The Divine Armor of the Old Century（Book 1）

Chapter 135

**The Seven Hills, the Grand Cathedral of San Naro**

The icy evening wind surged through the windows of this magnificent cathedral, lifting the white drapes with an invisible hand and setting the myriad of candles trembling, their flames breathing and dancing as if alive.

As the seat of power for the Holy Evangelical Papal State, the scale of the Grand Cathedral of San Naro far surpassed ordinary imagination. Towering spires pointed skyward like spears, the place brightly illuminated and echoing with the harmonious hymns that resounded day and night.

This was the world's most concentrated site of faith, the most majestic cathedral in human history, constructed entirely from immense, flawless white bricks, inlaid with gold and silver. Beneath this land lay the tombs of successive popes, making it a place of pilgrimage that all believers yearned to visit.

Some said that within this city-like cathedral, deep inside, there lay a great door that led to the holy heavens.

Ascending the history-inscribed steps, the long red carpet stretched unbroken to the golden icon, which gazed up at the dome, where the carved gods also watched the earthly realm. Even on the coldest winter nights, this place remained warm, the air thick with sweetness, and the solidified wax formed white waves on the ground, engulfing all faith.

A priest, clad in a black cassock, moved with a musket and sword peeking out with each step.

He seemed so out of place here. Though the priest was the most devout of followers, beneath his flesh lay the soul of a devil.

Managing such a vast structure should logically require many hands, yet each time the priest returned, everything was in perfect order, as if attendants had just tidied up. But no matter how you searched, it would seem you were alone, as if the unseen ghosts kept this cathedral running smoothly, a warmth that brought a chill to the heart.

The scratching of a quill on paper broke the silence. A man in a simple white robe sat behind a redwood desk piled with documents. There was no trace of steam technology here; everything retained the ancient and solemn air of centuries-old oil paintings.

A sea of candlelight surged around the man, swaying gently with the breeze.

The interior of the Grand Cathedral of San Naro was as vast and labyrinthine as a maze. Many functional departments of the Evangelical Church were housed within, including the Papal Hall that held the reins of power. Positioned in the upper levels of the cathedral, standing before the stained glass windows, one could overlook the rise and fall of the Seven Hills.

The priest did not disturb the man. He knelt silently on one knee on the red carpet, head bowed.

Time passed until the only sounds were the scratching quill and dripping wax, until a weary sigh broke the silence.

"Father Anthony?"

The man did not look up, continuing to write with a strong, determined hand.

This desk had once borne documents that decided the fate of the entire Western world, and now a new destiny was being penned by this man's hand, the current Pope, Senai Lothaire, revered as the Emperor of Emperors.

"Your Eminence," the priest responded.

"How are matters progressing?" the Pope asked casually, dipping his pen in ink.

"The heretics have all been burned, their remains cast into the Tiber River. No one will oppose our factory construction proposal now."

"And the old guard?"

"They realize the tide has turned and are preparing to flee abroad. Most were intercepted and executed on the spot for treason; a few remain at large, still being pursued."