Free Web NovelChapter 373: Chapter 81: Boom
He was "reassigned" to the most idle and unprofitable post in the Sacred Affairs Bureau: the archive backup division, responsible for transcribing and binding expired documents.
He had fallen from the clouds into the mire.
The grand villa was returned. His savings were quickly depleted as he lived off them, and his former "friends" all distanced themselves.
Unable to bear the poverty and scorn, his wife divorced him.
In the end, his family abandoned him as well.
When he couldn’t even hold on to his meager-paying job at the archive backup division, he had to use the last of his connections and what little money remained to take over a tiny shop on Old Document Lane, scraping by repairing old books and writing cheap letters for hire.
Ten years ago, Pope Noe VII had announced he would be entering the Half-Plane known as the Sanctuary for a long period of prayer, leaving daily affairs to be managed by the College of Cardinals.
When the news arrived, Bellardi was in the middle of gluing the binding of a tattered copy of the *Saints’ Words and Deeds Record*.
He froze for a long moment, then burst out into a hoarse sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a sob.
After the Pope left, the political winds in the Holy City did indeed shift.
Those nerve-wracking "retrospective evaluations" petered out, the approval for new poverty relief projects slowed, and the "commoner rights clauses" that had once kept him up at night were rarely mentioned in new documents.
The Cardinals’ voices became loud and confident once more.
But for Bellardi, it was all far too late to undo.
What he had lost could never be regained.
Someone had already taken his position, making it impossible for him to ever go back.
"Hey, Bellardi!" a gruff voice shouted, interrupting his memories.
It was the apprentice from the blacksmith’s shop at the end of the lane, holding a crumpled piece of paper. "My ma wants me to write a letter to my uncle, tellin’ him to pay us back! The usual price, three coppers!"
Bellardi wiped his face and forced a professional smile, taking the paper and a grimy coin. "Sit over there and wait. It’ll be done in a moment."
He moved back to the creaky table inside, and by the light of a dim oil lamp, he began to write crude, debt-collecting phrases with the very pen he had once used to inscribe beautiful calligraphy on countless important documents.
After writing two lines, he stopped. He glanced at the peeling Icon Painting on the wall, then turned to look at the heavy twilight outside the window, as if his gaze could pierce through countless walls to see the magnificent Holy Hall in the center of the Holy City.
His lips trembled, his murky eyes churning with years of venomous resentment, regret, and unvented indignation.
In the end, all these emotions coalesced into a curse, uttered in a low whisper yet filled with teeth-grinding hatred. It mingled with the stench of cheap ink and the musty smell of old parchment, filling the small, dilapidated shop:
"Damn it... why didn’t you just die in that Sanctuary and never come back! Praying! You’d be better off killed by a Wizard!"
Before the words had even left his mouth...
BOOM!
An indescribably deep rumble, as if the very earth were being torn asunder, suddenly erupted from the direction of the Holy City’s core!
The ground of the entire Old Document Lane—no, the entire Holy City—shook violently in that instant!
The inkwell on Bellardi’s table jumped, toppled over, and dark ink instantly soaked the half-written collection letter and the worn felt mat beneath it.
The flame of the oil lamp flickered wildly, nearly going out, casting dancing, ghost-like patches of light on the walls.
Several old books on the shelves CLATTERED to the floor.
The sharp sound of breaking pottery and a woman’s scream came from next door.
As for Bellardi, the sudden, violent tremor and the massive boom startled him so much he fell right to the floor. His head hit the corner of the bookshelf behind him with a THUD, making him see stars.
He sat with his mouth agape, his ears ringing. He could hear nothing but the lingering echo of the boom, which felt as if it had been seared into his very soul.
’The Sanctuary... that was the direction of the Sanctuary!’
’An explosion... It really exploded!’
In an instant, absolute terror seized him. His body went cold, and his limbs grew numb.
’It wasn’t me!’
’I didn’t say anything!’
’That was just... just a complaint! I was just angry! It has nothing to do with me!’
He screamed frantically in his mind, his face as white as a sheet.
He curled up almost instinctively, his hands frantically tracing the Holy Emblem over his chest. His lips trembled as he silently begged Oriane for forgiveness, praying that his thoughtless curse had nothing to do with this, praying that the terrible boom was just an illusion.
But the dust filling the air, the aftershocks in the ground, and the increasingly clear sounds of crying and running from outside all cruelly told him...
’This is no illusion!’
The Holy City was the heart of the faith of Oriane, the safest and most heavily fortified place on the Continent!
It had Barriers blessed by generations of Popes and countless Saints, the most elite Templar Order, and the protection of innumerable Divine Magics and Holy Artifacts! How could such a terrifying explosion happen?
Judging by the commotion, the source was definitely no ordinary fire or accident!
’How many people must have died?’
’How far did the blast reach?’
He thought of the direction the boom had come from... the Sanctuary district... That area had one of the highest levels of protection!
But this sound... not even that damned Wizard invasion ten years ago had caused such an earth-shattering explosion, one that seemed to shake the very foundations of the Holy City!
Panic, like countless icy tentacles, wrapped itself around Bellardi’s heart.
He sat paralyzed on the cold, filthy floor, forgetting the pain in the back of his head, forgetting the spilled ink and the scattered books.
Outside, the chaotic sounds of footsteps and shouting began to rise, and a sharp alarm bell seemed to ring in the distance.
Just then, a thought, like a viper leaping from a dark abyss, sank its fangs into his mind, causing his entire body to freeze:
’The Pope... surely he’s not... coming back?’
Such a terrifying explosion had occurred at the Sanctuary... What about Noe VII, the Pope who had been "praying" in the Sanctuary for ten years...?
