Wizard: I Have a Cultivation System

Chapter 367: Chapter 78: The 300-Year-Old Aspiration

The Era of Expansion...

Elizabeth’s heart trembled.

It was the era following the end of the Dark Ages, a time when the survivors, guided by the Church Court, rebuilt civilization and established Kingdoms and order upon a devastated Continent.

The records described it as an era fraught with hardship, yet also filled with hope. While life was far from the prosperous tranquility of the legendary Age of Divine Revelation, it was a world apart from the despair and chaos of the Dark Ages.

More importantly, the Church Court of that era had a much closer relationship with the faithful. Its authority was built more on the tangible achievement of leading people from the ruins and helping them build new homes.

Elizabeth stood quietly. In the sunlight filtering through the windowpane, her white Saint’s Robe seemed to glow faintly.

Her hand hung at her side, the tips of her fingers twitching almost imperceptibly.

After a moment, she slowly raised her head to meet Saint Cyril’s expectant gaze, her jet-black eyes unfathomably deep.

Then, she gave a slight nod, the movement both elegant and resolute. Her voice was calm and unwavering. "I understand, Your Eminence. Thank you for your guidance."

She said nothing more, only performed another impeccable gesture of respect, then turned and left.

Saint Cyril watched her depart, not looking away until her white form had completely vanished into the shadows of the pillars outside the main doors.

He remained seated in the high-backed chair for a long time, completely still. Only the light in his deep-set eyes flickered erratically before finally settling into an unfathomable gloom.

...

The sun set and the moon rose. The Holy City’s magnificent profile quieted in the twilight, its form then traced into a mysterious silhouette by the nascent moonlight.

The figure of Saint Cyril, who had been sitting as still as a statue, finally stirred.

He rose slowly. In the dim light, his deep-red Cardinal’s Robe looked like a block of coagulated blood.

He did not summon an Attendant. Alone, leaning on a simple wooden staff, he shuffled out of the Prayer Hall. His steps were unsteady as he made his way toward the deepest recesses of the Holy City—a region where even common members of the Clergy seldom tread.

He passed through heavy stone gates, each manned by silent guards, and walked down long stone corridors where his footsteps echoed in the emptiness. Finally, he stopped before a dark, unmarked wooden door that looked entirely ordinary.

He reached out and pressed a subtle indentation on the doorframe. The wooden door slid inward without a sound.

Beyond the door was a circular hall of modest size. It was windowless, its only illumination coming from an enormous Moonlight Stone set into the center of the domed ceiling, which cast a soft, white glow.

In the center of the hall stood a heavy, round stone table. Five figures were already seated around it, all in casual attire. In the soft, cool light, their faces shifted between clarity and shadow, but every one of them exuded the unmistakable air of someone long accustomed to a high station and the exercise of power.

"Cyril, you’ve finally arrived," a slightly raspy voice spoke up. It belonged to a stern-faced, white-haired old man to the left of the stone table. "We were about to think you planned on sitting in that chair until morning."

Saint Cyril didn’t respond to the light-hearted jibe. He simply walked slowly to an empty seat at the stone table, leaned his wooden staff against its edge, and settled down.

"Well? How is our Saint’s grooming coming along?" The speaker was an elegant, middle-aged man wearing a monocle, seated opposite Cyril. His fingertips tapped lightly on the table. "Will she be able to ring the Morning Star Bell for good? Time is not on our side."

"Elizabeth... She’s very clever, and very resolute." Saint Cyril’s voice was even drier than it had been in the Prayer Hall, stripped of its solemnity and left with a mundane flatness. "She will follow the path we have laid out for her. Her dissatisfaction with the status quo, her yearning for the glory of the Era of Expansion—it’s all genuine, and it’s exactly what we need. The Morning Star Bell... she will attempt to ring it fully."

"Hmph. It should have been done long ago," the white-haired elder from before snorted. "A pity the Juliano of that time was too indecisive. Or, should I say... too naive. He clearly had the opportunity, but he dithered, unwilling to ring the Bell completely. Instead, he insisted on some path of ’top-down reform that would touch the very foundations.’ And what was the result? He threw his own life away and delayed our grand plan for this long."

"Watch your tongue, Ambrosius," the refined man said, adjusting his monocle. His tone was mild, but it carried a warning. "Is Juliano a name you can use so lightly? You should address him as Fuer II’s Throne. At least, publicly."

Ambrosius curled his lip but didn’t retort.

A few low, short laughs echoed in the hall. There was little mirth in the sound. Instead, it held the complex weight of a long-laid plan finally approaching its culmination.

"She was, after all, groomed along a path of our own meticulous design. From the very first day she set foot in the Holy City, every book, every conversation, every ’accidental’ discovery of a scroll... she has seen what we wanted her to see and thought as we guided her to think," another voice said. It came from a figure whose face was hidden in the shadows. "How could she not succeed?"

"Indeed, indeed," someone chimed in.

"The day the Bell tolls..." Saint Cyril slowly lifted his head, his gaze sweeping across the others at the table. A near-fanatical gleam finally surfaced on his deeply wrinkled face. "...will be the day our three-hundred-year-old dream is realized. The Church Court will be unified once more, its authority far surpassing what it was before the schism. We will no longer be mere guides of faith, but the true masters of this Continent. A greater, more centralized Church Court—one that can better enforce our will, and one that can allow us to live on."