Despite the disdain in Leah’s heart, as night fell and she sat on Jon’s shoulder, looking at the distant Canonization Platform with her Hero, she had to admit that the Church was truly skilled at posturing and creating an atmosphere.
It was truly the Holy Church of Light, which had monopolized the faith of “justice” and the ethical order of this land for over one thousand years.
The night was gloomy, and the stars and moon were devoid of light.
The floodwaters had not yet fully receded, and the murky surface reflected the countless flickering torchlights on the shore.
The surviving victims and the believers who had come upon hearing the news gathered under the tall, temporary holy platform like a silent tide of shadows.
They were dressed in rags, their faces sallow from hunger, yet the same desire burned in their eyes — a desire for miracles, a desire for hope, and a desire for a distant, peaceful life.
The platform was built from giant stones and timber scavenged from the ruins.
The originally simple materials, under the blessing of divine radiance, took on a soft and holy milky white color, making the platform the only island of light in this sea of darkness.
In the center of the platform lay the Crystal Holy Coffin, which the believers had pooled their money to purchase.
Sleeping within the coffin was Ixu Nordlan, who had been an ordinary girl only a few days ago.
Now, she had undergone a complete transformation and ascended to the Divine Registry.
She wore pure white embroidered robes, and beneath her waist lay two layers of brand-new red velvet.
The edges were embroidered with the Goddess’s Seal in gold thread, and one couldn’t help but wonder if it would irritate her skin.
Jon, who had once stood side by side with her against the flood, felt a hint of estrangement as he looked at her now.
‘If she woke up and saw this, would she be happy?’
‘Sleeping in this holy coffin, what kind of dream would she have? A wealthy one? A sweet one? Or a peaceful one?’
‘Or… a nightmare?’
Unfortunately, the Hero’s inner voice was as faint as smoke, far inferior to the thousands of prayers and pious calls of the believers that gathered together like a mountain torrent or a tsunami.
The Cardinal Archbishop of the Thousand Rivers Province, white-haired and dressed in gold-threaded white robes, stood solemnly beside the holy coffin, holding a magnificent and intricately designed Holy Light Scepter.
Behind him were dozens of core figures from various parishes across the Thousand Rivers Province.
Their beautiful liturgical robes were as white as snow, emitting a faint glow like street lamps lighting up in the black tide.
Leah, however, felt they looked more like greedy giant insects gorged on holy light.
The evening bell did not ring.
Only the low sound of horns echoed in the silent night sky, solemn and long.
The sound of the horns slowly faded like muffled thunder.
The Archbishop raised his scepter high, and his aged voice, amplified many times over by divine magic, resounded throughout the valley like a great bell:
“God loves the world, as loving as a mother, as warm as the bright sun, and as holy as the clear moon.”
“God’s radiance envelops us all. Even though disasters descend from the heavens and calamities arise from the earth, and the floods have taken our loved ones, our homelands, and our houses, leaving us displaced, hungry, and anxious.”
“We have continued to lose in the face of misfortune, until today we have nothing left to lose.”
“But my compatriots! My family! Do not despair, do not grieve, for the Goddess has never abandoned us. The Goddess has always loved us.”
“As always, when the mountains shattered and the floods rose again, the Goddess sent down her merciful and majestic incarnation, who burned her own strength to become a candlelight, illuminating the way forward for us lost lambs!”
His voice was full of power and charisma.
Under the reinforcement of divine arts like “Exhortation” and “Preaching,” every word seemed to strike heavily on the heartstrings of the people.
The crowd began to stir, and low sobs and prayers merged into one.
“She is Ixu… an angel born of commoners who mastered magic out of thin air and stopped the flood single-handedly! She is a miracle bestowed upon us by the Goddess, the morning star that brings us hope in our hour of desperation!”
The Archbishop’s speech became increasingly passionate as he recounted the “miracles” of Ixu’s life — stories that had been passed around and constantly embellished by the believers.
From “being born with a piece of divine jade in her mouth and crying like a recitation of the Goddess’s name,” to “almost becoming a Sister of Light whose prayers could summon sweet rain,” and finally to “awakening the Angel’s Heart and using the Goddess’s power to calm the floods.”
A vivid and holy image of an “angel” was successfully constructed.
The emotions of the believers were completely ignited.
They shouted the name “Angel Ixu,” their voices rising wave after wave, merging into a frenzy that shook the rivers.
However… just as this atmosphere reached its peak, a sudden change occurred!
The river water suddenly surged, as if some invisible and angry force was stirring the surface that had finally calmed down.
Inside the holy coffin, Ixu’s body, which remained uncorrupted in death, suddenly emitted a deep blue cold light — it was a flowing, majestic, yet profoundly cold glow that possessed no sense of holiness.
Thunder rumbled, and dark clouds gathered one after another like a long dragon, as if a giant beast was roaring within the cloud layers.
And then… a torrential rain arrived.
Raindrops as large as beans, no less intense than those of a few days ago, crashed down, playing a dense rhythmic drumming as they hit the ground.
The sudden downpour stunned everyone, but the Archbishop on the platform reacted quickly.
He immediately shouted with fanaticism:
“A miracle! It is a miracle!”
“Angel Ixu, who holds the power of water, has answered our prayers! She is nourishing us with sweet rain! She is guiding us toward a new path of life!”
Suddenly, for some reason, the believers went into a complete frenzy! They knelt on the ground, weeping with excitement, and bowed frantically toward the holy coffin.
The Archbishop thought it was the power of his own words.
He was secretly breaking a sweat, cursing the damned rain for coming at such a bad time.
He had almost made a mistake, but luckily his professional skills were solid.
Looking around at the fanatical believers in the distance and the pouring curtain of rain, the Archbishop was the only one who did not look down.
He raised his arms high as if to embrace the invisible angel and announced with all his strength:
“God has answered! The heroic spirit is immortal!”
“I, in the name of the Cardinal Archbishop of the Thousand Rivers Province of the Holy Church of Light, hereby declare—”
“I canonize Ixu Nordlan as the ‘Water Angel’! Her holy remains shall be forever venerated by the people, protecting this land and its citizens until the end of time!”
The moment his voice fell, the believers became even more frenzied.
That fanaticism had even reached an inconceivable level.
Seeing this, the Archbishop was overjoyed.
Especially when he caught a glimpse of Saintess Yuna’s dumbfounded face in the crowd, he felt his future was bright.
‘Great, this is definitely the best performance of my career!’
He thought happily to himself.
Until.
A pale and slender hand stretched out from the holy coffin and grabbed his scepter.
The Archbishop’s smile froze.
He slowly lowered his head and met a pair of deep blue eyes.
Those eyes contained mockery, anger, and a certain faint, bright sorrow.
Ixu suddenly exerted force and snatched the scepter away, examining it for two seconds.
The magnificent holy scepter was actually bent and twisted by brute force in her hands until it became a metal ball.
The metal ball slammed hard into the Archbishop’s stomach, knocking him completely off the platform.
The boiling sounds of prayer gradually subsided.
The night was silent; not a sound could be heard.
Ixu supported herself against the holy coffin and stood up, steadying her footing.
Her thin figure exuded an overwhelming pressure in the dark night, like a mountain torrent or a tsunami.
The rain poured down from the sky, falling around her, but not a single drop dared to touch her body.
The believers and priests were all pressed down by her presence, not daring to lift their heads, as if in front of her, there were no gods in the world and all living beings were merely mortals.
“I told you long ago…”
“No one can be your savior. You must be your own saviors.”
A weary yet majestic voice resounded through the rainy night, clearly entering everyone’s ears like the tolling of a great bell.
She looked down with disdain, her voice carrying a surge of fury:
“Knowing that God is nothing but a lie… you still choose to believe?”
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Did the sea dragon possess her or something?