Chapter 179 : Connection
Chapter 179: Connection
An incomparably brilliant golden light lit up inside the clock. Oscar did not find it blinding—it was a gentle and warm light.
He felt as though his consciousness had separated from his body, carried by a certain will, ascending through the clock tower into the sky, continuously rising until he could see the entire York Territory, and only then did it stop.
He could "see" himself inside a golden pillar of light that seemed to connect to the firmament, enveloped within it, with the base of the pillar being the clock tower.
He felt “himself” raise an arm, opening one hand, as though covering the entirety of the York Territory beneath.
He saw fourteen golden light points flickering on the ground.
Judging by the locations of these light points, he could guess that these were the Small Churches where Priests resided.
From this altitude, he could see that when these golden points were connected, they seemed to envelop the York Territory.
He knew the Bishop had released White Doves yesterday to deliver messages to those Small Churches.
The Bishop had instructed the Priests in the Small Churches to gather the Believers and hold a Prayer together at midnight to listen to the New Year’s bell.
Thus, he “heard” the sound of Prayers rising from those Small Churches, and he felt “himself” suddenly wave a hand downwards.
Then, the golden light points shot up to the sky like his own pillar of light, appearing to connect to the heavens.
The only difference was that those light pillars were slightly smaller than the one he was in.
Dong... dong... dong...
Fourteen consecutive bell tolls rang in his ears. Everything in his vision transformed into a world illuminated purely by golden light.
Looking up, there were neither the Morning Star nor the White Star, only Holy Light descending without a visible source—just like the Holy Light from the Heavenly Kingdom of the Lord.
Looking down, under the illumination of the Holy Light, the York Territory was crisscrossed with countless gray Threads, as if the Holy Light revealed the ropes binding the York Territory.
He felt “his” hand withdraw, and then he was taken out of the light pillar.
“He” appeared in York Town, standing before Dionysius Garuberg Jefferson, who was wearing pajamas and reading the Holy Scriptures in his study. From the Threads attached to Dionysius, he plucked one.
Next, “he” appeared in Piero’s room. At this moment, Piero was lying on his bed, with a foul-smelling ointment applied to the ruined half of his face. Pain caused his body to spasm, and “he” once again reached out and plucked a Thread from Piero.
Then, “he” appeared in a manor. The master of the manor was fast asleep. Likewise, he pulled a Thread from the one connected to him.
After that, “he” appeared in a Small Church and plucked a Thread from someone who was praying with eyes closed in devoutness.
Finally, “he” returned to the light pillar and intertwined the four gray Threads together, forming a single, somewhat thicker gray Thread.
“He” ran a hand along it, and golden light seeped into the gray Thread, then began to corrode and cover it, spreading until all Threads related to this one across York Territory were dyed in gold before it stopped.
But compared to all the gray Threads throughout the York Territory, this Thread covered in golden light was just a drop in the ocean.
“He” took another step, arriving at a place Oscar was very familiar with.
It was the territory that once belonged to Lord Pegiraov Lundex.
What was “he” planning to do? Oscar wondered.
Then he saw “him” step again into a twisted, dark red world.
Before him was a massive white-skinned body.
Oscar had no reference for comparison; he could only describe it as enormous.
The being was bound in chains, the huge mouth on its belly tightly shut.
It seemed to have sensed “his” presence, opening its eyes.
They were red square-shaped vertical pupils.
That was Gluttony! And not just Gluttony—but the root of Gluttony! The being sealed inside!
The gaping mouth on Gluttony’s belly opened wide, as if letting out a soundless roar.
But “he” simply flicked his hand, as if wielding a golden whip, lashing it down fiercely and slashing open the mouth on Gluttony’s belly.
Crimson liquid flowed out—it appeared to be Gluttony's blood.
Golden light clung to the wound, corroding it, preventing it from closing and stopping the bleeding.
Gluttony went berserk, rising and swinging both arms at “him,” but soon dark red chains emerged from the void, binding Gluttony again. The restraint was so tight it dug into Gluttony’s flesh.
Struggling wildly, Gluttony was whipped again. Another scar was added to its body.
Whip after whip, who knew how many, until Gluttony’s form, due to blood loss, shrank to two-thirds its original size. Only then did the whipping cease.
Bound and no longer mad, Gluttony merely stared at “him” with its square vertical pupils. Its skin occasionally rippled like water.
Yet “he” simply turned and left.
Returning once again to the light pillar in the clock tower, “he” looked over the entire York Territory like a patrol, and finally cupped both hands before him.
A Light Orb formed between his palms.
Then “he” hurled the Light Orb high into the air. At last, it exploded with a thunderous sound, scattering into tens of thousands of streaks of light that poured over the land of York Territory.
That was the Lord’s Blessing—that was the Blessing “he” had sprinkled.
The Holy Light from the Heavenly Kingdom was withdrawn. The White Star reappeared in the sky. The dense gray Threads and the golden Thread among them all vanished, as if York Territory had returned to a quiet night like any other.
The fourteen light pillars gradually faded, and he felt his consciousness descend with “his” will, finally returning to his own “body.”
Oscar felt as heavy as a mountain and as light as drifting fluff. Everything he saw twisted and distorted. His head swam with dizziness, as if exhausted and ready to fall asleep.
“Wake up, wake up.” Suddenly, he heard a voice.
At once, it was as if an anchor had been found. The heaviness and lightness vanished, and his chest rose and fell with breathing.
The twisted world in his eyes slowly restored itself, and he saw he was still within the clock’s interior.
His consciousness became clear—then came an intense pain, as if tens of thousands of minds were tearing at his own. It felt like being burned in a sea of flames while robust horses tore his body apart. He wanted to use Magic to block the pain, but it seemed to be acting on his soul itself.
He wanted to scream but found he could not control his body—no sound came.
…
Corleon sighed, his brilliant golden eyes gazing at Oscar, who stood in place with his body riddled in holes as if soaked in something.
Oscar’s eyes were vacant, fragments of golden light drifting from the tainted edges of his body.
This was Assimilation.
Assimilation from the level of consciousness down to the flesh.
Even deeper than what Knight Wolf had suffered when he nearly turned into a lump of flesh.
Oscar’s mind and body were both chasing after the “Lord.”
But as Corleon had said—Oscar would not die.
Since a sliver of consciousness remained after Corleon finished what needed to be done, naturally, he could pull Oscar back.
With a gentle tap on Oscar’s forehead, his body fell backward. His unfocused eyes slowly shut.
His breathing calmed and he gradually drifted into slumber.
And as he breathed, the scattered golden specks slowly flowed back, repairing his body.
…
At the Glory Fortress, Marl, bowing in Prayer beneath the Lord’s Throne, heard the chimes from the clock tower gradually cease.
He opened his eyes, stood up, turned to face the kneeling warriors, took a deep breath, and declared loudly:
“Everyone! Set out!” he said.
“Yes!” The warriors of Glory Fortress shouted in unison.
However, outside their ranks, Borien and the others watched with complex expressions.
The resolute eyes of these warriors stirred a sense of envy in them.
They too lived in the Glory Fortress and were aware that Marl had instructed the warriors to sleep by day and depart together at night after Prayer.
Thus, none of them had rested either, instead choosing to watch.
Then they saw the bell of the clock tower ring during the calm night, and Marl leading the warriors on a night march.
“Should we follow?” someone suddenly asked.
“…” Borien hesitated, then finally shook his head. “Since we’ve decided to obey the Bishop’s orders, we’d best not act without command.”
“Does the Church truly consider us one of their own?” another person spoke with a dull tone. “After all this time, they’d rather head into the Nation of Werewolves without a single Knight in their ranks.”
“Even if they were lucky before and didn’t encounter an Upper-Ranked Werewolf, the Nation of Werewolves is now fully invading. Not only Upper-Ranked Werewolves—even the Wolf King has appeared at the front.”
“Everyone knows Upper-Ranked Werewolves are equivalent to Knights. And yet, they still refuse to accept us.”
“Not even a single request for assistance.”
Borien looked at the speaker—Knight Bode Velick.
Borien hesitated again, then chose silence. Even if he had Knight Wolf’s trust and some ties to the Church’s Bishop, there was no real hierarchy between him and the others. In the end, they were all Knights.
“I’m preparing to leave the Church,” Knight Bode said. He glanced around at the other Knights, then settled his gaze on Borien.
“Look at what we’ve done since surrendering to the Church.”
“Destroying the tradition of Knight’s Squires, teaching conscripted warriors swordsmanship, archery, horsemanship—think about how difficult it once was for us to learn these.”
“Used as ceremonial Knights to bolster the image of the Church’s warriors, paving the way for the brilliance of George and Marl with our own Honor.”
“We needed all of us to deal with just one warrior who isn’t even a Knight—and we’re Knights.”
“What does the Church take us for?”
His somber voice felt like it was suppressing fury.
Borien avoided his gaze and looked at the others. Many of them showed approval toward Knight Bode’s words.
Finally, Borien looked back at Bode.
“Where will you go? The Barons who granted us Knighthood are now Senators of York Territory,” Borien said.
“Sir Puniel is already in the northern lands. He sent someone to tell me the lands there are vast,” Bode replied.
Borien understood. Bode had been conferred Knighthood by Baron Puniel.
“You plan to follow your liege?” Borien nodded, then smiled. “Congratulations.”
It was a sincere blessing. This group had long been caught in a difficult position. Regardless of what Baron Puniel intended to do—at least Bode could pledge his loyalty with certainty.