Chapter 324: A Nobody

The news of the old Pope collapsing after just one night out of the Temple was even faster than a carrier pigeon, and its route detoured past Madam Hilda’s washing tub.

Madam Hilda had been washing clothes for the Temple for ten years, and every morning she went into the back door to carry out a bundle of ceremonial robes.

This morning the bundle was the same, but the maid’s face was completely drained of blood. After shoving the bundle into her hands, she leaned in to whisper a story, and after telling it, forced her to swear by the Gods that she would not breathe a word to anyone.

Madam Hilda swore immediately, and after swearing, she carried the bundle back to Coal Wharf alley, recounting it to seventeen people along the way. Which God witnessed it was unknown, but the whole alley witnessed it fully!

Recently in Cathalan, any news passing through Madam Hilda’s mouth spread faster than post horses, and every piece of news had to be brought out to discuss under the lamppost at the head of the alley to get to the bottom of it. Since the day of the name-eating lamp, every night the people of Coal Wharf alley went there to sit, some practicing writing, some mending clothes, some gossiping, crowded like a festival.

"Aged several decades in one night?"

"Probably got his age sucked away by an evil god!"

"Sucked my foot!" Bartholomew, the coal porter, brushed it off immediately: "That old man lived an extra several decades, now having to return it is more like it!"

"Oh dear..." An old woman sitting mending clothes suddenly dropped her needle: "Then the offerings my family has paid to the Temple for decades were paid to whom?"

The whole lamppost fell silent. No one could answer the old woman.

Old Jonas sat under the lamppost listening to everything, saying nothing. Now he was a salaried teacher for the whole alley, at the end of the month someone from Lyra would bring money right to the spot, signing for receipt properly, so he had learned the demeanor of a literate person, having to think before speaking.

Only after a long while did he mumble that whose age it is then that person keeps it, just like whose name it is then that person writes it, mistakenly holding someone else’s then sooner or later must spit it out.

Kit was busy sitting guarding the lamp. Now he could write Madam Hilda’s name, Old Jonas’s name, and even the yellow dog’s name at the head of the alley, however, writing on behalf did not count for the lamp, so he only wrote on the ground to relieve his itchy hands.

Yesterday there was a fish seller from the next alley intending to write his name twice to make the lamp brighter, and was grabbed by his shirt and dragged all the way to the head of the alley by him.

By noon, the Temple bell rang a long bout, long enough that the entire Royal Capital had to stop their hands and listen.

On the square in front of the Temple doors, under the blazing sun, a pillar of white light from high above suddenly plunged straight down onto the Temple steps. The light dissipated, leaving a person three times taller than an ordinary person, wearing white armor, with six light wings spreading out behind his back, and facial features so blindingly bright that no one could see clearly.

The Temple doors swung wide open. The Pope was supported out by two servants lifting him by his armpits, his back hunched over, even the velvet hat on his head was worn crookedly. As soon as he saw those six wings, he knelt dropping down onto the steps, his tears and snot streaming down.

[You haven’t abandoned me...] He tremblingly thought: [You still haven’t abandoned me...]

Across the river, the Royal Palace windows swung wide open since the bell rang. His Majesty the Emperor stood by the window, his head still wearing a hat. Count Thorne stood behind him, his hands clasped before his belly, looking at the six wings on the Temple steps without saying a word.

[The God of Light I have never met.] Thorne thought: [But the purple-haired person in the Archive House basement I have met. And they didn’t need to threaten blinding anyone’s eyes.]

"Oh children of the God of Light!"

The voice rang like a bronze bell, loud enough that the tiles on the roof rows around the square rattled: "An evil god has deceived you. Within three days, every country must smash all statues of the evil god. Anyone disobeying orders will be blind for generations, never to see the light again!"

"And those demonic lamps in this city, within tonight must be chopped completely down!"

Saying that he raised a hand. The whole square was blindingly bright as if someone had poured a hundred suns down, several people standing nearby covered their eyes crying out in pain, some people were so scared they immediately knelt down onto the ground.

"The God of Light has truly manifested!"

"I’m dead, last night I just bowed to the horned statue..."

"So now do we smash or not smash?"

"Chopping down the lamps then tonight what do we take to light?"

Madam Hilda stood amidst the crowd, her two hands tightly hugging the unwashed ceremonial robe bundle. She was truly afraid of going blind, but thinking of the scene tonight the whole alley sitting in darkness like twelve years ago, she was even more afraid.

Kit squeezed through the crowd all the way up to the front row, craning his neck looking at that six-winged person for a very long time, looking with the eyes of a kid who for so long had sat guarding the lamp every day.

"Are you a real God?" He asked loudly: "A real God then write your name onto the lamp leaf go!"

The whole square suddenly fell silent. In Cathalan now, other matters might be unknown, but the rule of the name-eating lamp even the yellow dog at the head of Coal Wharf alley knew by heart.

Old Jonas hurriedly squeezed up standing behind the kid, his two knees trembling violently, but his teacher’s voice was still as clear as reciting a lesson: "Sir, this lamp eats names. Whose name that person writes, writing on behalf does not count."

The six-winged person looked down at the two tiny human figures under his feet, disdainfully pointing a finger toward the lamppost at the corner of the square. On the nearest dangling white leaf immediately appeared a text line made of light: Envoy of the God of Light.

The lamp remained completely unresponsive as before, the purple light speck inside the fruit core could not budge a single millimeter.

"Sir, that is a title." Old Jonas corrected: "This lamp eats names."

"So what is your name?"

"Even the nine-year-old Kit kid has a name!"

"Or is the God also illiterate?"

The six-winged person pointed his finger several more times. The lamp leaves showed all sorts of words, like Holy Envoy, like Light Bringer, like Arm of God, every word was blindingly bright, yet the lamp remained as unresponsive as stone.

"Illiterate then come to Coal Wharf alley, Old Jonas will teach you, two coins a name!" Bartholomew yelled from the end of the square, thus the whole kneeling crowd also could not hold back, bursting into laughter.

The six-winged person stood frozen on the steps. The light on his face flickered losing a beat, only one beat but the people standing nearby had managed to see, the spot that should be facial features only had a milky white space, slippery as an eggshell.

The laughter died out completely.

The six wings spread wide open. From every wing feather shot out hundreds of milky white silk threads, every single thread embedding straight into the forehead of a person in the square pulling. The pulled person suddenly felt bone-chillingly cold from the top of the head down all the way to the heels, their two knees went soft, just like that kneeling dropping down onto the paving stones.

The Pope was kneeling closest, therefore was also the person being sucked first. This coldness he was very familiar with, for forty years now every night going down to the basement he also felt it, only that previously he was the person getting to warm up off it. The last few eyebrow hairs on his face turned completely white then fluttered falling off, his whole body collapsed dropping down onto the steps like an empty sack.

[Turned out I was also only the lamp wick.] He blankly thought: [Burning completely then thrown away.]

Kit felt freezing cold, his two legs were weak, he hurriedly hugged the lamppost tightly and screamed: "Uncle with the purple hair!"

A thunderclap exploded right in the middle of the square.

Standing beside the lamppost now there was an additional tall and large person, purple hair, purple eyes, one hand grabbing neatly the whole bundle of milky white threads currently embedded into people’s foreheads, yanking once and snapping completely clean, as easy as plucking a few loose threads. The whole square breathed out simultaneously, warmth slowly flowing back to their fingertips.

"This time I did not act alone you know." Sane said, his eyes still not leaving the steps: "The kid called me."

On the lamppost peak there was a sound of someone bursting into laughter. As long as there were still people calling then the Deity still came, that sentence Kaelen personally swore with the Origin, now even if he wanted to nitpick Sane he also could not nitpick successfully.

Kaelen had been sitting cross-legged on the lamppost peak since when no one knew. He just dropped his feet down, between the paving stone crevices around the square fuzzy grass had grown, anyone having just been sucked to the point of turning purple their lips now also became rosy again.

Sane looked up at the six-winged person, looking with the bored expression of a person having to go clean up trash on behalf of a neighbor.

"Not even having a name." He said: "A nobody yet demands to be a God."

He snapped his fingers. A purple lightning bolt struck straight down onto the steps, the six-winged person shattered into a pile of dust as white as lime powder, the six wings extinguishing with a ’poof’ like blown-out candles.

"Striking... striking even the God of Light huh?" Someone stammered.

"What God of Light that doesn’t have a face!" Madam Hilda retorted right away.

The dust pile had not yet had time to fall to the ground when it twisted into a silk thread bundle, shooting straight up to the sky and running.

Kaelen completely didn’t bother chasing, only flicked a root strand as thin as a hair from his fingertip, the root strand immediately wrapped onto the tail of the thread bundle, clinging relentlessly following it up high.

"Run go." He mumbled: "Run back to your house."

"Will it run back all the way to the den?" Sane asked.

"A rat with a burnt tail then where else can it run." Kaelen brushed his hands: "Just run back to the den only."

The whole square was silent as paper. Only after a long while did someone stammeringly call Divine Envoy, then another person, another person, thus this person pulled that person kneeling dropping down to the ground, kneeling covering entirely from the Temple steps out to the head of Coal Wharf alley.

"The Uncle on that lamppost there wrote my name for me first you know!" Kit stuck his face up showing off with the whole square, completely forgetting that his two legs were still trembling.

Finishing showing off, he finally tilted his face up looking at the purple-haired person, his two hands still hugging the lamppost tightly.

"Then do you have a name?"

Sane raised his eyebrows, bent down taking the coal stub in his hand, conveniently wrote onto the nearest leaf a few huge letters.

The lamp flashed brightly once, shining white mixed with purple, brighter than even the noon sun. The entire Royal Capital had to use hands covering their eyes, even the Royal Palace glass windows across the river also flashed up as if someone was pointing a mirror at them.

"Oh my god!" Kit exclaimed, releasing his hands completely from the lamppost.

He rubbed his eyes looking at the letters on the leaf, spelling out loud for the whole square to hear together: "S, a, n, e... Sane! The purple-haired uncle is named Sane!"

Kaelen sat on the pole peak covering his eyes, smacking his lips: "Showing off."

"Learned from your son you know." Sane answered deadpan, then spread his arms out.

Kaelen glared at him once, finishing glaring still jumped down from the lamppost peak, falling neatly into his arms.

Across the river, His Majesty the Emperor stood watching the blindingly bright lamp for a very long time, then slowly took the hat on his head off, bowing one beat toward the square. Count Thorne standing behind his back also took his hat off following, his bald head glistening under the sun.

[The Archive House again has adding a page having to enter into the ledger already.] He thought.

The Pope lay sprawled at the foot of the steps, his eyes staring wide open looking at the blindingly bright lamp in the middle of the square. Forty years sitting on the Temple throne, he signed not knowing how many Holy Decrees, yet never had he personally written his own name onto anything to exchange for a bit of light.

While high up in the sky, the root strand as thin as hair still clung to the tail of the white thread bundle climbing up, climbing past the cloud layer, climbing past even the spot Heavenly Dao often sat. Heavenly Dao looked following the root strand for a long time, then silently raised a thumbs up toward the two people below.