Academic gathering with Lich colleagues

Two hours later, Miss Karen knocked on the door.

"Karen, come here." Doranco's expression was gentle, with a smile.

"What is it, Father... Father!! I was wrong!! Please forgive me!! My ears!! My ears!!!"

"Where did we go wrong?"

"I...I don't know."

"You little brat, you're driving me crazy!"

"Stop pinching me, Father! It hurts!! I was so wrong!!!"

"Where did you go wrong?"

"Waaah, you should just keep twisting it."

Chapter 240 Holy City and Saints

What roused him was the resounding morning bell from the tower; its solemn sound, like ripples on water, seeped into his dreams, bathing everyone who awoke in tranquility. Lyle opened his eyes. The inn room had no kerosene lamps or candles for lighting, for there was no need.

"It's truly wondrous." Lyle gazed at the Holy Cross atop the church outside the window, its light shining eternally even in the night, ensuring that Locarrot had no night. Yet, that light was unlike any light Lyle had ever experienced in his previous life; it lacked the intensity of the sun and the dimness of moonlight, as if it were a perfectly tailor-made source of light for every human being. Even in such light, Lyle's sleepiness remained undisturbed. That light, like the air itself, permeated the life of Locarrot.

Locarrot's meal was very simple. On Lyle's plate was only a plain, white flatbread without any other embellishments, along with a clay pot of milk. The smiling waitress noticed the surprise on Lyle's face.

“Sir, during the Holy Light Ritual, we won’t be serving meat at the beginning. But don’t worry, when the Crusaders’ troops enter the city, we will provide delicious food for the returning heroes. You can share that food with us then, at no cost.” When the Crusaders were mentioned, the girl in front of me, in the prime of her youth, had a gleam in her eyes, like round, shining pearls. Perhaps those paladins would inspire endless fantasies in these young girls. Realizing her lapse in composure, she gave Lyle an apologetic smile. “The Crusaders’ troops will arrive within the next two days, so your patience won’t be long. Also, our unleavened bread is quite delicious.”

Lyle wasn't particularly interested in the food; he was more curious about the Crusader army the girl had mentioned. "The Crusader army will come to this holy city?"

"Yes, this is the meaning of the Holy Light Ritual. This city of Locarrot, saved, thanks its saviors, the Crusaders who saved us, the Legion of the Guardians."

Lyle savored his unleavened bread while listening to the enthusiastic waitress's story. Before the Holy Light descended, Locarrot suffered a terrible catastrophe, wiping out half its population within days and nearly turning it into a doomed place. The helpless inhabitants pleaded with the Church for help, and ultimately, the city was saved by the Guardian Legion and became a holy city. When Lyle inquired about the details of that horrific disaster, the waitress looked bewildered and embarrassed.

“Sir, I did not actually experience that disaster; I moved to Locarrot later. If you want to understand the history of Locarrot, you need to find those who wear masks. But I advise you not to do so, because they have been punished for their past sins, and they are tainted with misfortune.”

A person wearing a mask? A new name. Lyle didn't ask any further, because the waitress's face showed impatience and disgust, as if her initial enthusiasm was just a facade.

Drinking the milk from the earthenware pot in one gulp was indeed a unique experience; the smooth liquid soothed my throat, which had been parched from the dry, unleavened biscuits. It was like pure holy water, washing away the biased thoughts in my heart.

The holy city is not necessarily holy.

Kindness was merely a facade. Walking down the street, Lyle became increasingly certain of his opinion. The harmonious streets, the smiles on everyone's faces, even the slightest friction between fingers would be resolved with a laugh. It was as if everyone was a saint; this heavenly scene seemed eerily peaceful to Lyle. Their smiles were like masks, completely obliterating people's chaotic nature. They were all suppressing themselves; that kindness didn't come from the heart. They were like naughty children trying to behave well in front of their parents; their holiness was just a pretense.

A false holy city.

Lyle looked at the light emanating from the cross in the distance. In the end, was its light just ordinary light?

Where there is light, there is shadow.

Among the proud, upright figures, Lyle spotted an unusual one. He was simply dressed, kneeling by the street, his skin, exposed through the tears in his clothes, was thin and aged, and the few sparse white hairs on his head indicated that he was an old man whose life had been far from happy. At that moment, he was kneeling on the ground, applying resin to the distinctive steps outside a house. He used no tools, only his withered fingers, patiently applying the resin as if sculpting a work of art. He wore a white mask, completely absorbed, oblivious to the stares of those around him.

He was a stain. All the stares told Lyle this. Those who were humble and polite to one another became menacing and indifferent when they saw him. Even though he knelt on the ground, maintaining a humble posture, even though he tried to lean against the corner of the wall, avoiding those glamorous figures who "inadvertently" walked past him.

Finally, he finished his work, and, trembling with exhaustion, gently knocked on the door. A man emerged from behind the door, looking at the old man kneeling and at his outstretched white hand.

Three deformed unleavened breads were placed in the old man's hands, separated by a layer of cloth, which was his clothing.

"Thank you." The only response was the sound of a door slamming shut.

With his body hunched over, the masked old man, clutching his reward, walked into the alleyways of the street, a place where the radiance could not be found.

There is a hierarchy in this city, with distinctions between people and those wearing masks.

Filled with resentment and sympathy, Lyle followed the old man into the alley.

He walked very slowly, and would often stop to rest; he was too old. Just when Lyle thought he would get lost due to dementia, he returned home.

It was a ruin that could barely be called a house, nestled in the shadow of a beautifully constructed white tower. This place, which should have been deserted due to its terrible environment, was instead bustling with human warmth. Children played among the pebbles, while young adults boiled pungent resin, a smell they had grown accustomed to.

Lyle saw why they were wearing masks.

Scars, hideous scars, appear on everyone's body: on children's faces, on men's bare upper bodies, on the gaunt arms of the elderly. They are extremely severe burns, almost unrecognizable from their skin. It's hard to imagine the suffering they endured.

But they showed no sign of sorrow. Though they wore masks, it didn't hinder their laughter. Women chatted beside earthenware jars filled with resin, while men vigorously stirred the murky liquid in large vats. An old man called the children to him and shared the unleavened bread he held with them. They laughed happily, their ugly scars resembling centipedes.

Is it only in poverty that humanity is tempered? Lyle looked at the smiles on their狰狞 faces and thought of those who walked the streets of the city. Lyle ultimately didn't approach them, lest he disturb them with his pointless, curious questions. He might pity them, but they didn't need pity; their resilient and optimistic will was nobler than his own. Lyle walked back into the shadows and chose to leave.

The old man looked at the road he had come from, paused for a second or two, and a man with sweat on his face walked over.

“Father, you don’t need to go out to work. We’ve assigned tasks to each other. The old man doesn’t need to take such risks.”

The old man looked at his son, who was a head taller than him, and wiped the sweat from his face with his own cloth.

"But your plans don't include snacks for the children, do they? They need nutrition to be in the best possible condition for the upcoming Holy Light Ritual."

“We will go find more food for the children, Father, we can take on more work…”

“But you are already very tired, my child. And I don’t want to sit slumped over like those other old folks, watching you work so hard.”

The children who received the fermented bread had already divided their food among themselves.

"Grandpa, we're all ready. Can we eat now?"

The elderly and children formed a circle, their eyes filled with the joy of receiving food.

"Yes, you are ready, children, but there is one more step."

The old man straightened his hunched body with all his might, his head held high, trying to transcend the shadow of the building and feel the light that enveloped Locarrot. His eyes were closed, a peaceful smile on his face, and his hands, bleached white like a saint's, were clasped together in front of his chest. The children, holding food, imitated the old man's posture.

"Praise be to the Holy Light."

Chapter 241 Angels

Lyle felt there was something wrong with the cross.

Looking at the camphor wood cross clutched in his hand and the silver knight's armor before him, Karen found him a day after Lyle arrived in the holy city of Locarrot. Lyle had discovered the ugly truth beneath the city's grandeur and gradually grew weary and disappointed with this false city, spending the entire day in his inn room without venturing out. Medusa became his confidante, listening like a gentle older sister to Lyle's complaints about the gap between his idealized image and the harsh reality. Gradually, Lyle grew accustomed to the feeling of Medusa wrapped around his neck and her whispers in his ear. As for Nia, she was uninterested in Lyle's complaints. She pressed herself against the window, gazing day and night at the enormous holy cross on the church, as if looking at a giant, glowing toy.

Karen arrived at her room and knocked on the door, something she hadn't expected. When she accurately called out her name, Lyle became extremely suspicious of the cross. It turned out that Karen's earlier talk of being hunted down wasn't a joke; it was something she could actually do.

"This is a tracker, isn't it?"

Karen snatched the cross back from Lyle's hand.

"Lord Lyle, what are you saying? Karen doesn't understand at all. However, Karen is truly delighted that Lord Lyle could attend the Holy Light Ceremony!"

Well, meeting Karen in this city was lucky for Lyle, because he had developed a strong sense of distance from the city, and meeting someone he knew made him feel less lonely. Especially when Karen was chattering in his ear like a little duck.

"Lord Lyle, shall we go out and take a look?"

"Lord Lyle, would you like to go to church to pray?"

“Lord Lyle, my father is here too. Would you like to go see him? My father is also a paladin. He's the one who told me those stories about the Crusader leaders. He must also want to see the Pure One beyond the books. Let's grant his wish.” In truth, Karen wanted to avoid Doranco's merciless claw attacks, especially since Doranco had been inexplicably angry lately, and constantly staring at Karen's still-reddened ears. Karen hadn't dared to go home lately. It would be better to have the Pure One distract her.

Just as Karen was trying to persuade Lyle to meet his parents, a sudden horn call silenced Locarrot. It was a melodious and resonant sound, its distinctive timbre startling everyone.

"What is that, Karen?"

Karen's body trembled, her armor rattling with each tremor. She took Lyle's hand and pulled her out. "The Guardian Legion has returned."

Lyle went downstairs; the inn was deserted, even the owner was gone, leaving only half-empty glasses scattered around. They went outside and followed the crowd to the square in front of the church. The vast square was already packed with people; following the flow of people, you couldn't see the marble floor, only the swaying heads. Karen, relying on her paladin status and strength, squeezed a path with Lyle, weaving through the crowd, and stood in the first row closest to the road.

The nuns' choir began to sing hymns, and the church's light bathed the crowd, making everyone appear pure and reborn. Lyle saw the true saints among the crowd. Those wearing masks also gathered to welcome the Crusaders. They were clearly divided from the surrounding people, but they didn't care. Children and the old, men and women, all looked toward the approaching path, anticipating the arrival of the Holy Light.

The first sound was the cheers of the crowd. Before the Guardian Legion even appeared in Lyle's sight, cheers and screams had already reached him. Like a tidal wave, everyone in Locarrot expressed their joy, welcoming these warriors of the Holy Light.

Like another blazing sun rising from the ground, the first of the Crusaders walked over.

"Handsome" and "beautiful" are insufficient to describe his appearance; it was a gift from heaven, silent and speechless. This was the reaction of everyone who witnessed his glory. His long, crimson and gold hair cascaded in the air, adding to his dashing and unrestrained air alongside his dark gold armor. He was the kind of person you would want to possess the moment you saw him, a man who would make everyone fall in love at first sight, possessing a masculine strength tempered with feminine grace, as beautiful as an angel. Even his undisguised melancholy only made this god-like man more human.

The moment Lyle saw him, it was as if he already knew his name.

Karen, standing behind him, was so excited she was almost crying.

"Your Holiness Raphael Baidmon, the Angel of the Earth." A Crusader leader. The oppressive feeling he brought to Lyle was no less than that of the big shots among the Andrei students, perhaps even greater. Like a mountain slowly approaching you, you could only feel your own insignificance.

What makes Raphael truly special is the four greatswords floating behind him, radiating an eerie light. The power flowing naturally from them is enough to strike several Lyles.

Raphael's appearance and imposing presence were so dazzling that the perfectly aligned guards that followed seemed perfectly natural. Raphael drew all attention.

Then, a discordant note appeared: a man in a white tuxedo, a slightly overweight man with a slicked-back mustache. He rushed onto the platform that had been erected earlier, a place Lyle had never understood before. A shrill, impish scream began to echo in the holy light.

"Citizens of Locarrot! This is His Majesty Raphael Baidmon, leader of the Crusaders! Rejoice! Rejoice! An angel has descended upon us! A great man invited by our great lord, Duke Tressie! What are you waiting for! Praise the Holy Light! And our lord!"

The surrounding crowd erupted in cheers beyond imagination. Lyle clicked his tongue inwardly; a clown had turned the sacred into a farce, a performance, a ridiculous political drama. Look at this overconfident fool; he'd already been spotted by Raphael. Raphael's eyes remained fixed on the man in the white suit, his gaze unwavering.

The man seemed to have noticed something as well, and began his next round of introductions.

“You can’t possibly understand how broad the Holy Light’s embrace is. I tell you, the Holy Light accepts everyone! Even the lowest of the low will be embraced by the Holy Light!” The man’s gaze swept across the crowd, finally noticing the group of masked men.

"Hey! It's you! Shouldn't you people express your gratitude to the Holy Light?!"

All eyes were focused on the bewildered masked man, who remained as cold and empty as ever.

Lyle trembled with rage. That damned scum had diverted Raphael's attention to these men. Even if the masked men's hearts were noble, their appearance was undeniably blasphemous. For Raphael, who already harbored resentment, this offense was enough to enrage him; he was using the masked men to justify his insolence.

The masked figures were clearly unaware of this arrangement; their confusion was mixed with delight. They were more devout and more passionate about the Holy Light than anyone else. Finally, a little girl, covered in white resin and dressed in tattered clothes, was wheeled out by her family. Encouraged by their gazes, she held a bunch of artificial flowers handcrafted from twigs and white paint, and walked step by step towards Raphael.

"Don't go! Don't go!" Lyle cried inwardly, but the little girl continued walking step by step, each step focused and earnest, toward the tall Raphael. Raphael's eyes remained gloomy, watching the approaching girl, his gaze like that of a raging lion hidden within.

"My angel, my family and I are so grateful for everything you have done for us." The little girl held up the artificial flowers in her hand, covering her face and mask. She lowered her head, not daring to look at Raphael's face.

The sound of metal striking the ground reached everyone's ears.

The angel, Raphael Badmon, knelt on one knee before the girl covered in tree sap.

He took the artificial flowers, his gloomy eyes fixed on the girl. His voice was as gentle as melting snow, incredibly tender.

"Child, what's your name?"

"My name is Ellie."

“Ellie, may I see your face?” Raphael asked, looking at the mask on Ellie’s face. Ellie was still startled; she hurriedly covered her mask and turned away, avoiding Raphael’s gaze.

"No, the angel will be frightened if she sees Ellie's face."

Raphael's voice remained gentle, like invisible water flowing into Ellie's heart. "Ellie, I know you all very well. Locarrot is my home too. Family won't be afraid of Ellie."

"……Really?"

"Really, Ellie's angel wouldn't lie."