Chapter 3: Prayer
“It is time for evening prayer now; I hope I won’t disturb you,” said Corleon.
“It’s alright, it’s alright. Please proceed with your prayer, priest. Don’t mind us,” said Ryan, although he had never heard Sir Borien mention any prayers conducted by the church priest.
He occupied the most space aside from Corleon, and the militiamen on either side dared not approach him.
Originally, Corleon intended to kneel and sit while praying, as standing for long periods caused his legs to ache.
However, given the current situation, he felt it would be better to remain standing.
He took out a piece of treated parchment, on which were some words hastily written the previous night.
“Merciful Heavenly Father, Almighty Lord, I bow before You in worship, like dust relying on the potter, like chaff yearning for dew.
You are the Lord of the past, present, and future, the Creator of heaven and earth. You set the world in motion with Your words, created the cradle of life with Your power, allocated the paths of the stars with Your wisdom. The seasons change in Your hands, and rain and dew descend from Your throne.
Your love reaches to the heavens. You teach us to love one another as ourselves.”
Corleon’s voice was deep and resonant, enunciating each word slowly and clearly, echoing within the church’s space, allowing all the militiamen huddled inside to hear distinctly.
Interest began to spark in their eyes.
Since birth, they had been rolling in the mud; where had they ever heard such impressive-sounding words?
The fact that Sir Borien could strangle an old ox with his bare hands already commanded their awe.
Therefore, in their boredom and amidst their inner fear and confusion, they gradually found themselves drawn to Corleon’s voice.
“O Lord, we are the people created by Your hands, yet we often stray from Your path, like lost sheep wandering from the flock, our hearts filled with pride and rebellion.
We despise war, yet Your shepherds cannot admonish the world with Your teaching that ‘blessed are the peacemakers.’
We cannot prevent war, but Your shepherds beseech You, Lord of Hosts, to grant strength to Your believers, so they may return from war.
All who undergo the baptism of war, who receive Your care, shall now and in the future, praise and pray to You.
We cannot prevent death, but Your shepherds beseech You, Lord of Hosts, to let angels receive the souls of Your believers who die on the battlefield, bringing them into the eternal dwelling You have prepared.
In that heavenly kingdom, where there is no hunger, no war, no sickness, and only Your eternal love, we shall live with You forever.”
Corleon continuously repeated this prayer.
By the third repetition, the militiamen gradually realized that Corleon was praying for them.
Soft murmurs began to rise, then slowly subsided.
However, their gazes became more focused.
Hunger, war, and sickness were their deepest fears.
Was there truly such a Lord who would bring them into a world without hunger, war, or disease?
They did not know, but they yearned for such a world.
Corleon did not turn around, merely concentrating on repeating the prayer until he had recited it twelve times, then he proceeded to the final passage.
“Accept Your words like spring rain, let the seeds of truth take root and sprout within, bearing the fruits of the Holy Spirit—love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.
I know deeply that whether in life or death, in the present or future, all is in Your hands.
May You guide us throughout our lives to walk in Your path, receiving Your guidance by day and Your protection by night, ultimately entering the eternal dwelling You have prepared, where we shall worship You with thousands of angels and all the saints, forever and ever.
May glory, power, wisdom, thanksgiving, honor, and praise be unto You, from now until eternity.”
After speaking, he traced a cross on his forehead, chest, and both shoulders, connecting four points.
He put away the parchment, then turned around to see a group of eyes shimmering with light.
Corleon understood that he had already planted a seed in their hearts.
“Priest, does the world you speak of, without hunger, war, and sickness, truly exist?” someone couldn’t help but ask.
A good question, Corleon thought to himself, pleased.
A gentle light appeared in Corleon’s eyes as he said, “Have you ever seen Venus rise, or the dew at dawn? When the first ray of light shines, the dew transforms into vapor and ascends, seemingly disappearing, but in truth, merging into the eternal sky.”
“Our lives are the same. In this world full of suffering, it is but a brief journey. The Lord’s kingdom is like that eternal Venus, where the streets are paved with gold, silver, and gems, the city gates never close, the water is sweet honeyed wine, the bricks are hearty bread. There is no hunger, no war, no sickness, only happiness.”
As Corleon spoke, their eyes filled with longing, and they swallowed hard.
Having only eaten hot soup porridge that evening, they felt hunger once more.
Ryan looked at these militiamen with a hint of mockery.
His family had once produced knights and had the means to send children to become knightly squires, and they had always been the most loyal supporters of the lord.
His family had cultivated him with the goal of becoming a knight’s squire, and the education he received instilled in him the belief that honor was everything—only with honor could one become a true knight, a noble.
And for that, he did not fear war.
However, he also looked at Corleon with a trace of reverence.
This priest, privately praised by Uncle Borien for his refinement and knowledge, was very likely the illegitimate son of a prominent noble family.
Compared to the old blessing rites that Borien had described to him in private, he thought this priest Corleon performed far better.
At the very least, now the eyes of those militiamen no longer held fear and confusion.
“Then, priest, what should I do to enter the Lord’s kingdom?” he asked.
“Do not worry. Tomorrow, I will bestow blessings upon you all. This blessing will accompany you and give you strength.”
“If you survive and return from the battlefield, then you must faithfully recite praises to the Lord.”
“If you unfortunately perish in battle, do not be afraid. The Lord’s messengers will take your brave soul into the heavenly kingdom, where you will enjoy eternal happiness.”
“But do not run away— the Lord of Hosts abhors those who flee in the face of fate. Such people will be shut out from the gates of heaven.”
Ryan nodded in satisfaction.
Compared to the traditional blessings described by Borien, he preferred this version that carried a hint of threat.
“But priest, if I am unfortunate enough to die on the battlefield, how will I recognize the angel who comes to receive me?” that same person asked again.
“Tonight I will speak with the Lord in my dreams and ask for His attention,” said Corleon.
“And tomorrow, after formally bestowing the blessing upon you, I will give you an emblem.”
“It is the Emblem of the Lord of Hosts. It will serve as the Lord’s temporary throne on earth. When your life ends, an angel will descend from the Lord’s throne to carry your soul into the heavenly kingdom.”
The one who had so perfectly cooperated with Corleon nodded vigorously, his eyes full of longing.
“But remember this— the Lord created life and loves humanity. Therefore, anyone who willingly abandons life, who forsakes the light of life, shall never enter the Lord’s kingdom. After death, their soul will be scorched and blown about upon the earth, until demons from hell drag them into the abyss, where they will suffer torment for all eternity.”
Corleon’s gaze swept over everyone.
He saw disappointment in the eyes of a few.
Finally, his eyes briefly passed over Ryan, where he saw a faint smile on Ryan’s face.