. But as the leader of the new church, I cannot let them bleed alone.

"So I came."

Wright shouldered that mechanized power hammer wrapped in the cloth bands of the holy covenant and strode forward with resolute steps, while Amber stood where she was, slightly dazed. A few seconds later the half-elf shook her head: "That fellow really does surround himself with nothing but oddballs..."

Ten minutes before dawn, the crowd gathered on the great fan-shaped plaza before the cathedral district.

This place, once used for heresy trials and the burning of heretics, was now packed with people. The smell of burning fat filled the whole plaza; still more people kept pouring in from every direction, but the limited space could no longer hold them, and so those arriving from farther off could only mass in the nearby streets.

As the crowd swelled and the time drew near, louder and louder clamor began to rise from every quarter. Outlanders even began to shout angry slogans among the crowd; mercenaries brandishing blades loudly cursed the cowards in the cathedral; merchants waving canes denounced the injustice of the Radiant Dawn Cathedral; and some climbed onto the few raised platforms at the edge of the plaza and, shaking their fists, denounced the priests of the great cathedral as ruffians, butchers, and man-eating devils—this impassioned rage even startled the citizens of Luan on the plaza, who could hardly imagine why these allies from afar should hold such fury toward the priests of the great cathedral.

That fury exceeded even their own.

The terrible commotion on the plaza reached the cathedral district, and the priests who had shut themselves inside the inner city walls and played deaf and dumb for days could sit still no longer. In astonishment they climbed onto the walls and towers of the inner district to see what on earth was going on outside—and then that astonishment turned to terror.

people.

The plaza was packed with people.

It was a crowd that could make even priests and knights possessed of extraordinary power tremble with fear.

At the same moment, before one of the key nodes of the divine art array in the small chapel district of the inner city, Seven Terry stood in silent confrontation with a cleric draped in a black robe and marked with tattoos upon his head.

Looking at his fellow brother of the Church before him, Seven Terry sighed. "Stand down, Alcott. There is no other way left."

Yet the black-robed disciplinarian monk merely stood motionless before the divine art array, and only after a long while did he break the silence. "The knight order and the other disciplinarian monks will soon notice something amiss in the small chapel district..."

Seven Terry could not help but step forward, his voice agitated. "They can hold out here for a time—but can they hold out for a lifetime?!"

The black-robed cleric looked into Seven Terry's eyes and said, his expression serene, "...But my mission is to guard the barrier of the small chapel district—unless death puts an end to my mission."

Looking at the calm expression of this man of the cloth before him, Seven suddenly read the true message within it.

He furrowed his brow, his voice full of sorrow. "Alcott, I know. During that heresy trial... though you hid it well, you too were one whose faith wavered. Do not persist any longer. I know what manner of man you are. You know full well what the Church has done these past years, and you know how they have grown worse by the day over the last year..."

"I am a disciplinarian monk. To uphold the order of the Church is my all—this is the vow I made before the Holy Light," the black-robed monk said, his expression serene, cutting off Seven Terry's words. "Do you still remember the vow you made before the Holy Light?"

What answered this disciplinarian monk was a silence lasting ten full seconds, and then a firm declaration: "...Of course I remember. I shall never forget it for all eternity."

"Then good," the disciplinarian monk breathed out softly, his face relaxing. "Pastor, do what you must do."

Seven Terry was somewhat at a loss. He walked toward the black-robed cleric before him, yet it was as though he had forgotten what he was meant to do.

"The bell is about to ring."

The black-robed cleric's words jolted him abruptly back to his senses.

He stared at the black-robed cleric before him in astonishment, and heard the other speak quietly:

"...I am a disciplinarian monk. I know every secret within these chapels—that is my work... Pastor, do what you must do. That frail door cannot hold back an angry crowd. If the divine art array is still running when the bell rings, many will die."

Seven Terry felt his blood gradually congealing, a chill spreading from his heart out to his limbs. He heard the first faint toll of the bell from afar, and heard the final request of a devout man:

"Kill me. Save the Holy Light."

A warm sensation spread outward from between his fingers, and Seven Terry felt his slowly congealing blood take on warmth once more. He saw that in his hand he gripped a short sword, its tip buried in the disciplinarian monk's chest.

The disciplinarian monk fell, and the divine art array node of the small chapel district lay quietly upon the platform behind him, its holy runes flickering with a faint light.

Seven Terry rushed toward the node, while the black-robed disciplinarian monk lay slumped upon the ground. Amid the low, deep hum of the divine art array falling still, he heard the tolling of the bell from afar grow ever clearer and louder, and heard the crash of the chapel district's great gate collapsing.

He breathed out, and in that last breath came a softly murmured whisper:

"Lord..."

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