Crown of Silence

Chapter 721: Heaven

Unexpectedly, Handel died tragically at the hands of the betraying Wolf Flute so early, and Rommel, who was stimulated, chose the dark trial sealed by the silent mechanism.

As the center of the world, the Holy City has accumulated a lot of wealth over the past hundreds of years, and there are countless ways to quickly improve strength. Even the Pope himself can help people improve their strength without any side effects.

And Rommel chose the most tragic one.

He himself is an advanced musician killer of the Forbidden School. After the transformation and surgery of the alchemical matrix, he has experienced several hellish torture transformations, and even his skin has ulcerated and peeled off several times.

At the cost of the complete decay of his body, it only took him half a year to step from the distortion level to the top of the master field, and then he and Ye Qingxuan broke through the scepter almost at the same time.

The difference is that his scepter was blessed by the Red King himself with the music "Emperor", inheriting the elements most suitable for "Handel", and then naturally inherited the holy name and position of his teacher.

However, before he took up the position of the head of the Silent Agency, he withdrew from the church at the instruction of the Cardinals, went to Asgard, and joined this war.

He himself is an Asgardian, and a descendant of the declining Blue Flame Clan, the only heir. It is reasonable for him to serve Asgard as a saint.

For Asgard, this war has more certainty.

But for him, it is also the beginning of revenge.

Because of this, the old musician is full of worries.

"Time is short, let's make it short."

The old musician turned to the main topic: "I'm afraid others have also told you about the next situation. If nothing unexpected happens, the enemy you will face at sea... is the friend of the rebel Wolf Whistle, Prince Avalon."

After he finished speaking, he looked at Rommel.

When the name Wolf Whistle was mentioned, Rommel's expression did not change at all, and he remained indifferent.

This determination made the old musician feel emotional. He could only say that he was worthy of being the head of the Silent Agency. He always remained calm, even if he was murderous.

"Don't use that name to provoke me, sir."

Rommel's eyes drooped: "Are you worried that I will lose?"

"Who is the enemy? I'm afraid everyone except the three kings will be worried, right?" The old musician spread his hands: "After all, who can guess what he will do next?"

"Indeed, Ye Qingxuan has a variety of methods, and I am not as good as him."

Without any arrogance or modesty, Rommel's answer was simple and straightforward: "But if he appears on the front battlefield as my enemy.

Then, I will tell you that I will win this battle."

He is sure of this.

Even if the enemy has natural disasters, don't the saints have ways to deal with natural disasters?

What's more, the situation is not that simple.

Even if Ye Qingxuan goes out in person, the Ether Net will definitely stay in Avalon.

For the non-combat type of national heavy weapons, only staying in the heaven on earth can I be assured and ensure that there is no risk. And Ye Qingxuan, who left the Ether Net, will fall from the natural disaster level to the scepter.

The weakest scepter.

Everyone in the world knows that once he leaves the etheric network, his scepter is useless.

A blueprint?

Which one is the strongest between the inheritance of the Holy Name...

Isn't this obvious?

But even so, no one dares to relax at all. Facing someone like Ye Qingxuan, no matter how serious it is, it is necessary.

"Since you are sure of victory, then I will stop nagging."

The old musician was silent for a moment, and then said: "I will hand over the sea fortress to you, and there are three scepters with you.

Mr. Rommel, I convey the order to you in the name of His Majesty the Emperor - this battle must be won.

If you return victorious, Asgard will spare no effort in supporting you and the revival of the Qingyan Clan."

"Then, I obey your command."

Rommel saluted the Emperor represented by the old musician, propped up his cane, and turned to leave.

Only the old musician was left sitting on the chair, staring at the huge map on the wall.

For some reason, he always felt uneasy.

He closed his eyes.

"Ye Qingxuan..."

——

The sky seemed to reflect the muddy gray on the ground.

The gray-black mud should have been fertile soil, but now it exuded a rotten smell.

"Lord, please give me salvation." The ragged refugee crawled in the mud and kissed Charles' boots devoutly: "Please give us liberation..."

Under the smelly bandages on the neck and face, there were abscesses one after another, which were disgusting.

The sound of wailing came from the wilderness.

Charles raised his head and looked around blankly, looking at those dull eyes, unbelievable.

"How can there be so many..."

"This is only a part."

Paganini said lightly: "Some are landless people, some are lepers, some are beggars, and some are bankrupt farmers... There have been years of drought, and last year's frost was so severe. They missed the spring plowing and have no hope.

The expelled people are worthless. There is too little land in the Caucasus to support the weeds, nor can they support them. You can't save them, and even if you save them, they will die."

Charles was silent.

The refugee in the mud looked up at him, and his expectant eyes were broken bit by bit. The man wanted to say something, but his cracked lips murmured, and in the end, nothing came out.

He limped away.

The sound of a child crying came from behind the victims.

Soon, the crying sound disappeared.

Ciel lowered his head.

After a long while, he looked back at Paganini: "How much food do we have?"

"We are going to open up wasteland, not to provide relief."

Paganini shook his head in disappointment: "There is not much food left. Everyone has a food quota. Now Gaius only eats coarse flour pancakes. Who has food to give to others?"

"How many more?" Charles asked repeatedly.

Paganini sighed and glanced beside him. The clerk flipped through the account book bitterly: "After excluding everyone's quota, we still have two pickles and five pancakes."

After hearing this, Paganini looked at Charles:

"How many can you save?"

"Yeah, how many can we save?"

Charles sighed bitterly, stretched out his hand, and looked at the clerk: "Give it to me."

The clerk hesitated for a moment, then took down two cloth bags from the car, took out two pickled fish, took out five pancakes, and finally took out a bottle of water.

Paganini said nothing and lowered his eyes.

There are at least 30,000 refugees wandering outside the country now, and there are 7,000 in this dilapidated camp alone. Not to mention five pancakes, even if everyone's rations were taken out, it wouldn't be enough to make a living.

Even if everyone in the country squeezes out a little food ration, how much can be saved?

Can only turn a deaf ear.

This is not laissez-faire or cruel, but because there are more important things to do and more important values ​​to preserve.

It wasn't until Charles walked towards the refugees with the bread and fish that Paganini stopped him. Not out of confusion or calculation, but as a suggestion from a colleague.

"Ciel, there are times when people are powerless."

He said softly: "Recognize the reality as soon as possible."

Ciel looked back at him and suddenly smiled.

"don’t worry."

He scratched his head and smiled self-deprecatingly: "If I really have that little bit of merit... it would probably be that I'm not a human being."

Paganini was stunned.

Standing in front of the stunned refugees, Ciel stopped.

The hungry refugees looked at him and then at the fish and pancakes in his hands. Their voices suddenly became softer and then louder.

That bit of food seemed to have some incredible magic power, causing the dark and skinny people to move forward, crawling on the ground, gnawing on their fingers, with longing and greedy eyes.

Then they saw Ciel pull out the dagger from his boot.

The cold light of the dagger was like frost, causing the surrounding refugees to stop.

Ciel was silent for a moment, then raised the dagger and cut off a section of his tail finger. There was a sound of bones breaking, and blood flowed from the fingertips. The severed finger fell into the gap between the wheat cakes and pickled fish. It probably passed through the gap and fell to the ground. No one saw it.

The blood fell into the water bottle and dyed the water red, as if it had turned into wine.

The dagger cut off a piece of cloth and bandaged the severed little finger. A smile appeared on Ciel's twitching expression, he bent down and placed the food in his arms on the ground.

"Eat."

He smiled and took a few steps back: "It's not enough."

The voices became noisy.

The skinny victims stared blankly at Charles. The next moment, the crowd surged, like a quagmire boiling. Those people crawled towards the food that fell on the ground, grabbed the bread, stuffed it into their mouths, and swallowed with all their strength. When his throat got stuck, he raised his head and drank the fermented wine.

Ciel took a few steps back and let them feast, his eyes pitiful.

Paganini glanced at it, then withdrew his gaze, his face expressionless, but the hands in his sleeves were trembling uncontrollably.

After a long time, he called the secretary, forced himself to calm down, and suppressed his trembling voice, "In a while... after they finish eating, go and collect the remaining residue. Don't waste it."

The clerk looked at him blankly, thinking he was joking. Paganini repeated it, and he turned around. After a while, the refugees finished eating, and the clerk came back with twelve baskets full of scraps.

A group of people gathered around the basket, admiring it.

But Paganini didn't look.

He was carrying the crowd and his face was pale.

Damn it, those idiots have no idea what this means...

After hundreds of years, I suddenly felt the urge to pray.

"God..."

He raised his eyes and stared into the empty sky. In his pupils, there was a blazing light, as if the door of heaven was slowly opening, spilling salvation.

That is Eden, the kingdom of heaven created by man.

Like an hallucination, he saw countless dead souls rising slowly and flying into the kingdom of heaven, as if this world really had souls.

It's as if heaven really exists in this world.

——

Ah ha, second update, I didn’t expect it!