National Guardian's Gone and We're Done

Chapter 645: Chapter 436: We Were Wrong, We Shouldn’t Have Believed the Lies

The Pope departed, swaggering with nauseating arrogance and smug satisfaction.

No sooner had his figure vanished over the horizon,

than the Bright Holy See eagerly pushed its long-premeditated conspiracy to its climax.

They mobilized their vast network of media resources,

using every channel available—television, live streams, and massive public screens—on a global scale,

to endlessly loop the meticulously forged “city massacre footage.”

In the footage, a man disguised to look like Chu He emanated a sinister aura. He gripped the cold, gleaming Xuanyuan Sword in both hands as he wildly and mercilessly hacked away at innocent women and children.

Every swing of his sword was accompanied by bloodcurdling screams and splattering blood.

The crimson fluid spread rapidly across the ground,

and in the blink of an eye, the streets were mercilessly submerged in a sea of blood.

The entire scene was utterly gruesome. Every frame was like a sharp dagger, stabbing deep into the hearts of all who watched, instantly igniting their fury into a raging inferno.

This forged footage swept across the world like a sudden media firestorm, moving at an astonishing speed.

A wildfire of outrage spread through the populace.

Soon, crowds of people formed, surging toward Chu He’s manor in a massive tide, their anger like a torrential flood threatening to devour everything.

The crowd held up all sorts of signs covered in accusations,

and roared with deafening shouts:

“Get out of Great Xia!”

“Give us back our peaceful lives!”

“Punish the murderer!”

In this sea of angry people, individuals from all walks of life vented their rage in their own unique ways.

There was a beggar in ragged clothes, his body stooped. His hair was a tangled mess, and his face was covered in the grime and ravages of time.

At this moment, his bony hands tightly gripped a bowl so battered it was nearly unrecognizable. He held it high above his head as if brandishing a weapon of justice,

and roared with all his might, his voice raw and hoarse: “All this time, you acted so righteous in front of everyone. I even revered you as the guardian god of Great Xia! I never imagined you were such a ruthless, inhuman monster! This land of Great Xia will not tolerate a Demon like you! Get the hell out!”

His voice was ragged with anger and agitation, each word seemingly forced from his throat as the wrinkles on his face contorted tightly.

Nearby, a few workers in simple work clothes, their faces still showing the fatigue and sweat of their labor, were now flushed crimson with rage, like ripe tomatoes.

One of them suddenly bent down, picked up a sharp rock, and hurled it forcefully at the manor, shouting curses all the while: “We common folk work hard every day just hoping for a peaceful life! We always saw you as our hero, our protector, and trusted you completely! But you go and do something so unforgivable! How can you live with yourself? Can you face the heavy trust we placed in you? You’re a liar! A Demon!”

Following his lead, the other workers around him did the same.

In an instant, rocks flew toward the manor like a dense shower of rain, striking the walls with dull, heavy thuds.

At the front of the crowd were several wealthy merchants in extravagant attire. Accustomed to a life of luxury, they too had been completely consumed by rage.

One middle-aged merchant’s brow was deeply furrowed, the fat on his face trembling with anger like a quivering lump of dough.

He bellowed, “You’re dragging Great Xia’s name through the mud! Ever since this rumor started, our businesses have plummeted! Orders are being canceled left and right, partners are pulling their investments, and our losses are catastrophic! You must pay a heavy price for your actions and compensate us for our losses!”

His voice, shrill and grating, stood out starkly in the crowd, his eyes filled with extreme resentment and bitterness over his financial losses.

The Martial Artists who had once been in charge of the manor’s security now stood silently at the gates.

They wore uniform black combat attire and stood tall, yet now their heads were bowed in silence, as if their backbones had been ripped out.

Their faces showed a complex mix of emotions: deep helplessness at the chaotic scene before them, and intense doubt toward the man they once deeply admired, Chu He.

A young Martial Artist’s eyes were filled with confusion and inner conflict. His hands were unconsciously clenched into fists, his knuckles white from the pressure.

He couldn’t help but whisper to the elder Martial Artist beside him, “Master, could… could Lord Chu He really have done this? I’ve followed him for so long. I know his character better than anyone. I just can’t believe he would do something so cruel and appalling.”

His voice trembled slightly, carrying an unconcealable choke as he tried to suppress the tide of anguish and pain threatening to break free from within.

The elder Martial Artist sighed slowly and shook his head, a hint of helplessness and sorrow in his eyes. He spoke slowly, “Do you think I want to believe it? But the footage is so realistic… It’s like a heavy shackle locked around our hearts. How can we not have doubts? We always looked up to Lord Chu He as our role model, but now…”

His words trailed off, his eyes revealing deep helplessness and confusion. The admiration they once held for Chu He was now shrouded in a thick haze, plunging into an endless, dark abyss.