Chapter 649: The Continuation of the Rebellion Plan

The radiant barrier of light that had enveloped the Grant Cathedral of the Holy Light for days began to slowly dissipate. Countless pale golden particles drifted away from the dissolving energy shield, scattering into the depths of the night. Yet, within the fading barrier, the cathedral’s bells continued to ring out, their clear, melodious tones like an invitation.

The bell’s chime was hauntingly beautiful, almost beckoning.

Gawain stood in the plaza before the cathedral district alongside the two guardian dukes. Duke Bertram furrowed his brow. “Strange… The clergy should have emerged by now to meet the faithful. Why is the cathedral district so quiet?”

Gawain looked up, watching the scene through the drifting holy light dust. The cathedral district maintained an eerie, solemn stillness. No sign of the bishop or the high-ranking clergy appeared. Only a few hurried ordinary priests and attendants scurried between the buildings. In the upper corridors of the cathedral, some figures moved in panic. Something was clearly amiss.

As the three speculated about what might be happening inside, the grand doors—adorned with depictions of divine miracles and sacred runes—finally swung open.

But it wasn’t the bishop and high clergy who emerged, nor was it Pope Saint Ivan III. Instead, it was Veronica Morn, clad in a simple white robe. She stepped slowly out of the cathedral, approaching Gawain and the others, holding the platinum staff that belonged to the pope.

For a moment, Gawain felt a subtle dissonance upon seeing the “Holy Maiden Princess.” Though Veronica looked just as she had the last time they met, something about her seemed off—an intangible discord he couldn’t quite place.

That uneasy feeling was quickly swept away by a shocking announcement—

“His Holiness the Pope has been called to the Lord. The bishopric perished as martyrs during the divine descent ritual,” Veronica said calmly, her usual gentle expression unwavering.

Gawain and the others were stunned.

Indeed, the shock was greatest among those outside the cathedral—when the doors opened, the pope was gone…

“Martyrs… all of them?” Bertram stepped forward, disbelief in his voice. “Did something go wrong during the ritual?”

“The power of the divine descent is beyond mortal endurance. His Holiness was too old to withstand it until the end. To prevent the ritual from spiraling out of control, the bishopric sacrificed themselves as vessels,” Veronica explained, stepping slightly aside. “The cathedral is now open. The Great Hall of Light still preserves the scene of the ritual.”

It was an invitation to enter.

Bertram and Victoria exchanged glances, hesitated briefly, then stepped toward the cathedral’s main entrance. Gawain, snapping out of his momentary shock and contemplation, felt a flood of guesses and thoughts rush through his mind, all converging into a deep, searching look directed at Veronica.

The Holy Maiden Princess maintained her composed expression, meeting his gaze calmly.

Before turning back into the cathedral, Veronica noticed some changes outside the cathedral district—

The streets were filled with soldiers of the Cecil Legion. The royal banner of Ansu had vanished from the skies above Silverkeep. Where only the royal standard was once permitted to fly, the flag of the Cecil Sword and Plow now fluttered, illuminated by a beam of light in the night breeze.

Recalling that Gawain Cecil himself was present here, Veronica’s expression shifted slightly. She raised her eyebrows and asked, “What has happened in the city?”

“Great changes. The Ansu monarchy has ended, but it was a peaceful transition,” Victoria replied coolly. “The city now belongs to His Majesty Gawain Cecil.”

“I will explain everything in detail,” Gawain said to Veronica. “So much has happened—we need to sort it all out carefully.”

Veronica lowered her head, tracing the emblem of the Holy Light over her chest. “I have sworn allegiance to the Holy Light. I am no longer the Princess of Ansu. The change of monarchy concerns me no longer… The city’s survival is what truly matters.”

Gawain studied her for two seconds but said nothing, then strode toward the cathedral.

Inside the Great Hall of Light, the power of the holy light had calmed. A hazy, ethereal glow reformed into a cloudlike sea, drifting slowly above the hall. The pope’s throne was now empty—no trace remained. The only remnants were a dozen or so piles of ash scattered around the key points of the divine descent ritual. These gray-white ashes were all that remained of the former bishopric.

It was clear the intense holy light had incinerated their bodies, leaving only these traces. There was no sign of struggle or external attack within the hall.

Yet Bertram and Victoria, tasked with restoring order to the city and maintaining stability in the empire’s core, felt only a headache.

They couldn’t help but envy Wales, who had withdrawn in time. Bertram even speculated aloud—could the king have known about the shocking events inside the cathedral and thus decisively pulled back?

“By the gods…” Bertram’s face darkened. “I’d rather face those crystal cluster monsters again…”

Victoria glanced at him quietly, her voice cool. “Are you volunteering to defend the city again?”

“That’s not what I meant…” Bertram waved his hand quickly, then looked her over. “When did I realize you could be so sarcastic?”

“Just curious. Asking,” Victoria replied casually, then turned to Veronica. “So, there are no bishops left in the cathedral? How many high priests remain?”

“The bishopric has indeed all perished as martyrs, but the high priests are unharmed. The cathedral’s functions remain operational,” Veronica said, raising the platinum staff slightly. “I have been granted the staff’s authority and can temporarily manage the cathedral. But with the change in monarchy, the order of Saint Suniel must be restructured. The faithful need peace in this new environment. Many matters will require discussion between me and His Majesty Gawain Cecil before decisions can be made.”

“We can discuss them now,” Gawain said immediately. “If you have no objections.”

“Very well,” Veronica nodded gently, then looked at the two guardian dukes. “You may wait in the lounge.”

Gawain sensed that the Holy Maiden Princess wanted to speak with him privately. He told Bertram and Victoria, “You two should return to the castle and rest. We can talk tomorrow if needed.”

“Understood.” Victoria nodded briefly, then led the seemingly troubled Bertram away from the cathedral.

Only after they were outside, beyond the reach of the holy light, did Bertram glance back and say to Victoria, “Don’t you find this suspicious? Saint Ivan III was old, yes, but not so frail that he couldn’t endure the divine descent ritual… And the entire bishopric perished? I believe in their faith enough to accept martyrdom, but for no one to survive such a ritual… it’s too coincidental.”

“Indeed suspicious,” Victoria agreed. “But we have no clues.”

“Princess Veronica must know more…” Bertram hesitated. “But she doesn’t intend to say—at least not in front of us.”

Victoria was silent for a moment, then turned to face the cathedral. Snowflakes drifted from her hair as she spoke softly in the breeze, “But overall, this is a good thing.”

Bertram was taken aback, his expression complex. After a few seconds of silence, he gave a smile that was hard to read—half laugh, half cry. “Yes, a good thing… but so many things are happening at once, it’s hard to feel at ease.”

“A turning point in the era… perhaps that’s what it is.”

Inside the cathedral, Gawain and Veronica stood in the Great Hall of Light. Gawain glanced around uneasily. “Are we really going to talk here?”

“Rest assured, there are no unnecessary eyes here,” Veronica said gently. “Not even the eyes of the God of the Holy Light.”

Gawain looked at her deeply. “That doesn’t sound very devout.”

Veronica only smiled faintly and raised the platinum staff. “The staff, the bridge of the God of the Holy Light’s will, has accepted my control. No believer would doubt my devotion.”

“But I don’t believe in Him,” Gawain said. “Did Saint Ivan III really die from the divine descent? Was the bishopric truly martyred?”

“They gave their lives for their faith. By definition, that is martyrdom,” Veronica said calmly. “Would you regret their deaths? As a ruler about to reshape the nation’s order, the church’s sudden decline should be a blessing for you.”

Such words would never have been expected from Veronica—the devout Holy Maiden Princess!

Gawain stared into her eyes, finally certain that the dissonance he felt was real. But it wasn’t new; it was a constant, hidden beneath her composed exterior.

Something had happened to make this strange aura more pronounced today. Gawain, sensitive to anything “inhuman,” had noticed it.

Looking into her eyes, he felt as if he were staring at a doll—something almost human, but fundamentally different. This doll-like quality was something he had vaguely sensed before.

“I don’t want to beat around the bush. Who exactly are you—if you know what I mean—and what do you want?”

“Have you ever heard this phrase…” Veronica smiled faintly, speaking deliberately, “—Humanity will endure forever, even if it defies the gods.”

“Rebellion Plan!” Gawain blurted out, shocked. He had maintained his composure until now, but this revelation shook him. “How do you know that phrase?!”

The devout Holy Maiden Princess was aware of the Rebellion Plan? How? Had she obtained ancient knowledge? Was there a Rebellion Plan legacy within the Morn royal family? Or were there ancient survivors like Kamail?

Questions exploded in Gawain’s mind. Most bewildering was that a rebel—if Veronica truly was one—had become a devout follower of the God of the Holy Light and risen to the church’s upper echelons. Yet, on reflection, such a development fit the very meaning of “Rebel.”

An organization capable of dissecting gods and extending its influence into the most devout church—there was certainly a strong rebellious element at play…

“The Rebellion has never truly ended. As long as humanity endures, we will not cease,” Veronica said under Gawain’s watchful gaze. “You needn’t be so surprised—aren’t you already standing beside a living rebel?”

“Kamail…” Gawain frowned. “Then who are you?”

“That question isn’t all that important,” Veronica replied softly. “But if you’re curious, I can give you a name. ‘We’ were once called Ophelia Norton. You might not be familiar with the first name, but I’m sure the surname rings a bell.”

“Norton? The name of the royal family of Gondor?!” Gawain’s eyes widened. Suddenly, he felt overwhelmed by the flood of revelations today. “Ophelia… I don’t really know much about her. But what did you mean by ‘we’ just now?”

“That involves the splitting and recombining of souls, some secrets I’m not sure you’re ready to hear yet. As for the name Ophelia Norton… when you return, you can ask Kamail. He should be able to give you an answer that satisfies you.”

Gawain could tell that this rebel, who went by the name Veronica Morn, didn’t fully trust him yet and wasn’t ready to reveal all her secrets. He didn’t press further, instead asking, “Why are you telling me this?”

“To do what rebels do to the gods,” Veronica said with a smile, gently raising the platinum scepter in her hand. “For example… to bring the Holy Light back to mortals.”

(End of chapter)