"Captain, please pay attention to the steps."

Walking straight along the passage at the back of the main prayer hall, there is an inconspicuous confessional room, in the center of which is an incarnation of the god that can be seen everywhere in Western Asia, a man symbolizing the image of the god holding aloft the Holy Grail, surrounded by the outstretched hands of his followers who are thirsting for salvation.

The young man called "Diligent" led the way with a candlestick in his hand, and Gaskorn followed behind him, looking like an emperor.

"Jusapé, what's the reaction from Simeng's side?"

Gascoen spoke coldly, and the young man named Jusapé did not look back, and stated in a flat tone: "According to the observation of the scouts, the Simeng people have not assembled a large army, and now they are mostly sent to the mountains with some cannon fodder militia. ”

"Really......"

Gascohen nodded, and this was what he could expect.

But time is not on the side of West Asia, although the statement of the unified voice of the country can be that the traitors of West Asia assassinated or abducted the Grand Duke, but the core high-level is very clear that Tilda is not really dead.

For West Asia, this is a major strategic failure.

But it has already happened, and it is neither possible nor realistic to recklessly wage a full-scale war against Simeng, and besides, the Church has more important things to do at the moment.

"When the remnants of the Grand Duke's Mansion are cleared, the life or death of the saint will not matter."

As he spoke, Jusapé raised his hand and gently groped around the avatar of the Divine Lord, touching a certain place on the pedestal and tapping lightly, and a crackling sound sounded.

The heavy stone statue slowly turned, and with the sound of huge stones grinding against each other, a deep entrance appeared in front of Giusapé and Gascohen.

"Captain, please."

Jusapelli was bowing his head and raising his hand to make way for a passage.

Gascoen smiled and walked slowly into the deep entrance to the dungeon.

Red.

The walls shimmered scarlet, the air smelled sweet, and a large high-backed chair sat in the middle of the underground chamber, and on the chair upholstered with dark red velvet sat a skinny old man.

It almost looked like a dead man, and if he hadn't been muttering something in anger, everyone would have thought that the scrawny old man had been dead for a long time.

The old age spots on his face looked as terrifying as corpse spots against the edematous and muscleless skin.

Gascohen walked up to the high-backed chair and bowed his head respectfully:

"Your Majesty, are you alright?"

There was no answer.

Pope Byervis, the nominal supreme religious leader of the Episcopal Church.

For the people, His Majesty the Pope has been ill for too long, and his health has long been part of the people's daily prayers.

And at this moment, this king of religion, who should have stomped his feet and shook the country, just sat on this tall papal chair and did not react at all.

"Bishop Gascoen reports to you that, after a fair vote of nine bishops, I myself have been elected by my colleagues out of trust to be the chief of the Knights of the Anglican Order, and I beg me to expect your blessing."

Gascohen said to himself disappreciatively, stepped forward and grabbed the Pope's thin wrist, slapped it on his shoulder, and smiled with a smile: "Ah, thank you, thank you for your blessing and trust, Your Majesty the Pope." ”

The Pope's hand slipped limply from Gascohen's shoulder like a dead squid's tentacles, and his old throat murmured half-dead:

Hannah...... Chinese...... Na ......"

"Hannah?"

Gascoen bowed his head: "Oh, please do not be sad, our beloved chaste knight, Sister Hannah, who has died tragically at the hands of our enemies. ”

After he said this, the Pope, who was like a dead corpse, finally had a slight reaction, and he raised his head slowly and laboriously like an old machine, and his pupils, which had already been clouded like cotton wool, looked at Gascohen in front of him in confusion:

"O'...... Prevent......? ”

"Oldu?"

Gascoen sneered fiercely: "Your temperance knight Audu has been captured, and even if he doesn't die now, I'm afraid his time is running out." ”

As if it had taken time to comprehend what Gascohen had said, Pope Barves stared motionless at the floor, a foul and hoarse voice squeezing out of his throat in pain like a cry.

"Tilda...... Save them...... Ty......"

"Tilda?!"

Gascohen exaggerated a painful expression: "Our holy woman, either dead or about to join the enemy, no one will be saved, do you understand!" My Majesty! ”

He went a little crazy, grabbed the stinking dirty robe that Pope Bylvis was wrapping around, and yelled with excitement and paranoia: "No! The church is gone! We're going to have to save ourselves, do you understand?! ”

Obviously, the current Pope Barves can no longer understand such a statement.

He looked like a demented old man, with great anguish and bewilderment on his face, and at last timidly retreated back into the depths of the papal chair, reverting to his original form, as if in mourning, repeating the names of Hannah and Oddu.

"Tsk."

Gascoen pursed his lips disdainfully, straightened up, raised his right leg, and slammed the tall papal chair in front of him.

With a bang, the papal chair actually turned, and it turned out that a huge stone disk that could be rotated was attached to the bottom of the tall seat, which was kicked by Gascohen, and the heavy solid disk turned, exposing the back of the papal chair.

It was a chair sitting back to back on the other side.

It is exactly the same as the Pope's chair, sharing the tall back in the middle.

The difference is that on this chair, there is a little boy sitting.

Berta.

His abdomen had been cut open in the middle, muscles and veins were wrapped around a metal object like tangled branches and roots in the wound in his abdomen, and the entire chair was dripping with blood oozing from his abdomen.

The excessive blood loss made Porta's face extremely pale, not to mention a child, such a blood loss, even an adult is enough to die two or three times.

The flesh that was entangled in his abdomen was the Holy Grail that had once been held in Gascohen's hand.

"Didn't you say you were ready?"

Gascoen frowned, his face became much more ugly, and he turned to look at "Diligent" Jusapé behind him, and his tone was clearly a little reproachful.

"It's ready."

Jusapé replied meticulously, and before Gascohen could ask anything more, he took a few steps forward, walked to a cage deep in the room, raised his leg and kicked the top of the cage, and reached out to fish out a wrist-thick chain:

"This carrier needs some small help, please."

The chain was handed to Gascohen, and at the other end, a woman naked, with a metal collar around her neck, was lifted out of the cage by Jusapé and put on the ground, kicking her ass violently, and letting out a whimper of pain.

Hearing this voice, Porta, who was already "dead" in the chair, actually opened his eyes.

"Mom...... Mom......"

Gascohen's eyes lit up and he grinned: "Ah, the faith that wants to save my mother!" So you're the carrier? ”

He switched the chain from his right hand to his left, gently rubbed Porta's hair, grabbed his weak palm again, lowered his head and kissed lightly on the back of his hand:

"Touching, new Son, I assure you that as long as you hold fast to this faith in saving your Mother, my Lord will come upon you after all."

"Soon, soon."

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