Gun of Ashes

Chapter 841 62: Holy War

As the operation began, under the cover of Red Falcon, Eve successfully reached the assassination position. The crowd here was barely dense, but candles were burning everywhere, flames flickering. If someone could look from high above, they would be amazed to find a network of fireworks winding around the theater square like glowing trails, amidst the bursts of prayers, resembling an altar of an ancient ritual.

Standing on the circular steps, here Eve had enough view to observe the Pope on the high platform, behind her were aged stone columns, Eve leaned closely against them.

The ceremony had yet to begin, the temporarily erected platform was empty, this was the center of the theater square. Soon, the Pope of the Orthodoxy would ascend here, unveiling the ceremony.

"Are you nervous?"

Red Falcon asked quietly beside her, frankly speaking, he felt uneasy. Such an important task as assassinating the Pope being entrusted to the two of them seemed overly trusting.

"I'm okay, it's just getting dark soon."

With Red Falcon injured, the assassination could only be left to Eve. Unlike the previous reckless demeanor, Eve now was undoubtedly calmer and more cautious.

She looked at the horizon. The weapon's range was limited; maybe she only had one shot opportunity. If the light continued to dim like this, Eve lacked confidence in successfully assassinating the Pope.

The sound of faithful praying was continuous, although there was no specific time node, the increasingly fervent prayer urged the violin case open.

Inside was an exquisite rifle, designed much in the style of a Perpetual Motion Pump, with many curves resembling flowing steel. Judging by some details, it somewhat seemed experimental, with coarse edges everywhere. Through its gaps, one could see the complex mechanical interior, as if it was dragged out for a mission before it had time for exterior decoration.

Surrounded by bowing believers, plus Red Falcon shielding Eve, no one noticed the deadly weapon Eve had taken out.

This was the weapon called "Meteor," although it sounded quite awesome, its range was disappointingly short, only a bit more than a conventional rifle. Eve thought the Perpetual Motion Pump would provide some long-range weapons to assist in combat, like the Ascalon Heavy Cannons, so she wouldn't have to get so close to the Pope for a sniping attempt.

If there were truly a long-range weapon for assistance, Eve would likely be with Red Falcon in an attic somewhere, peering through a scope at the theater square, munching bread while pulling the trigger to end it all.

"So, what's different about this weapon?"

Eve hoisted the Meteor, hiding it under her clergy robe. The sole advantage of this weapon was its compactness, capable of disassembly, which indeed made it suitable for assassination from this perspective.

There was also an extended barrel and scope to equip. Once mounted, it resembled a long sword, supported by Eve on the ground.

"I'm not sure. We didn't even have time to test how to use it... What did Merlin say about this thing's origins?"

Red Falcon took out several bullets, these were special bullets for the Meteor. Different from conventional bullets, these were slightly elongated, adorned with intricate patterns and inlays, like a fine piece of artistry. No one could fathom why the folks at Perpetual Motion Pump pursued such artistic endeavors in places like this.

"Aim, shoot, he said this thing isn't much different from regular weapons. As long as you can pull the trigger, you can use it."

For some reason, Eve felt the operation had increasingly become absurd.

Suddenly, the believers became feverish, raising their heads in unison, like clockwork, giving off a feeling inexplicable in its eeriness.

Eve and Red Falcon both sensed the changing atmosphere. They fell silent, holding breath low, eyes fixed on the empty platform.

Is it starting?

Eve thought to herself and retreated slightly, hiding in the shadow behind Red Falcon. The cold metallic sound echoed as she set up the Meteor.

After a brief silence, someone gradually walked out onto the platform.

Miguel was expressionless, demeanor solemn, yet the surge of excitement within seemed almost ready to erupt from his every pore.

Oh, what a deep-seated wish this was, he was about to fulfill. He had longed for it for too long.

Overlooking the crowd below, believers one after another raised their heads, with eyes filled with fervor. All gazes converged on Miguel, as though light was attached to him.

This is faith, this is power.

Behind him, the believers hoisted the crown forged of gold. Soon the eyes upon him would witness Miguel don this sacred crown, becoming a servant of God, servant among servants.

"Let it begin."

Miguel told himself.

Like a spell, these words triggered something, therefore Miguel saw.

At the edge of his vision, at the transition of day and night, he saw a boiling light emerge from the horizon, like an explosive volcano, giant flames soaring skyward, swiftly followed by tangible airwaves swirling dust and debris.

They resembled invisible armies, engulfing everything along the way, systematically tearing them into countless fragments, shaking streets, shattering glass piece by piece. It's like a tidal wave, rushing through every crevice, until reaching before Miguel.