The Exile Party and the Preservation Party began to quarrel; so demanded a re-election, others wished for a verdict to be upheld, while so wanted to return ho for dinner.
Watching the noisy citizens, Horn sighed deeply. Although it was subtle, the citizens of Rapids City had already made their choice.
"Whoa—"
The loud voice from the stage spread through the Sound Transmission Cultivators, echoing like an aged shout.
The citizens lifted their heads to look towards the high stage, only to see Horn trembling all over, his eyes and mouth tightly shut, arms continuously performing a breaststroke in the void.
Of course, he did not perform the convulsions and the grim face he did back then; firstly, the citizens couldn’t see it, and secondly, they had high aesthetic demands and didn’t need such a horror ambiance.
Is this the so-called "Holy Father’s descent" by the Saint’s Grandson?
Many citizens displayed unnatural expressions, even with a hint of disdain; such deception was convincing only to rural workers, not them.
Yet, as Horn trembled and gestured, the Salvation Army began signaling gunshots, and most of those present started singing hymns, changing the whole scenario.
Those laborers and vagrant people sang along, leaving those who prided themselves on rationality frozen in place, becoming outliers.
As the hymn reached its climax, Horn’s body ceased trembling, his hands clasped behind his back, forming deep furrows on his face like before.
"Why do you not bow before ?" Standing at a corner of the high stage, Horn shouted in an elongated tone towards the empty space.
Following his words, the black-clad soldiers all kneeled, and the rest of the laborers followed the Saint Father Order Monks, prostrating themselves.
Only those citizens remained neither standing nor kneeling, staring at Horn with unease.
Horn didn’t force them, knowing they’d kneel eventually.
"Believer Idelman, did you perform indecency yesterday with your dog?!"
"I—I didn’t." Idelman instinctively refuted under everyone’s gaze.
"You think I wouldn’t know?" Horn spoke harshly and anciently, hands clasped behind his back, "Isn’t that dog yellow-black? You nad it Kala, didn’t you?"
Though quiet, his voice was thunderous; Idelman plopped to the ground, sweat visibly soaking his back.
People around him imdiately stepped back, trying to distance themselves from Idelman.
Horn squinted ahead, accurately pointing to soone: "Believer Zieg, you communicate with the devil, do you think I wouldn’t know?"
"Believer Bresol, you..."
After naming several people, black-clad soldiers swiftly appeared, taking away several who were publicly held at gunpoint, their heads shattered open.
The splintered skull and brains spattered all over; the citizens finally recognized the current situation.
In such circumstances, belief was inevitable.
Now, whichever direction Horn turned his head, imdiately many groups of people would kneel; they were unwilling to have their secrets exposed publicly.
Of course, these were not intelligence provided by Cheka; they had only been here a few days and couldn’t have such powerful insights.
This was provided by the igedi Comrce Association.
"Why are you here? Your spirits shouldn’t be within your bodies!" The Holy Father’s majestic voice reverberated over the square, seeming to originate from the heavens.
"You should have had your heart pierced by a Knight! Yet, you still live, who saved you?"
"You should have been shot through the head by arrows, yet you still live, who saved you?"
Torches flickered, battle flags fluttered; in the distance, the Rapids City clock tower chid lodiously, mingling with the last threads of the sunset.
Sunlight slanted across Horn’s face; his anger-filled eyes made the citizens’ bodies itch peculiarly.
"Who saved you!?"
Severe reprimands mingled with the evening breeze, like a storm causing many citizens to instinctively lower their heads.
They knew of Catherine’s contributions and even of Horn’s true identity.
But they had no power to resist; the only ones who could were standing cloaked in the shadow behind Horn.
Citizens finally realized Catherine’s true importance.
"Miseria believed you could see through the devil’s deceit and clearly distinguish between devil and Saint, but alas, alas, He loved you too much and was mistaken." Horn displayed an authoritative deanor, "If there needs to be a vote, I shall cast my vote!"
Saying so, Horn strode to the wooden box, picked up a grain of sand from the ground, and lightly tossed it into the Preservation Party’s box.
"Crunch—" The sound of splintering wood echoed.
As people abruptly lifted their heads, focusing on the balance scales amidst exclamations, the scales miraculously tipped towards the Preservation Party the next mont.
Yet Horn only tossed a single grain of sand into the preservation box.
The wooden box on the scales fell like a teor, breaking the lever, crashing heavily onto the ground.
As the dust settled from the crash, Horn coldly regarded everyone, murmuring forcefully and distantly: "This is my vote, Catherine, innocent."
The fallen box crashed into everyone’s hearts around the square; looking at the infinitely majestic Horn, then at the ominous black-clad soldiers around them.
Suddenly aware sothing was off, none dared to speak out given the overwhelming situation of citizens, laborers, and artisans kneeling.
City Councilors bent over, quietly persuading: "Having Lady Catherine exiled, who can pressure the Saint’s Grandson protected by the Holy Father?"
"Call for Catherine, quickly call."
The eerie silence lasted briefly, then under the guidance of the Saint Father Order Monks, soone began shouting again.
"A grain of the Holy Father’s sand is a mountain!"
"Praise the Holy Father!"
"Catherine, innocent."
As waves of cheers and calls spread like an avalanche, the prior oppressive atmosphere transford into a solemn and sacred one.
The Saint Father Order Monks within the crowd imdiately began singing hymns loudly, while the City Councilors knelt on the hard paving, singing fervently.
This song seed infectious, spreading person by person; in minutes, nearly ten thousand believers present sang in unison.
The hymn echoed around the square for seven to eight minutes when a peculiar "thump thump" sound ca from the rooftops.
A unique floral scent with a gentle breeze brushed their cheeks; Catherine suddenly felt her ears itch, she touched them, finding a petal.
Looking up, she was montarily astounded as dozens of petals dispersed, descending slowly from above.
Yellow, white, red, sheets of petal rain cascaded from the sky, landing on heads, shoulders, and ears.
Many citizens even stopped thinking, dumbfoundedly gazing at the petal rain before them.
Amidst hymns, a sudden victory trumpet sounded, cascading with petals at everyone’s ears.
As if only at this mont were they celebrating for their warti hero, cheering for the "witch" Catherine who protected the city.
Looking at the petal in her palm, a rough yet delicate hand covered it; lifting her head, Catherine only saw the back of Horn’s head.
Held by this rough hand, Catherine stumbled clumsily to the front of the high stage.
Before she could react, Horn raised her hand high.
"From now on, there is no more Witch Catherine, only Saintess—Catherine!"
"Saintess Catherine!"
"Indeed, we love you, Saintess."
"Catherine! Catherine!"
Holding Horn’s hand, Catherine did not respond to the cheers from below.
She only stared blankly at Horn, whose face trembled as if struck by lightning.
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