Chapter 7: The Demon King’s Rebirth
Like two silent statues, the figures in white and gray stood quietly in the crystal corridor outside the chapel, as if they had been there for centuries. No changes within the chapel escaped their keen eyes. The mysterious power of the Great Prophecy spell brought about various phenomena that made the two, who hadn’t experienced such things in over a decade, couldn’t help but sigh inwardly—when would they be able to reach a state where they could act freely as they wished? It wasn’t possible now, but that didn’t mean it would never be possible. The Pope only lacked experience, and that shouldn’t be a problem.
Wave after wave of energy indicated that the spellcasting inside the chapel was nearing its end. Almost simultaneously, their gazes met again, and each could see a hint of joy hidden beneath the surprise in the other’s eyes. Based on the duration of the Pope’s previous spellcastings, the Great Prophecy spell shouldn’t end so quickly. A single spell like this would consume almost all of the caster’s energy and might even damage their very essence. Therefore, each spellcasting should be prolonged as much as possible to gain more knowledge about the unknown world. Such a short duration suggesting an end could only mean either that the Pope’s body could no longer sustain it for long, or that there was a problem during the spellcasting—with the former seeming more likely. In any case, these signs seemed to imply something.
“My lords, the Pope requests your presence,” said the man in white as the chapel doors gently swung open, respectfully clearing a path for them to enter.
The Caufney Chapel was still filled with lingering waves of sacred energy. After exchanging polite gestures, it was the mage in gray who entered first, followed closely by the priest in white.
The Pope’s body appeared even weaker, like a withered leaf attached to a wheelchair. Surprisingly, however, his face showed little sign of fatigue. Both of them were secretly amazed by this. Yet his expression resembled that of someone deep in thought, as if pondering before making some major decision. The sunlight from the dome continued to change colors under the influence of the residual energy field, making the expression on the statue of Saint Teresa even more varied. To some, Saint Teresa’s expression seemed to hint at a longing for love—though this was merely slander from heretics who hated the Church of Light.
“Your Holiness.”
With a silent gesture, he signaled the two to sit down. The two archbishops, who could act with ease even in front of millions of believers, became extremely respectful in front of this emaciated old man who seemed to be gravely ill. It seemed they were not very satisfied with their own performance as successors. A hint of mockery flashed in Julius’s eyes as he recalled a somewhat harsh but practical saying: the more respectful they are, the faster the knives behind their backs are sharpened. He wondered if his two successors were like that. But it wasn’t important now—the Light Church’s cause still needed successors. As long as the blessings of the Holy Light Church could be spread across the continent, even if it meant stepping on his own body to do so, it would still be praiseworthy.
Seeing that the Pope remained silent as if waiting for something, both Vazinki and Frenst stayed calm. Great prophecy magic could reveal the secrets of fate, but it couldn’t determine the future. Perhaps the Pope wanted a clearer answer.
His fingers slightly raised and traced an arc in the air in front of his chest. His thin fingers seemed unusually heavy, as if bearing an immense weight. A cloud of mist slowly rose in front of the Pope. Staring at the mist, it gradually thinned and became thinner, eventually transforming into a horizontal mirror-like surface. This was Julius II using memory restoration magic to recreate everything he had seen through his psychic eyes while using great prophecy magic. He hoped the two before him could truly feel what he had experienced when seeing it all.
The shadows of the dark world were slowly approaching, while within the Holy Light Church, a black hole was quietly devouring the glory of the gods. After much deliberation, Julius allowed the two to enter and witness this. He knew that the scene in the wasteland must be related to one of these two. Although Noroya also had this ability, he had already strayed far down a radical path, and he and the people of the Tribunal were unlikely to make peace with those crude orcs. Even if they worshipped him, it would be hard for someone like Noroya to accept it, and the orcs’ strange pride seemed unlikely to allow it either. Only these two had such ability, but now he no longer had the power to determine whose scene it was. He hoped the two would be honest with each other when they saw it, but he knew that was impossible. Their slightly furrowed brows and surprised expressions were so similar that Julius even wondered if this was a joint effort by the two. Of course, this was just a speculation; the truth could never be that.
“See? The world has never been peaceful, but what’s happening now is by no means ordinary. What do you think this signifies?” As the mirror transformed back into mist and then disappeared into thin air, Julius struggled to pull back his fingers. The Great Prophecy Art combined with Memory Restoration Art, along with his own extraordinary powers, had left him quite tired. Faced with these two individuals who were in no way inferior to anyone else, Julius couldn’t help but smile bitterly—making such a choice was also a burden.
The Pope’s words, though plain, carried clear implications. Vazhinki carefully pondered every nuance in his words. It seemed the Pope was quite wary of that portrait. Although Kenifer III was known as the greatest demon king after the King of the Underworld, his complete destruction was already inevitable. Otherwise, with his abilities, he would have long revived—why wait hundreds of years? Was a demon king who had vanished both spiritually and physically really worth such concern? Vazhinki didn’t believe it, unless another outcome occurred—namely, the demon king’s rebirth. But rebirth wasn’t something ordinary. It had been hundreds of years since Kenifer was destroyed—how could he revive now? How could someone who had been completely destroyed be reborn?
Compared to Vazhinki’s focus on Kenifer’s portrait in the first scene, Freust’s attention was more on the second scene. Though he couldn’t see clearly the appearance of the monk among the beast tribe, there was no doubt he was a priest of the Light Church. What did that mean? Was it a warning to him, or something else? The Pope’s unpredictable thoughts made it hard to discern his true intentions, causing Freust to become unusually sensitive—even to the point of ignoring the last image in the first scene.
“Pope, does the prophecy in the Great Prophecy Art refer to Kenifer III’s rebirth? If so, the continent will likely see turmoil again. Can we know the location indicated by the prophecy?”
From the Pope’s expression of agreement, Vazinki knew his judgment was correct. His heart tightened. Although King Canifer III had once stirred up chaos across the continent with the power of the entire Dark Empire, his own magical prowess was extraordinary. If not for certain constraints that limited the use of his magic, no one could predict what the ultimate fate of the Dark Holy Church would have been. Though King Canifer III, having been reborn, no longer held his former status and had lost much of his memory, he still retained most of his magic and consciousness. Hopefully, his rebirth would take place in an ordinary vessel—no one wanted to endure another cataclysmic storm like those from hundreds of years ago. Or perhaps this demonic seed could be discovered earlier. Even if the Demon King was reborn, it would take time for him to regain his strength, and if they could find him before he recovered, they might be able to crush him in his infancy.
“Only the south is known—what exactly happened there, whether the Demon King has been reborn. Even the Great Prophecy cannot tell us for sure. But one thing is certain: the spread of dark forces in the south is definitely related to King Canifer III’s memories. Perhaps we should take precautions. Not just in the south, but anywhere south of Marco, such possibilities exist.” Julius spoke with an unusually passionate tone, something rarely seen in decades—perhaps due to his exertion.
“What does the Pope think should be done?” Vazinki grew even more worried. No one could predict what would happen if the Demon King truly returned, but the Light Church would surely be the first to suffer—this was not a good sign.
“There’s no need for excessive anxiety. So far, we haven’t detected any signs of the Demon King’s return. His current power is far inferior to what it used to be; he’s practically insignificant. But we need to prepare in advance. Noyora will provide comprehensive support to all dioceses. Any suspicious activity must be reported immediately.” Julius regretted not being able to see the face of that tall figure clearly. But one thing was certain: that figure’s mannerisms were full of elegance, seemingly indicating noble origins. Could the Demon King have been reborn in a noble? At the thought, Julius felt a jolt in his heart.
“Your Holiness, Frenst has been observing the first vision. Priests of the Light Church appearing among the orcs—what does this signify? Are the orcs preparing to abandon their idol worship and convert to our Holy Light Faith, or have the believers of our faith already brought its gospel to the Mogan Wasteland?” Frenst’s tone was one of joy, seemingly excited by the expansion of the Light Church’s influence to the Mogan Wasteland.