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A dense layer of clouds blotted out the silver moon, casting only a faint halo in the sky.

The weak moonlight couldn’t even delineate shadows. In the pitch-black Dragon City, only sporadic fires offered some illumination.

The exception was the northernmost end of Dragon City, where an extraordinary golden light descended from the sky, parting the oppressive darkness of the night.

It was the direction of the Holy Mountain, the sacred place of the Glorious Church, where the Holy Light Cathedral was located.

This pillar of holy light, never extinguished day or night, served as an eternal lighthouse in the profound darkness, leading those who had lost their way with hope and direction.

Night after night, it was the same.

The crisp sound of horse hooves echoed as a four-wheeled carriage, pulled by three tall horses, slowly approached the Holy Light Cathedral.

The night watch guards, instead of stopping the carriage, stood tall and formed a welcoming ceremonial formation.

Those who had the privilege to ride a four-wheeled carriage up to the top of the Holy Mountain must be distinguished figures.

The center of the carriage’s side was painted with a symbol of World Purifying Flames. Clearly, the visitor must be a core member of the Royal Family of the Empire.

The carriage slowly stopped in front of the steps of the Holy Light Cathedral. A knight with a sword jumped from the open rear seat of the carriage, ignoring the approaching church guard, he placed a golden footrest at the carriage door with one hand, and held a crystal lamp in the other.

Immediately, the carriage door was opened, and a tall, slender woman stepped out. She was wearing a rather simple prayer robe, but her stunning beauty made the guards instinctively intake a breath, dare not look, and quickly bowed their heads in salute.

“Your Highness, the Queen!”

Queen Midela nodded softly in response and then ascended the steps towards the church. Her graceful walk accentuated her everlasting youthful charm. Under the holy light pouring down from heaven, she emanated a touch of divine aura.

The prayer hall of the church was incredibly tall. Dozens of grey stone pillars supported a dome twenty-four meters high, giving one a feeling of insignificance. Coupled with four gigantic statues of sword-bearing angels, an awe-inspiring reverence was instilled.

The dome of the Prayer Hall was made of a special crystal, through which the eternal holy light passed, giving everything in the hall a golden hue and emphasizing the divine solemnity.

Queen Midela stood in front of the statue of the Lord of Glory, her hands clasped together in prayer.

A faint hum echoed in the prayer hall, sounding like someone singing a hymn, or like an echo descending from heaven itself.

A peaceful and soothing power filled the air.

After an unknown amount of time, Queen Midela finished her prayer, raised her head, and looked at the holy light that seemed to lead to heaven. A trace of mocking emerged on her face.

“Are you truly listening?” Queen Midela questioned in a mosquito-like voice.

The Holy Light remained as dazzling as before, seemingly unaltered by the Queen’s irreverent questioning.

The mocking look on Queen Midela’s face intensified, “Or perhaps as he said, you are… dead!”

No response came.

Queen Midela shook her head, apparently out of patience.

As she slowly turned around, she saw a bald, eyebrow-less elder standing behind her.

It was unknown how long he had been there and whether he heard the Queen’s words just now.

His purple priest robe indicated his distinguished status – the Pope.

The clerical robes of the Glorious Church could be white, grey, or black. These colors were available for everyone from archbishops to ordinary priests, but there were two special colors they could not wear: red and purple.

The red priest robe was reserved for the three Cardinals. They were the highest-ranking individuals in the church besides the Pope. Therefore, due to the color of their robes, they were also known as Red-robed Bishops.

The purple priest robe, however, was exclusively for the Pope himself.

“Good evening, Your Holiness Gregory.” Queen Midela seemed totally unruffled, showing no concern about whether her just-spoken soliloquy was heard by the Pope.

“Good evening, Your Highness.”

Pope Gregory’s face was amiable, and his smile radiated a natural affinity as if all the miseries of the world could be dissolved in his smile.

“Has his majesty’s health improved?”

Queen Midela sighed, and a touch of worry spread across her exquisite face. She shook her head, “Not yet, he woke up briefly this morning, but soon fell back into a coma.”

Pope Gregory’s smile faded, he seemed genuinely surprised, “So Cardinal Turennes hasn’t been able to improve the emperor’s condition?”

Queen Midela conveyed an expression of sorrow, “Cardinal Turennes hasn’t been able to identify the cause of the emperor’s illness till now, so… it’s quite tricky.”

Pope Gregory sighed and comforted, “Then I will personally visit the Phoenix Palace tomorrow. The Lord of Glory will not abandon His faithful shepherd. Please, try to feel at ease.”

Queen Midela quickly thanked him with a bow, then departed.

As the Pope watched the Queen’s graceful silhouette disappear at the entrance of the prayer hall, he looked up at the holy light descending from the sky with a complex expression in his eyes.

Not long after, a servant arrived quickly at Pope Gregory’s side and reported in a hushed tone:

“Your Eminence, Archbishop Agani has returned.”

Pope Gregory raised his eyebrows, thought for a moment, and said, “Tell her to wait for me in the lower floor confessional room of the side hall.”

“Yes.”

Subsequently, Pope Gregory stood in front of the statue of the Lord of Glory, clasped his hands together in prayer, and bowed his head, perhaps offering prayers for the suddenly critically ill emperor.

After his prayer, Pope Gregory left the Prayer Hall, went through the corridor, and then went down to the bottom of the cathedral via the spiral staircase.

Drawing closer, a smooth stone wall came into view with a giant oak door attached to it.

Pope Gregory pushed open the door. The room was simply furnished with a table and two chairs. On the table, there was a copy of the Holy Book of Glory as well as a row of silver candlesticks.

In the soft candlelight, Agani, draped in a white robe, immediately stood and gave a well-mannered bow to the Pope.

There was still a sympathetically gentle smile on Pope Gregory’s face, but his words were not as kind: “You have disappointed me greatly!”

Agani’s heart trembled as she retorted, “Your Holiness, the incident in the North Territory was so unpredictable, I couldn’t…”

“Am I interested in your excuses?” Gregory cut her off.

Agani promptly clamped her mouth shut, realizing something. With a slightly trembling tone, she quietly asked, “Are you going to punish me?”

“All who erred should receive discipline!”

Upon hearing that Agani’s breath quickened drastically. Her dewy doe eyes instantly filled with terror.

But under Pope Gregory’s persistent stare, she silently turned around, prostrated herself onto the ground, with hands folded and eyes tightly closed, awaiting the forthcoming “discipline”.

Unbeknownst to her, Pope Gregory now held in his hand a long whip with thorny protrusions, and one could even smell the strong scent of blood.

Smack!

The whip lashed onto Agani’s back, leaving a gory mark of welts.

A suppressed scream of agony hissed through her gritted teeth. Her body, frail like a blossom in a storm, shivered uncontrollably.

A satisfied grin spread across Gregory’s face, although he did not stop flailing the whip.

Smack! Smack! Smack!

The whip rained down on her like a storm, shredding Agani’s mage robe to tatters. A series of bloody welts surfaced, their stark contrast against the flawless white skin carried a sense of desolate and brutal beauty.

Most priests of the Glorious Church do not abstain from physical desires; getting married and having children do not impede their service to the Lord of Glory.

Nevertheless, if a priest aspires to ascend atop the Holy Mountain as the Pope one day, he must maintain a chaste body.

The reason is straightforward: Legend says that the Glorious Church possesses a holy artifact that can commune with heaven – the Golden Horn, held by successive Popes.

The Golden Horn can only be sounded by someone who wholeheartedly devotes themselves to the Lord of Glory, free from the carnal relationship between man and woman.

Hence, there are quite a number of monks in the church who take a vow of celibacy, and Gregory, who managed to ascend to the seat of Pope, was no exception.

Between beauty and power, Gregory certainly knew which one to choose.

After what felt like an eternity, Gregory finally ceased his actions.

Agani lay down on the ground weakly, panting heavily. Her back was marred with crisscrossing gashes which dripped blood profusely, a gruesome sight to behold.

Gregory discarded the whip, produced a delicate bottle from his pocket, and sprinkled the holy water onto Agani’s back.

Agani’s body uncontrollably convulsed and trembled, the process clearly not a pleasant one.

“God shows mercy to all, the Lord heals every living thing!”

Gregory bestowed a healing spell onto Agani, he then wore back his sympathetic smile and transformed back into the dignified Pope.

Admittedly, the healing spell he cast was immensely effective, coupled with the holy water, the welts on Agani’s back healed at a visibly fast pace. Before long, all traces of injury were gone.

Finally, Agani managed to compose herself and slowly rose from the ground.

Her mage robe was torn to shreds in the previous whipping and had entirely slipped off her body, revealing her flawless upper body.

Agani, however, made no attempt to cover herself. It was uncertain whether it was because she dared not, or whether it was a deliberate attempt to provoke the man before her.

Gregory quickly shifted his gaze, as if he was afraid that lingering any longer would cause him to lose control and ruin years of his painstaking cultivation.

It seemed that Agani had caught sight of his reaction. She lowered her head, the corners of her mouth subtly lifting into a smile that manifested both contempt and victorious revenge.

Gregory cleared his throat and ordered, “Vera St. Hilde will arrive at Dragon City soon. The North Territory is currently in disarray, head back to Winterfell City immediately and see if you can rally some Lords to our cause.”

“Yes,” Agani obediently responded.

Before he left, Gregory greedily took one last lingering look at the enchanting silhouette of Agani’s figure, then he braced himself, opened the door, and left the room.

The confessional room reverted back to its former tranquility.

Agani stood there motionlessly for some time, and then, surprisingly, she reached down and picked up the bloody whip from the ground, studying it carefully as if the secret to some mystery was hidden within.

After a moment, she pressed the whip against her chest, allowing the blood to dampen her tender skin.

Her grip tightened around the whip, the spikes jabbed into her breasts and fresh blood seeped out once again.

Agani let out a soft groan, grimacing at the pain. But then her knitted brows slowly relaxed.

Lifting her head, Agani’s profound gaze seemed to have pierced through the layers of the ceiling, riding on the Holy Light, reaching to the heavens above.

“Oh omnipotent Lord of Glory, your lost lamb seeks guidance, please hear her confession…”