Wandering Swordsman |

His gaze swept over Shen Mo—who stood quietly with his eyes lowered and his hands folded in front of his abdomen, looking like a mute servant—before returning to Hua Tianyou's face with a scrutinizing look.

Hua Tianyou stepped forward calmly, bowed, and said in a clear and solemn voice: "Your Excellency, we are on the orders of the Holy See to travel to various countries to spread the gospel. On the way, we encountered bandits, and all our documents were destroyed. We humbly request Your Excellency to issue us a pass to prove our identity."

Baron Mason frowned slightly, his fingers tapping lightly on the armrest, the rhythm slow yet scrutinizing.

His gaze, sharp as a hawk's, swept across Hua Tianyou's face before settling on Shen Mo—the ever-silent, head bowed "assistant missionary." In this far west, imposters were commonplace; some evaded taxes, others sought refuge from crime, and still others used the guise of a "missionary" to amass wealth. As the lord of Silvermane City, how could he be easily fooled by a few empty words?

"There have been many imposters posing as priests lately..." he began slowly, his voice low and cautious, "How can you prove your innocence?"

The air in the hall suddenly seemed to freeze. The candlelight flickered gently on the brass candlesticks, casting dappled silhouettes of saints on the stained-glass windows, as if even those portraits, silent for millennia, were holding their breath, awaiting an answer.

The baron's attendants stood frozen in place, barely breathing, as if afraid to disturb the delicate standoff.

Hua Tianyou, however, remained calm, a gentle smile playing on his lips, as if he had anticipated the question.

He didn't act personally, but instead stepped to the side, elegantly pointing his right hand at Shen Mo beside him, his tone solemn and resolute: "Since you doubt our identities, why not have my assistant demonstrate 'divine power' to them?"

He paused, then turned his gaze to Shen Mo, using a respectful title commonly used by the Vatican in the far west: "Servant of Silence, in the name of the Holy Light, I tread the void."

Shen Mo felt a slight tremor in his heart, but his expression remained as calm as a still well.

He slowly raised his head, his gaze briefly meeting Hua Tianyou's—in that instant, he understood what was in the other's eyes: put on a show, but don't reveal any flaws.

The next moment, he lightly touched the ground with his right foot, and his body lifted off the ground as if it were nothing.

There was no sound of wind, no fluctuation of leaked true energy, only a faint silver-white halo emanating from the soles of his feet, as if he were stepping on invisible steps.

Step by step, he ascended into the air, each step seemingly treading on the trajectory of stars. His clothes remained unfurled, his hair unmoved, yet he had already risen to a height of three zhang below the dome of the hall, where he hovered steadily.

The entire hall fell into a deathly silence.

Baron Mason's pupils contracted sharply. He sprang from his high-backed chair, his knee knocking over a small table, but ignoring the pain, he staggered back two steps, his face turning from red to white, then from white to pale, his lips trembling like autumn leaves: "A...miracle!"

His knees buckled, and he collapsed to his knees, his forehead slamming heavily against the marble floor. His voice choked with emotion and fervor: "I had long heard of the Holy See's divine power capable of performing miracles, but I never imagined that today... I would have the honor of witnessing it firsthand!"

The servants who were watching had already prostrated themselves on the ground, some sobbing softly, others murmuring prayers. An old butler even took out the holy emblem he always wore and pressed it tightly to his chest, as if trying to draw upon a bit of divine grace.

In this far west, "divine power" is not a mere legend. For centuries, papal emissaries have used "divine power" to cure the Northern Crown Prince's skeletal disease, to cause springs to gush forth in the desert, and even to make a thousand swords break themselves during wartime without harming a single person. Although it is mostly used to heal the powerful, ancient texts also state: "Where divine power reaches, mortal bodies can transcend the limits of heaven and earth." It is for this reason that wherever papal emissaries go, princes bow their heads and people revere them.

At this moment, Shen Mo was suspended in mid-air, his robes fluttering without wind, his face as calm as the moon, looking every bit like a "chosen servant of God".

Only he himself knew that the so-called "divine power" was nothing more than compressing the true essence of the Heavenly Demon within his body to the extreme to lift his feet and then walking on air.

He sighed inwardly: So this is the land where the word "missionary" can outweigh swords and scepters, and surpass gold, silver and the law.

He recalled how he once intimidated heroes in the Central Plains as the Sword God and ruled the Heavenly Demon God Sect as the Heavenly Demon God, but he never imagined that he would have to rely on a fake faith to travel the world today.

Hua Tianyou stepped forward and gently "invited" Shen Mo back to the ground—in reality, he signaled to stop with a look.

After Shen Mo returned to his original position and stood quietly with his hands at his sides, Hua Tianyou turned to Baron Mason, his tone still as humble as ever, as if the astonishing scene just now was nothing more than a routine courtesy:

"We are only here to spread the word and have no intention of causing any disturbance. If the Baron assists in issuing the necessary travel documents, we will depart tomorrow."

Baron Mason hastily scrambled to his feet, not even bothering to straighten his clothes, and nodded repeatedly, "Of course! Of course! The document will be drafted immediately and stamped with the lord's seal!"

Baron Mason's eyes were filled with no more doubt, only fanatical awe—in his view, the one who could wield "holy power" and make his assistant walk on air must be a core figure of the Holy See, or even a reclusive high deacon traveling incognito.

He clasped his hands together and bowed deeply, but as soon as he changed the subject, a look of worry appeared on his face, and his brows furrowed.

"I... have a favor to ask." His voice lowered, revealing undisguised pain and hesitation. "I implore you two holy envoys, if it's convenient... could you lend a hand?"

He paused, lowered his voice, and revealed an undisguised pain: "My eldest son, Mason Adrian, led three hundred elite soldiers half a month ago to explore the 'Valley of Ten Thousand Miles' in the east—a forbidden place since ancient times, said to be filled with miasma and poisonous fog that corrodes the bones."

"But he was young and impetuous, and was determined to expand the territory of his family... He had only gone five miles into the valley when he encountered a thick fog and inhaled miasma."

"Seven out of ten of the accompanying soldiers died, and those who managed to escape went mad and lost their minds. Only he... although he was rescued, he had a high fever every day, his skin was bluish-purple as ink, and he wailed incessantly every night. Doctors were all helpless."

At this point, Baron Mason's eyes reddened, and his voice choked with emotion: "Two Holy Envoys, could you... could you lend a helping hand? Save my son's life? He is the eldest son of my Mason family, if he... if he..." His throat bobbed, and he couldn't finish his sentence. He slapped his chest hard, as if he wanted to tear his heart out to prove his sincerity.

Hua Tianyou and Shen Mo exchanged a glance, their understanding unspoken.

They had only crossed the canyon a short while ago. The miasma at the canyon's edge was merely a toxic miasma emanating from the canyon's depths, a mixture of rotting corpses and mineral poisons—enough to kill an ordinary person if inhaled. But to them, it was nothing more than a cloud of foul air. They only needed to use their internal energy to guide their meridians, forcing the toxins to their fingertips or the Yongquan acupoint to expel them, and supplement this with their true energy to protect their heart meridian; they would recover in just a few days.

Hua Tianyou, with a compassionate expression, nodded and said, "With the holy light shining everywhere, how can we bear to see living beings suffer? This is our duty as preachers."

Shen Mo nodded slightly, remaining silent as a stone, but a hint of understanding flashed in his eyes—this was an excellent opportunity: he could further solidify his identity as a "missionary" and also manage his relationship with the Baron, killing two birds with one stone.

Upon hearing this, Baron Mason's eyes lit up, and tears welled up in his eyes. He suddenly knelt down, his forehead striking the cold floor tiles heavily: "I, Mason, will never forget the Holy Envoy's great kindness!"

Just then, Shen Mo caught a glimpse of something unusual out of the corner of his eye—a young servant standing in the shadow of a pillar, who had been meek and obedient, visibly stiffened upon hearing the words "go save the young master," his fingers digging sharply into his palm. The man's face turned deathly pale, his eyes darting frantically toward the inner courtyard, his Adam's apple bobbing violently as if he had swallowed a scalding hot coal.

Not right.

A warning bell rang in Shen Mo's mind. This person's reaction was far beyond ordinary concern; it was more like... fear.