Sword of Dawnbreaker

Chapter 368 - 367: The Fading Holy Light

Bishop Megal, whose name happens to be the same as the Pope of the Church of Dreams seven hundred years ago, is the head of the church in the central parish. Wright is not unfamiliar with this name—the church edict that ordered him to preach at the southern borders was signed by Megal.

However, the Bishop Megal who signed that edict likely does not even know someone like him exists, as the bishop has many items to sign each day.

In front of Wright, the Holy Light cleric sternly explains the reasons for his judgment, his tone indisputable, his expression devout. Meanwhile, the man declared an evil heretic sobs quietly, possibly because a soldier’s heavy kick broke his rib, his voice filled with immense pain. A woman in a tattered dress tries desperately to plead for the soldier to release her husband, but the decree’s silent spell still binds her throat, rendering her voiceless.

Wright fell into brief silence.

So, the tales from those fleeing from the Plains of the Holy Spirits to the southern borders are true.

So, the rumors brought by the merchants, about the Holy Light persecuting the followers of Otherworldly God and amassing wealth in the Plains of the Holy Spirits, are also true.

He raises his head, looking at his "church comrades," and asks aloud, "Will they face a trial?"

"They’ve already undergone judgment," the priest says rather casually, "What I just said was the judgment."

"Then what will they face?" Wright asks again.

"Do I even need to spell it out?" This time, one of the soldiers speaks, "The man is taken to the square for a beating, the woman is locked in the Water Prison for a few days. Then we see if they’re willing to confess. After confessing, they’re sent to the town church, and then the priests will take over."

"The Holy Light will give them a chance," the priest wearing the white, gold-edged soft hat adds, probably thinking Wright is a dedicated monk from a remote monastery, his tone dripping with impatience, "They can convert to Holy Light, hand over half their property as Indulgence Money, and become innocent folks. Or they could refuse—their souls will then be tested by the flames."

That last remark seemed humorous, and the two soldiers couldn’t help but laugh.

Wright silently glanced at the priest before him and then at the two soldiers beside him. He could tell these soldiers were not the church’s royal temple Knights but rather private soldiers of the local leader—soldiers accompanying priests to seize people likely meant the local leader also gained plenty from the Indulgence Money.

"You must have caught quite a few people this way," he says to the priest with the white-gold edged soft hat, more calmly than ever, "How much gold coin could you earn from a poor commoner like this?"

The priest couldn’t help but frown, a hint of vigilance suddenly flashing across his face: "Brother, it’s not your place to worry about that—this is Reilwen Church’s territory."

"Oh," Wright nods, glancing at the position of the two soldiers nearby, "The Holy Light asked me to share a message with you."

The two soldiers exchanged a bewildered glance, and the priest with the soft hat instinctively sensed danger, placing his hand on the emblem on his chest: "What do you intend to do?"

Wright says calmly, "The Holy Light tells us to stand up against evil—"

As those words fall, he suddenly twists his body and lifts his arm, his massive fist whipping through the air like a stone bullet, crashing toward the head of the closest soldier!

The soldier seemed to be frozen in horror, having long been stationed in the peaceful Plains of the Holy Spirits, only wielding sword to scare civilians. Caught off guard by this sudden attack, he didn’t even react—only hearing a loud bang as the fist descended upon his helmet—the steel helmet resonating like a bell around the soldier’s head, and he flew sideways.

Before he airborne, the soldier had already fainted, his helmet dented as if struck by a warhammer.

After one punch, Wright didn’t hold back, using the momentum to spin half a circle, sweeping a leg toward another soldier. This one finally reacted, jumping back in panic, and swiftly drawing his single-handed sword from his waist to strike at Wright!

Wright faced the sharp steel blade without fear, his hands suddenly glowing with pure white light. He reached out directly, grabbing the steel blade with his bare hand, Holy Light surging through his palm, forming a solid barrier. The soldier was shocked to find that his full-force thrust was caught by the robed priest—his sword stuck as if wedged in a wall’s crevice, no amount of force could pull it free!

Wright had sworn not to use Holy Light to harm, but it didn’t mean he couldn’t use it to defend against foes.

At this moment, a rush of magic power suddenly emanated from behind him. Wright didn’t even turn his head, gripping the sword blade tightly, causing cracks to crawl over the steel weapon. He pulled and yanked, dragging the soldier to him, removing his shield with a swipe, and effortlessly grabbing the soldier’s neck—like holding a chick, tossing the soldier towards the priest’s direction.

The priest in the white-gold edged soft hat stared in shock, quickly gathering a sacred Impact, but the blazing light only hit the soldier, the Holy Light Power striking his chest prompted a miserable scream before he fainted in mid-air, while the priest who had unleashed the Divine Arts could only clumsily sidestep.

Before the priest could steady himself, Wright rushed forward.

"The Holy Light tells us that bullying the weak should be despised!"

With these words, a massive fist pummeled the priest’s chest, but a barrier emitting faint gold light promptly appeared, shielding him from the heavy blow, his body flying backward, disintegrating the sacred shield, scattering like blood.

Wright didn’t give the priest a chance to get up, charging ahead and using his significant physical advantage to press the priest into the dirt before raising his fist high.

"The Holy Light tells us that slander and framing are worse than robbery!"

The fist smashed down heavily, and the terrified priest gathered a shield faster than he’d ever done before, only to see the shield cracked with numerous tiny fissures in the next second, countless light specks flying off.

The priest wanted to curse out loud, and he wanted to chant a counter-spell, however, an overwhelming sense of oppression shook his thoughts, preventing him from uttering a complete sentence—Wright was too familiar with the priest’s combat strategy, and he certainly would not give the priest any chance to resist.

The heavy fist was raised once more, smashing against the flickering Holy Light Shield with a whistling wind—

"The Holy Light tells us, greedy hoarding is closest to a beast!" "Bang—"

"The Holy Light tells us, committing evil in a holy name is worse than doing evil in a wicked name!" "Bang—"

"The Holy Light tells us, if unjust actions go unpunished, it is no different from committing evil!" "Bang!"

The heavy fist shattered the precarious Holy Light Shield, and the divine glow could no longer protect the priest lying in the dirt, Wright punched the terrified face, causing blood to gush out instantly.

Wright grabbed the priest by the collar, pulling him close, and stared into his eyes as he asked word by word: "Do you remember everything the Holy Light teaches you?"

The priest’s face was covered in blood, and his terrified eyes seemed to be looking at a madman, stuttering words squeezed from his throat: "Re... remember..."

"No, you don’t remember," Wright shook his head, pressing the priest back into the dirt as his right fist rose high again and slammed down, "you’re just scared of me hitting you."

With a thud, blood gushed from the mouth and nose of the priest dressed in a white robe and a white hat with golden edges, and he finally passed out completely.

"The Holy Light teaches us to practice restraint."

Wright sighed softly as he slowly stood up.

At some point, the layer of Holy Light used to protect himself had disappeared from around him and his fists.

He walked towards the couple of civilians, bending down to check their condition, but the first thing he heard was a low exclamation from the woman—the silence spell cast on her had finally failed.

"Don’t be afraid, you are safe now," Wright said softly, carefully checking the man’s injuries—the young farmer’s face was covered in bruises and blood, obviously having been beaten before being dragged out, but his most serious injury was clearly a kick from a soldier’s iron boot, as he was breathing painfully, clutching his chest: his ribs were indeed broken.

Wright knew how to set bones, tending to the man’s injuries, advising him to remain still, and then quietly praying for a response from the Holy Light.

A faint glimmer appeared in front of him, and it almost vanished in an instant.

Wright paused for a moment, seemingly realizing something.

But he said nothing, instead taking out the prepared Holy Water and Healing Charm from his pocket, using the power of these magical items to finally heal the man’s injuries.

"Tha... thank you..." The young farmer got up from the ground, his face pale as he thanked, though not knowing what had happened, he at least realized that this seemingly priestly figure was the one saving him.

"You should leave this village," Wright accepted the thanks, reminding them, "you can no longer live here."

He knew that the events here would soon reach the church and the leader’s ears, and the villagers who witnessed the confrontation from afar would surely go to report it, despite he being the one who acted, the leader and the priests in the church wouldn’t care about that—and even if this conflict hadn’t erupted, Wright knew that the survival of this couple here was impossible.

They had already been branded with unjust charges, labeled as heterodoxies by the Holy Light Church, and the only outcomes they faced were twofold, either to be burned at the stake, or to confess and change their beliefs in the church, then hand over half their property as "Indulgence Money," but for them, such impoverished individuals, could they still survive after giving up half their belongings?

Their land would be confiscated and turned into the church’s or leader’s property, and their houses would meet the same fate, leaving them—as the best scenario—as serfs, continuing to farm land that no longer belonged to them—the worse outcome would be to die of cold and hunger come wintertime.

All of this had been predestined before Wright had arrived.

"But where can we go..." The woman, clad in a rough-skirt, twisted her clothing in despair, never having left the village in her lifetime, unable to envision any way to survive, "Where can we survive..."

"I learned carpentry," the young farmer said, "but the leader would surely capture us back..."

"Go to the Cecil Clan, in the south," Wright suddenly said, "there you can find a way to live."

"Cecil Clan?" The couple exchanged a glance, uninformed and ignorant about the existence of developing new regions.

Wright took a deep breath and slowly exhaled, looking at the pair earnestly as he said, "I will take you there."

(Recommending a book, "Quadruple Split," a game-based novel, with the main character having peculiar traits of literal schizophrenia, a remarkably imaginative book. The author Weiye Wutong happens to be a reader in my group, not sure if anyone knows him... Although I only recently learned he’s writing, I decided to give a vote of confidence, in case it becomes popular.)