Gun of Ashes

The deep night sky was like an iron curtain, completely enveloping this City of Faith, and the heavy thunderous sound came from the distance of the iron curtain, gradually getting closer over time until it leaped out of the darkness.

It was a jet-black steed, exhaling white mist in the cold night, draped in exquisite iron armor, glistening in the moonlight, like a meteor running in the dark, distinguished from the darkness.

It charged forward all the way, finally reaching the center of the city, where the twisted forest grew larger in view, only to discover upon nearing that it was a line of erect lances, knights guarding the sacred stairway like an iron wall. No words were needed; the warhorse slowly came to a halt, the animals’ pupils reflecting the magnificence and sanctity beyond the stairway.

The Priest dismounted from the warhorse, his cheeks hard, like sculpted marble, bearing the weariness and firmness unique to middle-aged men. He did not hurry to act but took down the musket and sword from the saddlebag. By rights, weapons were forbidden to approach here, but he had privileges, inserting them into the black ecclesiastical robe. Dots of snow drifted onto the black, as if he had just come from a snow curtain.

The mottled iron cross on his chest swayed with the wind, producing a sound like silver bells.

”Are you alright? This place is getting colder and colder.”

With the arrival of the Priest, a Knight stepped out of the line, with a brass cross sword engraved on the helmet, the sword engraved with Holy Words, nailing down twisted aberrations, carrying an aura of sacred lethality.

This was a group of Holy Hall Knights. After the Night of the Holy Arrival incident, he took over the defense of Saint Nalos Cathedral, with a knight’s sword on the waist and a modern, sophisticated musket underneath, capable of piercing iron armor at close range.

They seemed to be old acquaintances, and after a procedural check of the Priest’s identity, the Knight casually started a conversation with him.

”Not bad, after all, working for the Pope, the treatment is the highest, even those big figures salute and kneel to me... Also, Florence has already started snowing; it should soon spread here. I hope your armor is kept warm, Charles.”

The Priest slowly spoke, lighting a cigarette, the faint glow illuminating his cheeks, the light stretching along the scar at the corner of his mouth, spreading all the way to the nape of his neck. It was a fatal scar, making it hard to imagine what this Priest had encountered, and even harder to imagine what kind of persistence had kept him alive.

”Ha, they don’t revere you, Anthony, they revere the Pope you represent.”

Charles teased, his face mostly shadowed by the heavy helmet.

Though teasing the Priest, Charles still spoke with awe in his heart.

Here was the Seven Hills, and no one mentioned him here without feeling reverence, just like unconsciously closing their eyes when witnessing the blazing sun.

It was a radiant Pope like daylight. In the aftermath of the Night of the Holy Arrival, he made a decisive stand, steering the whole Evangelical Church back on track. Some attempted to secretly control this insecurely positioned Pope, but they were all eradicated by his thunderous methods, the entire Holy Hall Knight Order swept away all enemies overnight, and rebels were nailed to the cross with baseless accusations, both spiritual and secular powers firmly grasped in his hands.

Some say he was the least-like-a-Pope of all Popes, using sacred faith as a means to an end. Others respectfully call him the Emperor of Emperors, the most ruthless and swift man among all Popes. If he served during the most prosperous period of the Evangelical Church, perhaps the entire western world would already be under the Church’s rule, maybe even fleets like torrents would sail toward the mysterious Far East.

”I know; would you like one?”

The Priest smiled, feeling the holiness for whom he worked, the Pope, and took out a pack of cigarettes as an offering, but Charles refused.

”I’m still on duty; no need to cause trouble for myself.”

This was the Seven Hills, a sacred place, where living required adherence to some implicit rules and frameworks, with the Holy Spirit pressing a suffocating oppression, perhaps only the fanatics would be grateful beneath the searing sun that stings the skin.

”By the way... someone said His Holiness wants to rebuild that thing.”

Charles’ voice suddenly lowered, yet even so, in the silent night, his voice was as clear as thunder in the Priest’s ear.

For a moment, even breathing seemed to pause, the breath under the armor slightly disordered. When asking about this, Charles began to regret it, the man sculpted by the wind before him was like cold iron, his mind-crushing gaze penetrating the armor.

That was a night of fire, the sacred Seven Hills turned into a crimson Hell, as if God and Demon were battling there.

At that time, he was merely an Apprentice Knight, only able to see an endless stream of Holy Hall Knights surge into the cathedral, but afterward, Charles never saw them again, not even their bodies, as if they vanished into thin air, forgotten by everyone.

He was always curious about that night’s nightmare, some said it was related to a mysterious institution of the Church, others said it was dissolved after that night, but recently people said the new Pope decided to rebuild it.

But regardless of the truth of the information, this was not something Charles should know. Even if Anthony would label him a heretic out of old friendship, he wouldn’t be surprised.

A rough large hand placed on his shoulder, the Priest’s voice sounded.

”Charles, aren’t you causing trouble by asking these questions?”

The Priest’s gaze was icy, but he did nothing more, only warned by his ear.

”Charles, sometimes being a fool who knows nothing isn’t all bad; at least you can survive.”

The Priest tried to smile, but the ghastly scar seemed to impair his nerves, only half his face twitching slightly, carrying a chilling terror rather than a smile.

”Don’t think about these things, Charles; it’s for your own good.”

The monstrous smile remained.

”I... I beg you not to smile, hurry in, don’t keep His Holiness waiting.”

Charles was stunned for a moment, then as if nothing happened, joked with the Priest.

He could no longer remember Anthony’s normal smile, only vaguely recalled it felt like the gentle sun, but now he was no different from a ghastly Evil Ghost.

In the beginning, the Priest and he were from the same batch of Apprentice Knights, but as time went on, the Priest became the Pope’s right hand. In contrast, he was still just a guard. Sometimes he felt a little discontent, but after hearing the Priest’s words, Charles suddenly felt relieved.

Being a fool who knows nothing isn’t bad, at least he wouldn’t live as isolated and dreadful as the Priest, unlike that unloved Priest, Charles had a wife and children at home.

He stood aside, motioning for the Priest to advance, a wall of iron-armored knights opening a gap, beyond which was a tier of stairways, with a line of sight following upward, extending all the way to the apex, the enormous structure half-hidden in the darkness. It was so magnificent, the black silhouette was like a giant beast looming above the ground, hard to imagine the day it awakens.

Some called this stairway to Saint Nalos Cathedral the Path to the Celestial Kingdom. At first, the Priest didn’t understand why, but as he reached here and ascended those stairways, he began to understand.

With each ascending step, the dusty world was left behind, a serene hymn echoed, towering white buildings gradually emerging from the darkness.

The outer layer of the architecture depicted bas-reliefs of ghost gods, the sculptor at the time must have been stunning, as those ghost gods seemed to possess life under the moonlight.

At the top were the magnificent Celestial Kingdom and Angels, as the style of sculptures gradually changed along the walls, from gentle lines to sharpness, the Angels wading into the mortal battleground in flames. The edge of the wall’s base bore countless grotesque arms, stained with soil and moss, pinned into the Abyss by spears thrown from the Celestial Kingdom.

The white marble gleamed as if this battlefield truly existed, but by miraculous force, they were sealed within these stone bricks, constructing this worldly Celestial Kingdom.

The Priest’s emotions involuntarily became solemn, and with reverence, he passed the last step of the stairway.