Chapter 296-The Manga Pariah's Guide to Self-Salvation
The assembled knights stood in neat formation. The white of the Sei Curia stretched in an imposing tide across the open ground before the platform. The Holy Journey Knights, answering directly to the Pope, ringed the outermost perimeter—part guard, part watchdog—encircling the entire assembly in silence.
Every person standing here was ready to fight. Yet at this moment, none of them knew—or could have guessed—what they would be fighting for, or against whom.
Onstage, Ye Zheng spoke slowly, enunciating each word. Her penetrating voice seemed to pierce the heavy clouds overhead; everyone instinctively gave it their full attention.
"Every year on this day, the Saintess of the Hope Curia presents an offering to the god on behalf of the Empire, praying year after year for divine favor and protection."
"From the day I became Saintess at fourteen, I have presided over three Days of Prayer. Today is the fourth."
In front of Recording Devices, a number of people were scribbling furiously, capturing every word Ye Zheng spoke, their faces flushed with excitement. They had a feeling this would be news no less momentous than the Pope's revelation of the Dragon Bones' truth. The papers would sell out by tomorrow morning.
Among the many press outlets, only one remained perfectly calm. They sat beside their Radio, listening with absolute concentration.
Bespectacled Wen Xin wasn't holding her trusty pen. The editor-in-chief, once derided by peers as the Pope's mouthpiece, sat in her chair cradling a hunting rifle instead. The thin calluses on her hands rubbed against the unfamiliar weapon as she tilted her head up, as though waiting for a certain moment.
Under Ye Zheng's direction, they had been stoking apocalyptic fervor all this time—fanning panic while slipping in survival tips civilians might need in a crisis, along with doomsday-preparation guides. They'd even helped boost sales at the newly built factory near the Holy Journey Knights Order Base.
Ye Zheng had never told Wen Xin her true purpose, but words struck closest to the heart. From Ye Zheng's orders, Wen Xin could tease out certain hidden meanings.
Ye Zheng didn't lie. If she was stoking doomsday fervor, it could only mean one thing—the prophesied apocalypse really was coming!
If they were about to face the same catastrophe as five hundred years ago, no one could expect Ye Zheng to save every single person...
Wen Xin let out a slow breath and steadied her grip on the rifle. She had completed her phase of the mission. From here on, words were no longer their most powerful weapon. They would need to rely on something else.
The Recording Device's sound flowed gently through the room. This time, Ye Zheng's speaking style was remarkably warm—conversational, almost.
Last time, she had unveiled earth-shattering truths in a voice heavy with sorrow and compassion. But now she seemed to simply want to chat—casual, relaxed—lulling listeners into dropping their guard and hearing out a friend.
And yet, Wen Xin's grip on the rifle tightened with every passing second. She was too attuned to words; it was as though she could already glimpse the approaching fate hidden between Ye Zheng's lines.
"...Every year on this day, my frame of mind has been completely different. In the past, I always stood at Divine Plaza in the East District, eyes closed, hands together, silently reciting the prayers. This year is the most special of all—Divine Plaza is gone, and my identity extends beyond that of the Hope Curia's Saintess."
"I've been wondering: what face should I wear to preside over this occasion again, so as to live up to everyone's expectations?"
Ye Zheng furrowed her brow slightly, as if still troubled by the question. Her expression was magnified on the projection. Across the Empire, people shouted encouragement, comforting and rallying her.
Ye Zheng, far away on the platform, couldn't hear them. Yet she still wore a look of deep consolation and bowed her head in thanks.
She raised her eyes, brighter now, and took a step forward.
"I know all the expectations you hold for me. Sometimes they feel heavy. But I didn't choose this path because of other people's expectations. From the day I became Saintess and accepted the consecration, I had already set foot on a road destined to be arduous—and bathed in light."
"So I am grateful for your support, yet I refuse to let expectations become chains."
"This nation is riddled with far too many lies and contradictions. This precarious land has not left me the luxury of time to resolve them one by one—or perhaps this was never a task one person could accomplish. This land needs more awakened forces to reshape it, and I have a special mission of my own."
As Ye Zheng's words continued, some of the scribblers beside Recording Devices gradually slowed their pens. They exchanged uneasy glances, catching the scent of something extraordinary.
Inside the Imperial Palace in the upper district, the man sat alone before the Projector. Its white glow rendered his face even more ashen. His golden eyes were shot through with red veins. He agonized. He waited.
He could scarcely hear a word. Every fiber of his being was focused on awaiting Ye Zheng's verdict—on him, and on this nation.
Ye Zheng, the focus of every eye, surveyed the crowd below the platform. She knew she stood at a fork in the road. Whichever direction she took, a devastating price would follow.
And she was about to make the decision for everyone.
"Do you know what I silently recite during every Day of Prayer?"
Ye Zheng asked suddenly, a faint laugh trailing the end of her sentence.
Seeing the puzzled faces below, she answered: "Nothing."
Her tone was so matter-of-fact that most people couldn't immediately process how staggering those words were, coming from the Saintess of the Sei Curia—the reigning Pope.
"I was just moving my lips at random."
"I have never once prayed to the God of Hope."
The words fell. The venue went so silent you could hear a pin drop. Every eye widened without a sound; no one dared utter so much as a syllable of doubt, terrified their ears had deceived them.
The old bishops gathered in the Grand Cathedral of the upper district nearly dropped the divine statue beside them in their shock.
Ye Zheng took in every reaction in the room. She could picture the reactions of those beyond it, too, and an unexpected rush of exhilaration rose in her chest. The smile on her face grew more genuine—laced with an innocent mischief.
She suddenly recalled how, in her youth, when she'd been forced to kneel before the statue of the God of Hope and pray, she had fantasized about exactly this scenario.
She would spring to her feet, hurl the offerings and the statue alike at those old men's heads, and tell them—I don't believe in any of this junk!
Ye Zheng snapped back to the present and smiled serenely.
"It was pointless. I don't like wasting time on pointless things."
Heedless of the upheaval her words had unleashed, Ye Zheng pressed on: "The prayers, the holy vessels, the rituals for communing with the divine... all of it is fabricated. None of it can reach the god. It is nothing more than a comfort."
"There is no way in this world to contact the God of Hope."
Below the stage, some were already in tears, shaking their heads desperately, wanting to rush up and stop her from saying another word.
Ye Zheng saw them. She simply looked away.
"The God of Hope cannot hear our cries."
"Because the God of Hope does not exist."
"The God—does not exist!"
Ye Zheng's declaration was merciless, each word resounding, shaking the nation to its foundations.
In public squares everywhere, wails erupted one after another. Several people charged the Projectors, screaming, trying to smash them—to obliterate the cruel truth. Inside the Grand Cathedral, the old clerics had abandoned all composure, jabbing fingers at the machine and hurling every foul epithet they could muster.
Bai Muqing sat in a corner of some street, quietly maintaining order. She was surprised too—though only at her own calm.
She had once believed in the God of Hope so fervently that she'd despised Ye Zheng for lacking devotion.
Yet hearing Ye Zheng candidly confess her irreverence, Bai Muqing couldn't help but laugh. A small fixation from her adolescence dissolved, just like that, without ceremony. The entire Empire now knew that Ye Zheng had never been a proper "Saintess." Whoever had chosen her must be regretting it enough to bash their head against the wall.
Too bad. The God of Hope in her own heart had vanished long ago.
Bai Muqing's feelings were too tangled for words.
Ye Zheng was infinitely close to a being on par with the divine, yet she had chosen to step down from the altar...
Suddenly, Bai Muqing pressed her lips together. She rose, tilted her head back, and stood in solemn stillness—sensing something.
Inside the Imperial Palace, a heavy thud echoed. The Emperor collapsed to the floor, body convulsing, hands clutching his head, face twisted in agony as he let out incoherent howls.
Ye Zheng, Ye Zheng, Ye Zheng... Ye Zheng!
How dare you make a choice like this!
A madwoman who would throw away her own identity! Are you going to bury millions of lives?!
She had forced his hand. She was the sinner of this world!
The man curled up on the floor and roared.
Inside the Holy Journey Knights Order Base, chaos had erupted below the platform. The Holy Journey Knights posted at the perimeter and on high ground held the line with an iron grip. Their shock was no less than anyone else's, yet they remained faithful to their knightly oaths, holding order for Ye Zheng.
Ye Zheng herself—architect of the storm—still stood on the platform, composed and unruffled, though her downcast dark eyes brimmed with a trace of sorrow.
She shut her eyes hard. When they opened again, her gaze was harder and more resolute than before.
"The God of Hope watching over us from above is a lie. The savior chosen by the God of Hope is a lie. The world-destroying Demon Dragon is also a lie."
Ye Zheng continued, even though the vast majority had stopped listening.
"But every promise I've made to you has been sincere."
She murmured, and her heartfelt words drifted away, lost in the clamor of the upheaval.
Whether she was worshipped or despised—both were merely means toward her destination.
This world no longer needed the lie of the God of Hope to sustain it.
All at once, Ye Zheng's heart lurched. She looked up as though sensing something. A blinding white light flickered at the horizon, expanding in silence, slowly descending like a shroud.
Here it comes, she mouthed without a sound.
A white dome engulfed the entire space in an instant. The sky cracked open, and a pitch-black head with gaping, bloody jaws thrust through the fissure.
At the same time, white light flashed in dense clusters across every corner of the land. In the blink of an eye, the vast territory became a playground for otherworldly horrors.
The knights assembled below the platform stared in bewilderment, watching it all unfold. It happened too fast; they couldn't even comprehend why monsters were pouring from the sky.
"What sustains us is never the divine—it is always our own courage."
"Everyone, let us meet again safely when the disaster has passed."
Ye Zheng spoke her final words. She bowed deeply to the nation plunging into chaos, then stepped down from the platform.
Behind her, a majestic and terrifying Giant Dragon erupted from the earth!
Its colossal shadow instantly blanketed the panicked, bewildered crowd. Every person present gaped wide-eyed at the sight.
The Demon Dragon stretched its neck skyward and loosed a piercing howl, then bit clean through the head of the creature emerging from the rift. A rain of blood poured down.
Ye Zheng watched it calmly, letting the blood spatter her cheeks.
The Demonic Domains coveted the Demon Dragon's power. Drawn by the Emperor's invitation, the Demonic Domains would converge here first.
No justification was needed. Whether she was this world's sinner or its savior didn't matter.
Everything she had done was so that people a thousand, ten thousand years hence could judge today's choice from the freedom and peace of their world.
Perhaps her name would be lost to the river of history before long. But that, too, didn't matter.
"Stay alive, and we'll meet again."
The machines were still running. The man on the floor, consciousness flickering, forced his eyes wide open. He saw the Projector's final image.
The rain of blood wove nimbly through the air. The monsters plunging from the sky became part of a mountain of corpses and a sea of blood the instant they touched down.
Ye Zheng's figure was impossibly small, and yet he could feel with crystal clarity that her gaze cut through the carnage and was fixed on him.
Laden with killing intent as tangible as a blade.
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