Chapter 58: Petalcut
A warrior who does not draw the sword to strike.
A hero walking the righteous path with the face of darkness.
Who, moving the martial world, are but silent as a stone.
With patience and unshakable resolve, they are steadfast.
They are heirs of rightful grace.
Faithful stewards managing treasures of genius.
They are kings of renown and lawful successors.
Other commoners are mere attendants to martial arts.
Though summer flowers bloom and wither alone,
They add a streak of fragrance to the season. Yet if their roots are harmed and weary,
The dignity of a flower becomes less than weeds.
Even the most beautiful creation can fall from grace,
The stench of a rotten lily is more vile than wild grass.
–William Shakespeare, <Sonnet 94: Lily Swordsman>1
A few hours later.
I was heading to London on the first train departing from Cambridge, together with Lestrade, Watson, and Sir Fawcett.
Other officials were leisurely planning to watch the Boat Club’s dragon boat race training and return, but we could not afford to waste time as we were detaining the culprit.
“It’s a shame. It would have been a rare opportunity to visit your alma mater.”
“Did I ever mention that I was from Cambridge?”
“No. You only briefly mentioned being from Oxbridge.”
“In Cambridge, we say Camford. If passing disciples of the Boat Club hear it, it might cause trouble.”
“…That’s more intense than I imagined.”
“Aren’t the two competing academies? It’s only natural, just like how the Catholic Zion Clan of Ireland and the Protestant Scots’ Synod of North Ireland are eager to oppose each other.”
While we were chatting leisurely, the train continued to run without stopping, carrying the unconscious Phantom Fist.
I was wearing the Phantom Fist’s coat from the hotel to cover my torn clothes instead of my own coat which was ripped by the shockwave of the fist blast.
In any case, the owner of the coat had been properly hit by Brain Stopper and would be out cold for a while.
It was true that I was tired, but I couldn’t afford to leave him with Lestrade and go for a meal or a nap.
As long as I couldn’t deny the possibility that Moriarty was behind this case, I couldn’t predict what might happen.
‘He’s not one to do nothing while someone who can testify against him is still alive.’
Even now, I occasionally recall the witnesses who were hidden and then died under Moriarty’s orders.
He’s cunning. You never know when he’ll take advantage of a lapse in vigilance to carry out his schemes.
To prevent the events I experienced before regression from repeating, I kept extending my senses in and around the train, checking for any suspicious signs.
At the same time, I imagined what this world’s Moriarty might be plotting based on the information I’ve gathered.
“Oh dear. It’s getting hard to hold on.”
“Take a quick nap before we arrive. I’ll keep watch over the Phantom Fist.”
Watson, who hadn’t slept enough last night, groaned and lay down on the mattress in the sleeper car.
And in less than two minutes, she fell asleep, softly snoring.
“……”
Indeed, she had been through a lot, being dragged around by my plans.
After gently covering her with a blanket, I returned to my seat and fell back into thought.
If it was James Moriarty who taught the Phantom Fist, Timothy Young, the Demonic arts as I suspected.
He might have taught Demonic arts to other Kung-Fu criminals.
Perhaps those who learned Demonic arts from Moriarty are widely spread throughout England.
Although history is not my field of expertise, I am at least aware of what happened in cities where numerous practitioners of Demonic arts, that is, demons and witches, gathered.
Throughout the history of Europe, great chaos always occurred during the times when demons emerged.
And, it takes two hands to clap.
‘…In summer, the lilies will be in full bloom.’
In turbulent times, it was always the role of that clan to subdue demons and bear a part of the chaos.
The Vatican Apostolic See, the base of the Zion Clan, which forms the largest sphere of influence among the religious clans of European Murim.
The pride of the Zion Clan extended beyond their signature Kung-Fu, the Twenty-Four Stances of the Hundred Lilies Swordsmanship and Rosary, encompassing a vast array of disciplines.
From the St. Peter’s Basilica, where the first pope, Peter, and generations of the Zion Clan’s leaders were enshrined, to the Castel Sant’Angelo, the city was adorned with architectural marvels of immeasurable significance.
Sculptures and paintings housed within these structures, treasures dating back to the earliest days of the New Testament.
Every aspect of the city bore the touch of Renaissance and Baroque masters or stood as a testament to the very history of Christianity, leaving not a single thing devoid of value.
There’s even a saying that another nickname for the Apostolic See is the Museum of Catholicism.
Rooted in the Christian culture that dominates Europe, the Vatican, with its spiritual authority and long history, has displayed a prominent presence in European Murim.
However, what they truly boast of was not something with a tangible form.
The most powerful divine weapon possessed by the Holy See.
It was none other than the art of dominion and control that the clergy had honed even before Kung-Fu ever took root in Europe.
The pope, the Grandmaster of the Zion Clan, has claimed to be the successor of Peter, inheriting the keys to Heaven.
For this reason, in the Christian-dominated Europe, the pope could give a severe warning to secular rulers who did not submit to his spiritual authority by revealing the powerful card of Anathema.
Anathema refers to a sinister religious lynching.
Once excommunicated, it’s a sticky wicket.2
From the moment one is excommunicated, a Catholic is deprived of all rights they can exercise in this world and the next.
Subjects and subordinates stop pledging allegiance to the excommunicated, and other political relations are also severed.
Nobles feared this harsh punishment, being treated as a Public Enemy within Catholic territory and facing social exterminatus3, thus pledging loyalty by kissing the pope’s ring.
The Zion Clan did not only use this means to rule their spiritual domain.
The Vatican began selling indulgences, a notion that sins could be forgiven for money, to believers who feared punishments awaiting beyond death.
Even amidst the waves of reformation raised by Martin Luther King and various theological gentlemen calling for the awakening of the corrupt old church, the Holy See steadfastly held on to the reins of Europe’s spiritual and mental state.
The continued sale of indulgences painted with vermillion in forbidden texts is evidence of this.
The Church recognized that fear was the most certain chain to bind the people.
The group that most strongly reflects such ideas is the Zion Clan’s most powerful armed force, the Holy Office of the Inquisition, who indiscriminately capture and kill demons and witches.
Innocent lives have fallen countless times at the hands of the exorcists and inquisitors known as the Pope’s Sword, but the Zion Clan continued to proclaim their cause, keeping the whole of Europe under their watch.
Of course, it was inevitable that their secretive and sharp gaze would not miss the British mainland, home to Anglican and Presbyterian believers.
“The Kung-Fu Clergy operating covertly in England has detected traces of demons.”
A meeting of cardinals was taking place in a secret room somewhere within St. Peter’s Basilica.
Although Grandmaster Leo XIII was in seclusion training to create a Kung-Fu, the elders of the Zion Clan, wearing red hats, were exchanging opinions in a solemn atmosphere where the pope’s absence was unfelt.
“No matter that London is a land of pagans, I daresay it is not the will of the Holy One to permit the spilling of innocent blood.”
“A mere Lily swordsman won’t do. We need to send an exorcist…no, an Inquisitor.”
While outwardly pretending to care for the safety of the people, the truth that everyone gathered was hesitant to voice was identical without a single discrepancy.
Under the pretext of subjugating demons, their goal was to send the elite of the Zion Clan to The League of Gentlemen in London to show the filthy heretics what true Kung-Fu was and to establish discipline.
“If it’s a priest who can be mobilized right now… Then he shall do.”
And to achieve this, it was necessary to dispatch someone among the elite of the Zion Clan who boasted extraordinary martial prowess.
“Let’s send a dove to Essex.”
As the leader of the cardinals spoke, a murmur spread throughout the dark meeting room.
“Surely, you’re not thinking of letting that man loose.”
No one present was unaware of what sending a dove to Essex meant.
Northeast of London, in the region where the main house of the Chenzhou Yan family was located.
There was a priest who had settled there after wandering the world.
He was an assassin who followed the pope’s orders, cutting down enemies of the Zion Clan indiscriminately.
The only thing that could make that uncontrollable sword fiend obey is the Ring of the Fisherman on the right ring finger of the Zion Clan’s leader.
In the current era of peace, awakening that monster would undoubtedly bring a bloodstorm to the Murim world.
“Cease this folly. No matter how dearly the lad is held in your esteem, sending him into the world without a means to keep him in check is sheer madness.”
“Right! Please reconsider!”
Voices of opposition arose from around, but there were also many who expressed agreement.
They were only keeping silent, not wanting to even mention the name of the man being considered.
“…Are you really thinking of sending the Monsignor? I don’t think we can handle the aftermath with His Holiness in retreat.”
Someone who had been calmly observing the conversation among the other cardinals spoke up.
However, the topic he raised failed to gain significant agreement.
“Isn’t England already a land of apostates as it is? I see no harm in allowing that man a single dance of the sword on this occasion.”
“The life of a man outside the Catholic fold is worth less than that of a fly. Should a massacre unfold in some distant land, we need only regard it as the folly of an individual, not the concern of the Zion Clan. The Sword Queen shall have no grounds to lay the blame upon us.”
“One can never tell. Perhaps fortune shall favor us, and that man will meet his end in mutual destruction with the so-called Northern Hero, that decrepit old relic of the Northern End Clan.”
“Ah, splendid indeed. Should matters unfold as planned, it would be no different from blowing one’s nose into the void itself.”
As the debate intensified, the cardinals began to reveal their true nature.
Perhaps in Ireland, where devout Catholics reside, but they did not care about the lives of the British martial artists.
Most of the cardinals despised the greedy and arrogant pagans who left the narrow island to create colonies everywhere.
With the determination and hostility to do anything if they could teach them a lesson, the direction of the meeting was already pointing in an irreversible direction.
“By the assent of the majority, the motion is thus passed. In the name of the Lord, this conclave grants Monsignor Brown leave to depart for the martial world.”
The cardinals who insisted on opposing opinions dropped their heads helplessly.
Having witnessed the Monsignor’s inhuman martial prowess and ruthlessness firsthand, they could envision what might happen in The League of Gentlemen.
Soon, the British will remember.
The fear they have been subjected to by the pope.
The humiliation of having lived confined to a narrow island.
“Amen.”
“Amen!”
“A―men…!!”
With the Triple Amen chant concluded, the cardinals’ meeting came to a close, and a pure white dove flew westward, carrying an olive branch.
Demon Slayer Lily.
The Secret Sacred Sword.
The Iron-Blooded Cult Slayer.
In addition, he was called by numerous call signs, feared by demons as the old monster of the Zion Clan.
To summon Father Brown back into the martial world.
“May the Lord bless them.”
The only thing the few remaining pacifists could do was pray to prevent a bloodstorm in London.
- TL/N: The original Sonnet is as follows—They that have power to hurt and will do none, Who, moving others, are themselves as stone, They rightly do inherit heaven’s graces They are the lords and owners of their faces, The summer’s flower is to the summer sweet, But if that flower with base infection meet, For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds ️
This update ıs available on novelFirｅ.net - TL/N: “Sticky wicket" is an idiom that means a difficult or awkward situation. It can also refer to a cricket pitch that is damp and soft after rain. ️
- TL/N: Expelled, exiled, banished. abolished, extirpated, destroyed ️