Chapter 488 — Collapse
Blade of Dawn · Page 3 of 4
At that moment Faran Belan could not suppress his wild joy; all his difficulties seemed about to be resolved with the fall of Cecil's skyfire. He whirled around to face the college of priests behind him, and on the faces of those priests, who were waking one by one to what was happening, he saw a similar joy.
Cecil's people had finally come to attack this holy city with their weapons!
The out-of-control heresy trial, the doubt and opposition spreading through the city—all of it would become the past. The moment Cecil's people attacked directly, every mistake the cathedral's priests had ever made would become mere embellishment before a generous martyrdom, and Faran Belan... had long been prepared for martyrdom.
He was indeed devout, and so was the college of priests in the cathedral; from the very beginning they had not feared death. It was not a courage dressed up for show, but a true, genuine fearlessness of death—faith in the God of Holy Light had long since soaked into the marrow of these seasoned clergy. Even the most greedy and selfish of priests, when facing "sacrifice for the Lord," would erupt with tremendous courage.
"The hour of sacrifice for the Lord has come!" Faran Belan suddenly cried out; he raised his scepter high, and resplendent Holy Light blazed forth from behind him. "I shall prove my devotion with blood!"
The college of priests cried out in fervor as well: "The hour of sacrifice for the Lord has come!"
The howling in the air drew nearer from afar, and at last reached the skies above the city. Franc Beland, his eyes those of a Transcendent, could already see the shapes of those magic weapons as they flew through the air wrapped in pale cyan currents; he saw them come from the southeast, swooping down upon the earth like hunting falcons, and he could not help but narrow his eyes slightly. He spread his arms wide toward the devil's weapons and waited quietly for death to come.
The great conviction of dying for the God of Holy Light stirred within him, so that his body trembled faintly with excitement.
And then those "heavenly fires" that had come from afar burst apart in midair above the city, all on their own.
With a sound far quieter than the detonation of an ordinary magic-crystal shell, the cyan clouds of mist that had flown above the city disintegrated one after another, blew apart, and the metal structures wrapped within those clouds split into fragments as well; and after those hollow shells burst open, countless scraps of paper came drifting down from the heights, fluttering and scattering.
Franc Beland squinted, arms outstretched, and waited a long while without death descending upon him. Unable to contain his confusion, he opened his eyes—and saw the common folk in the plaza craning their necks to stare at the sky.
A sheet of paper drifted down before his eyes. The provisional bishop seized it at once. Puzzled, he stared at this thing that had fallen from the heavens, and what met his gaze was the familiar, finely printed lettering:
"...The heresy trial is the greatest lie of all...
"...To sacrifice common folk, to abduct their will—such deeds are no different from those of bandits...
"...The Holy Light should not be judged by the priests within the church; the Holy Light belongs to every person...
"...Abandon this pointless resistance. Cecil will treat all friends equally..."
With whistle after whistle and burst after burst, more and more scraps of paper came fluttering down. Franc Beland stared up at the sky, dazed; he felt as though those papers were falling like snow, swirling and endless.
At last the leader of the disciplinarian monks came to his senses. Clad in his black robe, this veteran priest shouted out at that moment the only words he could think of that might possibly salvage the situation: