Apocalypse Forecast

Chapter 476 - 414 Faith_1

The tranquil cafe was disturbed by a faint rumbling from afar.

The patrons sitting at their tables looked up uneasily toward the direction of the sound, but they saw nothing, and the street was peaceful.

The patrolling Guard politely assured those seeking help that it was just a minor incident that would soon be resolved, asking everyone to stay put and not to panic or run.

Shortly after, waiters carrying trays politely distributed Verification Bracelets and maps to the nearest shelters to each customer, their calm and prepared demeanor successfully soothing some of the disquiet.

"Sir, your Bracelet and map."

When the waiter got to the corner, he saw the person sitting in the armchair.

The gaunt man sat with his back to the door, looking down at the chessboard in front of him.

Regrettably, there was no one to play against him.

Only the shattered chess pieces on the board began to show cracks, and as the waiter approached, the last two pieces crumbled away.

Strangely, the glass chess pieces on the board seemed to be from only one side, and all of them were chariots and Bishops.

Only the lonely King was still held in the hand of the chess player.

When the player was focused, a strange Magic Power seemed to quiet his surroundings; no one dared to disturb him.

The waiter hesitated beside him, unsure whether to speak up. Then the man looked up.

In his sunken eye sockets were two piercing blue eyes that moved vividly, causing the waiter to take a step back involuntarily.

Being watched by this gaunt man felt as if something malevolent had fixed its gaze on him, making his skin crawl. Yet his voice was deep and magnetic, inducing a sense of closeness and trustworthiness.

"Is there a problem?" he asked.

The waiter hesitated, then handed over the items on the tray. "This is your Verification Bracelet and the map to the nearest shelter. Should anything happen, you can make your way there quickly."

"I will."

He smiled at the waiter and emphasized softly again, "I will."

His smile was kind and benevolent, putting people at ease. The waiter couldn't help but return the smile and turned to leave with a light heart.

Leaving him alone with the silent chessboard, pondering.

Until in his hands, the chess piece that represented the King also revealed a grievous crack.

In his daze, he thought he could hear a lamentation from afar.

He murmured softly, "The Ruler's lament? It seems not much different from the cry of the ruled."

"Don't you feel any regret, Mr. Morlando?"

Across from him, from the empty chair, came a deep and elegant voice, tinged with a restrained Roman accent.

The Phantom-like middle-aged man held an exquisite cane, dressed in formal attire, his temples faintly graying, neatly and sternly styled, with long hair combed back.

He asked curiously, "Or rather, the tragic end of the Superior you once believed in, does the spectator in you not feel the slightest bit of guilt?"

"Guilt? Why?" Morlando countered, "Because of my past faith?"

"Exactly," the elegant man nodded.

"I think you've mistaken something, Mr. Matthes," Morlando shook his head slightly, his smile mocking, "From the beginning, faith for humanity has always been a sneaky exchange, hardly equal or fair."

"Mere verbal praises, yet they expect safety. Just a bit of money donated, and they wish for longevity. A little earnest devotion, and they want the blessings to enter the Heavenly Kingdom—isn't that laughable?"

"Whether the object of faith comes from the Heavenly Kingdom or the Abyss, whether the promise is for Paradise or Hell, it doesn't even matter to scrutinize the possibility of those promises being fulfilled, whether they are Truth or lies."

He stated emphatically, "—The so-called faith is nothing more than the shameless greed of the weak—a form of begging and a desperate hope when confronted by fear."

Stating his views so candidly, he seriously asked, "If I'm already shameless, why should I feel ashamed?"

Matthes raised his eyebrows slightly. "Then, do you despise faith?"

"No, on the contrary, I," Morlando corrected him, "crave faith, more than anyone else! Because I am aware of my own weakness and incompetence, and I know my own limitations."

Morlando told him earnestly and seriously, "I want faith. I want to possess a powerful faith. So, whoever gives me Power, I believe in them. It's that simple."

Matthes seemed stunned.

He looked at his collaborator for a long time, then sighed with admiration. "Regardless of whether your words are reasonable, over the years, it has been rare to meet someone as forthright as yourself."

"Is that not good?" Morlando asked, "Or rather, is such naked shamefulness too disgusting?"

"No, I rather find it more pleasant," Matthes, supporting himself with his cane, leaned closer and chuckled softly, "Long ago, those preaching Priests would say—once upon a time, humans lived in the blissful Heavenly Kingdom, following the commands of God, living carefree lives, but they were not allowed to eat the fruit from the tree. Do you know why?"

"I'm eager to learn."

"Because only the sinful who have eaten the apple know shame," Matthes said, "Shame is something prepared for those with original sin—those with true faith would simply scoff at it."

Morlando laughed, "Do you think I am innocent, Mr. Matthes?"

"No, rather, both you and I belong to those deeply sinful," Matthes shook his head. "Where would you find pure Righteous Men like us, with blood-stained hands, falling into the Abyss?"

"So what's the point of this story then?"

"If one should seek meaning, then it probably only illustrates one point," Matthes laughed mockingly. "—From the beginning, the so-called faith was a lie."

BOOM!

A deep explosion came from afar.

In Morlando's hand, the crystal King chess piece cracked again, a deep blackness oozing from within, trickling over the face of the King.

As if it were blood.

"The King is about to die."

Mr. Matthes raised his hand, spread his palm, and between his fingers, a blood-red chess piece slowly appeared—a piece crowned with a holy Crown, clad in pure White Clothes, holding Rosary Beads, bearing the distinct likeness of Mr. Morlando.

"I believe it's time for your debut."

He slowly stood up, placed the chess piece in Mr. Morlando's hands, bent down, and whispered into his ear, "The last 'Bishop,' Your Excellency."

"I shall."

Mr. Morlando calmly closed his fingers and asked again, "What about you?"

"Hmm?" The middle-aged gentleman ready to leave halted his steps, turning back in bewilderment.

"Don't you plan to appear on the chessboard?"

Mr. Matthes then laughed, took off the bowler hat from the coat rack, and put it on his greying hair. "For those playing the game, there's no need to place any representative on the chessboard, is there?"

Mr. Morlando said no more.

Mr. Matthes nodded politely and turned to leave.

As he passed by a seat near the window, his steps paused slightly, as if unintentionally, he glanced down.

On the seat sat a haggard man with heavy dark circles under his eyes, dressed in an inconspicuous grey suit, frowning as he drank unsweetened black coffee.

He looked up at Mr. Matthes, who also glanced at him.

Both withdrew their gazes calmly and continued on their separate ways.

Just as they had done years before.

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「Twenty minutes earlier, above the Sea where the Group Star lay, the winds were calm and an eerie silence enveloped everything.」

And, within the heavily guarded Astronomical Society headquarters at the London border, identity and password verification occurred at the sixteenth underground level. Afterwards, passengers took a dedicated elevator. Once Source Substance comparison was complete, the old elevator began to descend once more with its passengers.

Straight down, and further down.

Ideal Floor·L8.

The iron gates of the elevator opened slowly as a middle-aged man in grey maintenance overalls stepped out, hearing the sound of a musical from an old television set.

A cold pizza lay discarded on the reception desk by the door, but the chairs were devoid of occupants.

Until the deep sound of a toilet flushing came from a stall, and an aging, portly Guard with a protruding belly emerged, shaking his legs before returning to his post.

"Application report?"

He flipped through the documents the middle-aged man handed over and checked the signatures. He then handed over a logbook for sign-in. After that, he took a pen, ticked a checkbox, pulled out a drawer, retrieved a set of keys, and stood up, saying, "Follow me."

The door to the storage room was opened.

The air was dust-free, with a well-maintained ventilation system keeping a constant temperature, and not even the slightest hint of mold.

Just pure, absent of any scent.

No sound to be heard either.

Only the crisp sound of their leather boots on the floor as they walked deeper inside.

Until finally, they stopped in front of a huge square cabinet. The Guard checked the number on the dust cover and nodded.

"[Code TS-7767], this is it," he looked back and asked, "Do you plan to use it here, or take it with you?"

The middle-aged worker in grey overalls replied, "Not taking it with me."

"Who will use it?" the Guard asked. "Do you need my help?"

"Yes."

"Then, just a moment."

The portly Guard reached out, pulled off the dust cover, revealing the well-maintained giant globe underneath—about as tall as an average person, fixed within four layers of brass tracks, and with additional scales beyond the usual meridians and parallels, confusing to onlookers.

Next to the globe was a small stove and Crucible, and a jar of sealed animal fats.

Soon, a fire blazed in the stove. The animal fats in the Crucible were heated, melted into a clear liquid.

Three minutes later, the fats boiled, radiating flame-like colors.

The portly Guard picked up the tongs, lifted the Crucible filled with boiling fat, and walked toward the ladder beside the globe, climbing up somewhat laboriously.

"Coordinates?"

"Eastern Asia, south side of the West Bolivia Sea."

The middle-aged worker looked down at the data on the clipboard and reported, "Longitude 124.35946… Latitude 2.7653475… Depth 1.95."

"And the time?"

"Three seconds from now."

So, three seconds later, the boiling fats were poured onto the globe's coordinates, and like an illusion, they disappeared without trace.

Done.

The portly Guard clambered down with some difficulty, shook hands with the middle-aged worker, signed off with two quick strokes, tidied up everything, returned the ladder to its place, and covered it with the dust cloth.

Finally leaving the storeroom and shutting the door, the portly Guard watched the visitor depart. Then, he returned to his chair and continued to eat his cold pizza as a melodious tune came from the television set.

A new show was starting.

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「Meanwhile, on the Endless Sea.」

The sky had broken.