No Rush, Let's Play with Him!

At this moment, letter after letter of denunciation scattered across the table like blossoms tossed from heaven. Amid the crisp rustle of paper, everyone present turned pale as death. It felt as though they had plunged into an icy abyss. It was as if they had been jolted awake from a self-satisfied dream, only to confront the horrifying reality before them—and, worse still, glimpse an even more terrifying future. "You really are something, each and every one of you—bursting with hidden talents." Yidela curled his lip in a sneer. "Speak up. Why aren't you talking anymore? Weren't your voices terribly loud just a moment ago? Let me see: who else has earth-shattering remarks to make? What further grievances and injustices are waiting to be denounced?" "Mercy, Saint! Have mercy!" Amid a flurry of knees slamming against the floor, trembling figures prostrated themselves one after another. Unable to utter another word, they were reduced to miserable wailing and streaming tears. They made a full show of incredulous terror, and even the remorse of having been duped and kept in the dark. Yet how much of it was an act, and how much was sincere? Yidela lowered his eyes, looking down with cold detachment. He knew full well. Just as a single tulip bulb could be auctioned off for an unbelievable fortune, an utterly ordinary object could ride the crest of a surging wave to heights beyond the reach of normal men... But were the participants truly foolish? Or had they truly failed to foresee this long-anticipated future? They merely believed that when the crash came, they wouldn't be the ones falling. That was all. In this farce, everyone was equally "shrewd," to the point where they were all "foolish" in just the right measure. The gallant, commanding poise when successful, and the naive remorse of having been deceived when defeated, were nothing more than alternative masks. They always had a choice; they could even adapt to the circumstances and choose both sides. After all, it was merely foolishness, mere ignorance, mere wishful thinking, a momentary misstep... Everyone knew deep down that so long as their hearts were pure and their intentions good, the Order would never punish them too harshly. And so it was. Everyone was well aware of the Order's magnanimity... and precisely because of that, they had self-righteously committed such heinous evil! Neglecting divine duties, and peddling sacred grace like petty wares. The unremarkable sacred seal in Yidela's grip had already been squeezed out of shape. Looking at the useless trash before him, all he wanted was to toss every last one of them into Limbo and burn them to ash! Yet no matter how incandescent his fury, he did not fly into a rage after all; he could only grit his teeth and endure it. Purging these useless fools at this critical juncture would only plunge the Eastern Parish into even greater chaos... Accounts could only be settled slowly afterward. The top priority was to first eliminate all the believers who had used the sacred seals. The pernicious poison could not be allowed to spread! "You, you, you, and you—" Without even looking, he raised his hand and pointed haphazardly at four Hierophants. "Beheaded, cast into Limbo, burned for a century." The faces of the designated Hierophants drained of what little color remained. None of them had anticipated such a horrific sentence. One among them had not even been involved in the affair and screamed out in terror, attempting to plead his case, but angels had already pinned him to the floor. Their heads were severed and tossed into the red-hot box to keep company with the two unlucky souls who had arrived late earlier. In an instant, half the conference room was emptied. The Hierophants still kneeling on the floor were drenched in cold sweat, trembling uncontrollably. Yet the archbishop, even while sweating and shaking, breathed a silent sigh of relief. Since the Saint had not wiped out everyone in one fell swoop, it meant there was still room to maneuver; he still had a chance to redeem himself through meritorious service. Then he heard the Saint's judgment upon him. "Forfeiture of the honor of divine audience, stripped of the Crown of Glory, exiled for fifty years," Yidela said indifferently. "In consideration of the perilous times, you are permitted to redeem yourself through service. Execution of your sentence is deferred; final judgment shall be rendered after this affair is concluded." The archbishop kowtowed violently, banging his head against the ground so hard that blood poured from his forehead, yet he nearly laughed out loud with delight... Redeeming himself through service was wonderful! Even if he had to face judgment once this matter concluded, so long as he committed no further errors, his sentence would at the very least be reduced by a degree! A death sentence turned into a suspended death sentence! Even though the aftermath would still leave him wretched, it was infinitely better than being executed on the spot. Immediately afterward, however, a heart-wrenching agony erupted from his chest. He grunted, nearly shrieking aloud, but forced it down with all his might. "Capital punishment may be spared, but living retribution cannot be escaped." Yidela cast a disdainful glance downward at his foolish, narrowly escaped demeanor. With a casual flick of his fingers, a spark sank into the archbishop's body, blossoming into flame that silently scorched his viscera and brought agonizing pain. Once the fires of Limbo were ignited, they would never extinguish unless pardoned by sacred grace. Shivering and soaked in cold sweat, the archbishop exerted every ounce of strength to stifle the urge to scream, all while continuously knocking his head against the floor to thank the Saint for his magnanimity. The rest were also dealt with to varying degrees, though some were permitted to atone through service. Once the punishments were meted out, the archbishop plucked up the courage to ask, "If the vacated sanctuaries are left unattended, disorder will surely ensue. May I ask how the Saint wishes to handle them?" "Suobola, you will take over." Yidela reached out carelessly and pointed at the only elderly Hierophant who had not taken part in the sacred seal affair, yet he called out his name with pinpoint accuracy. For a moment, the dazed old Hierophant couldn't process it. Then, overcome with ecstatic joy, he kowtowed and praised the benevolence of the Holy God and the Saint, accepting this trial and vowing never to bring shame upon the Order. In the brief silence, the archbishop couldn't help stealing a glance at the man, barely able to suppress the flames of jealousy within. Most likely, once this affair came to an end, Suobola would take his place. Upon realizing this, the gazes the other Hierophants directed at old Hierophant Suobola grew infinitely warmer in an instant. They were already scheming how to align themselves with him and beg him to put in a good word on their behalf. The Saint had no patience for the petty schemes of mere ants and worms. His gaze finally settled on the Hierophant who had been the first to strike a deal with the resistance camp. Without even waiting to be questioned, the terrified Hierophant spilled everything like beans pouring from a bamboo tube. Tears and snot streaming down his face, full of bitter regret, he claimed that the resistance camp had been too cunning and that he had been manipulated into making an accidental mistake. He begged the Saint to be merciful and, seeing that his original intention had been good, grant him an opportunity to redeem himself through service. Not long after, his personal guard emissary pushed open the door and entered to report, "Your Eminence, the distribution channels for the sacred seals in the city have largely been identified. Shall we move immediately?" "No rush." Yidela smiled coldly. "Those cowards hiding their heads and tails must be dealt a fatal blow in a single strike. If we move too loudly, it will only scatter them... "There is still a month left anyway. I'll play along with these heretics for a bit!" He waved his hand, dismissing the irrelevant onlookers. After ordering the Hierophant who was still weeping and begging to redeem himself hauled off to the dungeons, he turned and looked out the window. Outside the Great Sanctuary of Sacrifice, the gathered believers shouted and cheered in a frenzy. Unaware of what had just transpired inside, they crowded into the grand plaza with fervent zeal, weeping and demonstrating their piety in desperate longing for blessings. Flagellants swung their whips again and again, lashing themselves until their bodies were covered in bloody welts. Others went so far as to light bonfires and cast their own children into the flames, offering them up as burnt offerings... Such chaotic madness was utterly irritating! Most of them were going to be purged as sinners in the end anyway, so why couldn't they just wait quietly and save him some trouble?! Yet, as a Saint, he could hardly step forward to berate them publicly. Noticing his furrowed brow, the guard's expression tightened. "Your Eminence, should I go disperse them?" "Leave them be." Yidela coldly withdrew his gaze. "Let us go. We'll return to the sacred residence to rest first." Soon, the central sacred gate of the magnificent, solemn Great Sanctuary of Sacrifice opened once more with a resonant roar. Outside, the believers grew even more ecstatic, shouting and calling out. Yidela spared them a cold glance, withdrew his eyes, and stepped down the stairs toward his ornate carriage. Yet at that exact moment, his movement paused. Startled, he looked up toward the cheering crowd beneath the steps. Among the throngs of believers, two figures alone had not knelt to prostrate themselves. Such insolence! One was tall and imposing, like a giant, with bare hands extending from the robe that gleamed with a faint metallic luster. The other was petite, like a young girl, yawning impatiently and muttering complaints about something. "..." In the brief silence, the tall figure lowered his head, lips parting beneath the cowl to murmur something to the person beside him. At that moment, the girl seemed to let out a silent chuckle. Then, she reached up and threw back her hood, revealing to Yidela a face that had been printed on countless wanted posters. Oh, no... Yidela's pupils contracted violently. Subconsciously, he took a step back. Alas, it was too late. Thunder erupted from within the crowd. A deafening sonic boom expanded and swept outward, rupturing countless eardrums as a tempestuous shockwave howled past. Immediately followed by a scalp-numbing, shrill shriek that burst forth from the highest point of the sanctuary! Like steel grinding against steel. Excruciatingly grating. It was a spear! A buzzing spear had wedged itself deep into the iron and stone, pinned through the sacred gate of the Great Sanctuary of Sacrifice like a spike. From it hung an insignificant, mangled corpse, vibrating with the impact. Drip, drip, drip... Viscous blood slowly seeped from the impaled ruin of a body, meandering down the ornate reliefs upon the gate and staining vast swaths of sacred icons crimson. —Saint Yidela! In the abrupt, dead silence, everyone seemed to have forgotten how to breathe. They stared blankly at the scene before them. Until the first shriek burst from the crowd—and then, cries of terror and shock surged like a tidal wave, swelling rapidly, spreading in all directions, drowning out everything. Weeping hysterically, fleeing in terror, paralyzed where they stood—the packed plaza turned in an instant into a cauldron of chaos. And amid the stampeding, scattering crowd, Ji Jue finally reached up and removed the cowl from his head. He gazed at the spectacle before him. A soft sigh escaped his lips. Truly a sight to behold!