Chapter 92: Pope Loruze
As the first ray of morning sunlight pierced through the gap in the curtains and fell upon his face, Loruze—a middle-aged man with short golden hair—awoke from his slumber.
He turned over and got out of bed, walking to the dressing mirror, where he tidied his hair with his hand. Gradually, a faint smile surfaced on his face.
Today was the day of his coronation as Pope. He had waited more than twenty years for this opportunity.
And today, he would realize his dream—to grasp the supreme power over both the secular and religious realms!
After the coronation, he would be bestowed with divinity and become an Apostle walking upon the land, gaining the essence of immortality while wielding formidable extraordinary power.
Just thinking about such a thing made it impossible for the corners of Loruze’s mouth not to curl upward.
At that moment, someone knocked on the door, and the respectful voice of Kakilis rang out from outside:
“Your Holiness the Pope…”
At this point, his voice paused briefly, as if he sensed something odd about his wording.
However, after realizing he couldn't quite pinpoint the issue, he continued speaking:
“The venue has been arranged according to your instructions. You may inspect it now.”
“Alright, I understand.”
Loruze’s composed voice responded as he began to dress and tidy himself.
Just then, his gaze fell upon a hardback book on the table.
It had a gray cover and several lines of script he could not recognize.
“What is this?”
Loruze frowned slightly, then stepped forward, picked up the book, and casually flipped it open.
The first pages were entirely blank, but soon, ink marks began to appear, forming line after line of complete sentences:
“Silquaya the Faceless, the fifth Outer God to visit our world.”
“First observed during the final years of the Koinsprache Empire, roughly a thousand years ago.”
As he read the text, Loruze’s brows furrowed deeper.
The contents felt both familiar and foreign to him.
He flipped a few more pages, and new text emerged again:
“King of Fate and Predetermination, Guardian of Order and Codex, Incarnation of Glory—Tinianbelles.”
“One of the ancient Dragon Kings, who once ruled the dragonkind alongside the Calamity Dragon and the Brilliant Matriarch.”
Reading these new words, Loruze’s expression grew increasingly bewildered.
Then, he closed the book and placed it back on the table.
After finishing his morning routine, Loruze left his bedroom.
Yet just before stepping out, he cast one last glance at the book on the table.
After a brief hesitation, he took it with him—
Though he couldn’t quite say why.
As the room sank into silence, a figure sat up from the chair, a plump crow still perched on her shoulder.
“Why did you follow me here?”
Sylvia’s voice was filled with helplessness.
“Master, Adela is more than capable of looking after Isabella. My presence beside them would only bring danger.”
“After all, I cannot guarantee that the Senator won’t detect my movements.”
The gray-haired puppet nodded silently, turning her gaze toward the spot on the table where the book had just been placed.
“Do you recognize it?”
“I do.”
Lakdevo nodded and explained:
“The Book of Truth. Every member of the Church of Omniscience creates their own Book of Truth and records the knowledge they possess within it.”
Hearing this, Sylvia nodded thoughtfully, her gaze turning deep and contemplative.
…
Loruze, having completed the final adjustments to his attire, stood upon a high platform. As he looked at the pitch-black mask Kakilis handed him, his brow gradually furrowed.
“What is this?”
His voice was filled with confusion, to which Kakilis simply replied:
“Your Holiness, it is tradition in our Church to wear a mask during the coronation. Though, I’m not quite sure why.”
Despite his bewilderment, Loruze still accepted the mask.
Then, a vacant look suddenly overtook his expression.
“Kakilis, what is the name of our Church?”
“I… seem to have forgotten.”
In the corner, Sylvia caught sight of Loruze wearing the mask, and the corner of her mouth twitched.
“What’s wrong, Master?”
Lakdevo asked curiously from beside her.
“It’s nothing.”
The gray-haired puppet shook her head.
But inwardly, she couldn’t help laughing.
Because at this moment, Loruze looked strikingly like a gourmet from her homeland.
…
At St. Ruls Cathedral, Loruze stood above the crowd, a black half-mask over his face and lavish robes adorning his body.
Below him stood four figures.
At the front was a middle-aged nobleman dressed with exquisite taste.
Yet his ears were slightly different from those of ordinary people—tapered to a faint point.
Standing beside him was a tall, red-haired young man.
His golden eyes were distinctly different from those of ordinary people, featuring reptilian vertical pupils.
Next was a mature woman dressed in a yellow clerical robe, her garments adorned with symbols and emblems of the sun.
Lastly, there stood a familiar figure—Lapune Vils, the Bishop of the Church of Machinery from the City of Alova.
At this moment, they were all offering their congratulations to the newly appointed Pope, Loruze.
Watching this scene from the back row, Sylvia clicked her tongue lightly.
“Too modest. The Pope’s coronation is actually being held in St. Ruls Cathedral?”
“And that nobleman at the front… why does he look familiar?”
“We’ve seen him before,”
Lakdevo picked up the conversation.
“He appears to be the Earl of Lancaster.”
At that, the corners of Sylvia’s mouth slowly lifted.
“Judging by his features, he doesn’t seem human. More like… an elf.”
“And that young man beside him clearly isn’t human either. Could he be the dragon from the ruins outside the city?”
“Perhaps,”
Lakdevo replied ambiguously.
For now, the grand prayer hall of St. Ruls Cathedral held only these few individuals.
…
Polite exchanges circled back and forth, with time quietly slipping by in their midst.
When the bell in the cathedral’s tower rang out ten times, the prayer hall underwent a new change.
Two new figures began walking down the long aisle.
Leading the way was a middle-aged man whom Sylvia didn’t recognize.
He wore a crown shaped like dragon horns upon his head and carried a tray covered with a black cloth in his hands.
Behind him followed a figure that was extremely vague and blurry.
She wore a cloak, and due to her illusionary, indistinct form, her facial features and figure could not be clearly discerned.
Only her right eye socket held a deep purple glow—tangible and solid.
At the sight of her, the corners of Sylvia’s lips curled upward at once.
“Oh? Does this have something to do with me?”
“I thought the one to appear would be the Child of the Moon.”
As the two figures reached Loruze’s side, the man wearing the dragon-horn crown stopped, held up the tray with one hand, and yanked away the black cloth—
“Honored Pope, allow my companion and me to crown you.”
At this moment, Sylvia, who had been observing this farce unfold from beginning to end, finally got a clear look at the object on the tray—
It was indeed a triple crown, inlaid with yellow, olive, maroon, and black gemstones.
But now, wisps of pitch-black aura continuously rose from the crown, lending it an eerie and sinister air.