Chapter 115: The Pope
Translator: EndlessFantasy Translation Editor: EndlessFantasy Translation
At this very moment on the stands at the right, there stood an old man clad in a cloak with a scepter. The Pope. He stood at the highest point on the stands and took a cursory glance of the entire square akin to a lion surveilling its grounds. At the same time, he also seemed to be an unknown elderly, looking amicably at his children.
He stood there quietly, indulging in the attention.
"Grant.How is he now?"
Suddenly, he turned and softly asked the Bishop behind him.
His voice was not one of authority; instead, it had a sense of warmth with a hint of estrangement, much like the sound of rotten wood quietly splintering apart.
The Bishop approached from behind with his deadpan expression and answered, "Nothing changed. He refused to eat, and would try to escape whenever theres a chance."
The Pope chuckled and said, "Ah, let him be. I will talk to him after the execution, and there will be a day he will come to understand the efforts of his mother and us."
The Bishop only nodded indicating his concurrence.
The Pope turned around as if he had a sudden thought. The wrinkles at the corner of his eyes moved. He gazed at the Bishop.
His gaze showed a certain subtility, as if they were judging the Bishop - judging the face that was akin to a wax figure, the face that showed no emotions.
"8 years have passed, and youre still the same old you," The Pope said nonchalantly with the volume only audible to the both of them, "I thought you would be able to feel more sentimental after you spent such a long time dealing with the matters of the Church. It seems like you havent changed at all."
The Bishop raised his chin and looked at the pope in the eyes. His eyes dark, showing no sadness nor happiness.
"Is that so? 8 years have passed, and you changed beyond expectation, Your Highness."
The Bishop spoke with his usual apathy, but the content of his words froze the atmosphere.
The Popes smile was no more. He was quiet for a moment before he spoke again, his head lowered.
"I know you think that my work these days is too radical, and that I should not take such approach. But can you imagine how his believers would look at a pope that did nothing for 8 years?"
The Bishop just stared at the pope in silence.
The pope looked grim, but he did not let it show for long.
He caressed the magnificent scepter and commented under his breath, "The first initiates; the second develops; the third flourishes; the fourth peaks; the fifth strengthens..."
He paused deliberately and clenched the scepter, as if it suddenly became exponentially heavier that he needed to hold it with all his might.
He continued, "If the sixth pope could not create a legacy, it will be the start of a fall."
The Bishop finally sighed. He spoke slowly with his eyes on the Pope, "No one predicted the fall of the fifth pope. You did your best when you stepped up as the Pope and maintained the stability of the country."
The Pope barked a laugh that sounded very much like a dismissive snort, it was impossible to judge if he agreed with the statement. He did not continue to elaborate, though; he turned around and faced the square again, standing at the top of the stands.
The Bishop lowered his head and remained in silence.
Noon came closer during their exchange. In the centre of the city square, the Holy Knights strapped Grant and the other youth on the crosses. A few other Holy Knights appeared and started to pile firewood around the cross.
The pope stole a glance at Grant who seemed to have lost his soul. He looked away right after, and instead focused on the sky. Only a few clouds dotted the vast blue sky, and the sun shone directly down. It was glaring. He frowned minutely, as if he was thinking. He did not get anything out of his thoughts, though.
The Bishop approached him and interrupted his thoughts. He whispered by the popes ear, "Your Highness, the time is now. We should start."
The pope nodded once. Another cursory glance to the square showed that the area around the cross was already cleared, and there was no one aside from the two convicts with firewood around them. Thus, he stretched his arm and chanted some spells, and a small ball of fire danced in his palm. With a slight wave, the flame flew from his palm and levitated like a feather down to the crosses in the centre. All eyes immediately snapped on the flame that shone brightly like a star.
The pope did not pay much attention to the crowd. After he finished his move, the pope turned, walked down the stands and left, as if he was uninterested in the proceedings after this. The Bishop stayed on the stands and gazed at the popes leaving stature. He frowned slightly, but it was undetectable.
Just as the pope left the stands, the gold flame came into contact to the pile of firewood around the cross. In an instant, the firewood burst into flames like a spark falling to the floor full of fuel, and the crosses were enveloped within, the two people still tied on it.
Terrified gasps were heard from the crowd.
"Thats. Thats amazing, brother Parker, is this the popes divine arts?" A knight sighed beside Parker. The knights standing guard stood in rows around the square, their faces lit with amazement after they saw what happened.
"Yeah, the Divine Arts. An unimaginable power." The flame reflected in Parkers dark eyes as he said, "The only thing that could stand its ground against magic is the divine arts, nothing else."
"What are you saying? Magic is not even close to fighting against the divine arts," Another knight butted in the conversation, "Its not like I havent fought with a mage before. How could the mage stand a chance against such powerful Divine Arts from the pope?"
Parker cleared his throat and shook his head when he heard that. He did not comment.
What an ignorant brat. Knights nowadays would never understand the powers of a true mage. They are proud as peacocks after they won some apprentices in battles. Magic. Magic is not something that they can imagine. Parker inhaled sharply at this, attempting to return unpleasant memories to the dark corners of his memories. His eyes looked back at the bright fire in the middle of the square, so ablaze that the tip of the flame licked the sky.
He also looked at the two people within the flames. One of them freaked out already as he tried to struggle away, but the other, the Grant Lithur, was still unmoving, his eyes half-closed, head bowed low. He looked like he lost his soul, and what was left was a puppet that has lost its puppeteer.
Parker frowned. He could understand if the genius was dejected because he lost hope before this, but it was eerie to see his face, blank without emotions, when he was in the fire, his life ticking away. It should be an instinct for someone to at least look uncomfortable when surrounded by smoke, no? How was it possible for someone to be unresponsive when trapped in a fire?
For some reason, a weird feeling came to Parker when he continued staring at him. Was he still a real person?
Just as Parker was puzzled speechless, he suddenly noticed a twitch in the lowered hands of Grant, who was nothing but a physical shell. Parkers heart jumped in reaction, as if it was controlled by some weird magic.
Parker stopped breathing.
The youth that seemed to be lifeless before suddenly became a winded puppet. He raised his head, eyes black like marbles turned around and was filled with life - the transformation was so magical that it looked like God just tapped on the youths forehead and instilled a soul in this physical form of a human he just created.
In that instant, the Grant in the flames was alive.
Parker, who was watching from afar, could not breathe. It was unusually shocking for Parker to witness this previously soulless person to raise his head. What is up with this person? This boy in the flames were like a magnet, and Parker could not take his eyes away from him. Sweat dripped from his forehead. He could do nothing but stare at the auburn-haired youth with wide eyes, his mind blank without any thought.
Then, Parker saw the boy calmly raised his eyes to look at the sky.
Dizzily, Parker looked towards the sky alongside the boy. That was why he saw his own reflection, one that looked flustered, helpless and covered in cold sweat, staring back at him from the extraordinarily low sky.
When A Mage Revolts Chapter 115
Chapter 115: The Pope
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