Becoming an Emperor Starting from the World of The Wandering Earth

Chapter 86 The Holy City's Descent

"Over the past millennium, the Vatican has established itself as the spokesperson of God through its performance in the war against vampires. The people believe that only the Vatican can protect them from vampires and that only faith in God can bring them salvation."

"But this kind of faith is essentially based on fear and the need for survival, rather than true spiritual conversion."

"Based on micro-expression capture and conversation recording analysis of people queuing at relief stations using drones, approximately 73% of the population is dissatisfied with the current situation. Their main demands focus on food shortages, excessive labor intensity, and oppression by the guards."

Murphy's gaze fell on the data, but he didn't say anything.

The screen switched again, this time displaying a comparison image.

On the left is the dilapidated scene of the streets of Holy City, and on the right is the neat barracks, ample supplies, and the Wild Wolf Squadron training at the Rust Town base.

"Although our military strength is currently insufficient, the permanent time portal can continuously deliver food and medicine, which is enough to improve the living conditions of a large number of people in the short term."

"Secondly, the world's technological distortion has prevented the development of air power. In their eyes, our drones and helicopters are inherently supernatural."

"Of course, the most important point is—"

The Skynet voice paused for half a second.

"That image of the Father's manifestation."

Murphy raised an eyebrow.

The photo was enlarged on the screen.

Golden hair, golden armor, holding a long spear, riding a horse.

"According to the information collected by Wilson, this portrait is said to be the true face left by God when He appeared to us a thousand years ago. The Vatican has built its entire belief system on this basis."

"But Master, don't you think this face looks familiar?"

Murphy stared at that face for a few seconds, and suddenly understood what Skynet meant.

"You mean—"

"That's right, Master." The voice of the Skynet remained calm. "No one has seen the God of a thousand years ago, but the God of a thousand years from now can be seen."

Murphy didn't speak, but continued to stare at the portrait.

Blonde hair, golden armor, deep-set eyes, and a straight nose.

If you dyed your hair blonde, put on that armor, and struck the same pose, you would indeed look about five or six points similar.

Murphy fell silent.

If that's the case, then this portrait is his greatest weapon.

A "Holy Father" who descended a thousand years ago, led humanity to defeat vampires, and left behind the "true face of God".

What does it mean to have a "Holy Father" who arrives a thousand years later and also possesses extraordinary powers?

This means that if handled properly, Murphy could be the Holy Father God.

Archbishop Jeff is very happy today.

It's not because today is some bullshit Advent Day.

That thing happens once a year, it's long become a routine. Besides giving those starving, green-eyed commoners an extra bite of black bread mixed with sawdust and a bunch of tired old clichés, it's utterly useless to Jeff.

He was happy because of the two little boys that the Kenyan priest had brought over yesterday.

Her skin was pale from being deprived of sunlight for a long time, her hair was deliberately grown long, and she wore a thin linen shirt, which made her look perfect.

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Whether God liked little boys or not, Jeff didn't know, nor was he interested in knowing.

Anyway, he likes it.

Anyway, the prayer room is soundproof enough, and the guards outside are mute servants personally selected by Kenya, so no one will know what we do.

Thinking of this, Jeff couldn't help but chuckle softly twice.

Just then, there was a gentle knock on the door.

"Archbishop, it's almost time for the Advent Mass," came the respectful voice of Assistant Priest Gerard from outside the door.

Jeff's smile vanished instantly, as if it had never existed.

He cleared his throat, straightened his back, and his well-maintained, slightly puffy face regained its usual dignity and a touch of just the right amount of pity.

"Okay, Gerald, I'm coming right now."

A moment later, Archbishop Jeff, dressed in a magnificent white robe embroidered with gold thread and wearing a tall crown, slowly walked out of the mansion, surrounded by a group of obsequious attendants and guards in dark red uniforms.

A luxuriously decorated half-carriage, pulled by four equally colored and well-proportioned black horses, was already parked in front of the gate.

The car is engraved with intricate religious patterns and classic scenes of the Father's resurrection and defeat of the vampire.

Four black horses strode along, pulling the carriage slowly up the main avenue of the holy city.

The scene on both sides of the road immediately came to life, or rather, became noisy.

The people on the roadside, who had been notified in advance, stood like two dusty, gray walls.

Most of them were dressed in rags, their faces covered in dust and sweat, but their eyes shone with an almost manic light.

As the carriage passed by, the crowd erupted in thunderous cheers and shouts.

Despite the presence of guards maintaining order on both sides of the road, the crowd continued to push towards the center of the road.

"May the Father protect you!"

"Archbishop! Look this way!"

May the Holy Light endure forever!

Many people stood on tiptoe, desperately reaching their hands toward the carriage, as if they could catch a whiff of sacred energy.

Some people were so moved that they burst into tears and knelt on the ground, kowtowing repeatedly.

As for Archbishop Jeff, whom the people were talking about, he sat upright on a carriage seat covered with velvet cushions, with a standard and stiff smile on his face, and occasionally raised his right hand, which was wearing a white glove, and waved slowly to the crowd on both sides.

Looking at the faces below, distorted by malnutrition, Jeff's initial irritation at the impending speech was quickly replaced by nausea.

idiot.

A bunch of lowly people whose brains are nothing but mush.

If it weren't for the fact that they also needed to mine, farm, and expend their lives in factories to keep the Holy City running, he would feel it was a defilement to even breathe the same air as these people.

Look at those filthy hands, those tattered clothes, and the stench of sweat and poverty in the air that even incense and holy water cannot mask.

Jeff subconsciously sniffed, forcefully suppressing the nausea rising in his throat.

Let's finish this quickly.

Once he gets through this damn formality, he can go back to his private prayer room, which is covered in thick carpets, burns with expensive incense, and is perfectly soundproof.

That's where his true paradise lies.

Amidst a cacophony of fervent and subdued noise, the carriage rolled across the cobblestone main road, through the magnificent city gates inscribed with sacred words and icons, and finally entered the vast stone-paved square in front of the church.

The square had already been cleared out, with only bishops and priests dressed in robes of different colors and styles standing in distinct rows according to their rank, like a flock of colorful quails awaiting inspection.

The carriage came to a smooth stop.

The servant came running over, put down the footstool, and bent down.

Jeff adjusted the heavy crown on his head and, with the help of his attendant, slowly stepped down from the carriage.

Stepping on the cool, smooth stone slabs, the sense of power that placed him above ordinary people finally eased some of his unhappiness.

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