Ascension To Divine Throne

Chapter 79 -79: Stirring Winds

Chapter 79: Stirring Winds

In the southern region of the Fanor Continent, within a secretive black castle, built in the most hidden of places.

At the bottommost level of the castle, a room seemed filled with a profound darkness, so thick one couldn’t see their hand in front of their face.

Suddenly, the black mist began to recede, flowing towards the center of the room.

A lavishly exquisite coffin rested in the center of the room, adorned with magnificent gemstones and gold leaf, surrounded by the precious dark red Dragon Spirit Wood, meticulously polished and carved, exuding a mixture of simplicity and elegance, with a hint of majesty.

As the black mist completely filled the exquisite coffin, a faint pressure emanated from within.

Creak—

The door to the basement was pushed open from the outside, and a pale-faced, handsome man walked in. He bowed respectfully towards the coffin and said, “Your Excellency Prince Damon, what are your orders?”

“Marion, how long have I been asleep this time?”

A deep male voice emanated from the coffin, filled with an inexplicable magical aura.

“You’ve been asleep for ten years this time.”

“Sigh… but I haven’t slept enough.”

Damon’s voice was laden with drowsiness.

A faint red light flew out from the coffin, landing in Marion’s hand.

“Go to the capital of the Kingdom of Fis, find a little girl named Angela, and bring her back.”

“If she doesn’t want to come back, give her this.”

“Tell the Prophet that the glory of Vlad shall protect her on her journey.”

“And be careful not to cause me any trouble, come back soon.”

“Yes, Lord Damon.”

Marion bowed respectfully and slowly retreated from the basement.

Quietly, the black swirling mist began to fill the basement once again.

“So tired… but has the Prophet finally been born?”

“Grow up quickly so Lord Vlad can have someone else to command.”

“Don’t trouble this old bone of mine anymore.”

The voice in the room gradually faded, as if nothing had happened at all.

—

Canlight City, Dawn Cathedral.

Warm and gentle light scattered from the high arched windows, rows of tall pillars supporting the entire cathedral’s dome, engraved with exquisite patterns and decorations, exuding a profound and pure sacred atmosphere.

At the end of the cathedral was a towering altar, adorned with the statue of the Dawn God, surrounded by important relics and altar utensils.

Candles around the altar emitted a sacred and solemn atmosphere.

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This was not a church where Canlight City’s believers worshiped, but a more secluded and crucial location.

A man dressed in a red upper robe, wearing an elaborate high crown, stood quietly before the altar, silently praying.

“Good morning, Lord Morris.”

Olivier Gont stood behind the old man, respectfully greeting him.

He couldn’t help but feel awe; this was none other than Morris, the controller of the Dawn Church in the Fanor Continent, the Archbishop Primus of the Holy See.

Despite his reputation as the first man under the Papal throne, a legendary priest, Morris now appeared to be just an ordinary old man, devoid of any aura of strength.

“It’s you, Olivier, good. You’ve made quite some progress recently.”

Olivier listened silently, wondering why the Archbishop had summoned him.

He had been very obedient lately!

“The flames of war have begun to burn fiercely, and the Church of the Gods is powerless to stop it.”

Several question marks appeared over Olivier’s head.

War?

For Olivier, who had grown up in the Dawn Church since childhood, this seemed distant. Why couldn’t the church stop it this time? Wasn’t it always the mediator before?

Turning around, Archbishop Morris smiled at Olivier and said slowly:

“It’s okay if you don’t understand, but remember, Olivier.”

“You are the most talented child of the Dawn Church, your pure heart allows you to better understand the teachings of our Lord, but you still have much to learn, much.”

“The shadows of war are looming, and the monsters in the darkness are stirring. The future of Canlight City will be in turmoil.”

“Go, fight evil, protect the faithful, spread the glory of our Lord. This is your trial, and also your opportunity for breakthrough.”

“Yes.”

The young paladin knelt down and bowed, then left to fulfill his mission.

As the doors closed, only Morris remained in the cathedral.

The legendary priest furrowed his brow, his serious expression tinged with a hint of confusion and perplexity.

He murmured:

“Even the Lord can’t see the future clearly anymore. What has happened?”

Unfortunately, at this time and place, there was no one who could answer his questions.

—

Canlight City, Palace of the Kingdom of Fis.

In a charming palace, an old man dressed in luxurious royal attire leaned against a soft sofa. The tired look on his face and the wrinkles spoke of his less-than-optimistic state.

Sitting properly on a nearby sofa in equally splendid attire, a quiet woman added a touch of elegance and nobility.

“Be careful in the future, don’t take too many risks.”

The old man admonished the woman.

“I understand, Father.”

The woman replied respectfully, but there was a hint of unfamiliarity in her tone.

Shaking his head, the old man reiterated a few more instructions before letting the woman leave.

After a moment of silence, the old man seemed to be speaking to Duke Harold beside him, but also seemed to be talking to himself.

“I haven’t been a good father.”

“But you’re a good king!”

Duke Harold said earnestly beside him.

Yes, he was none other than His Majesty, Morton Fis, the current King of the Kingdom of Fis.

“Cedric, you always know how to speak.”

The old man waved it off, not needing reassurance from others.

“If I had trained seriously when I was young, I might have become a Golden Warrior too!”

“That’s natural.”

Cedric replied, but in truth, he knew that no matter how many times, His Majesty, whom he had served his whole life, would never regret taking this path, sacrificing himself entirely for the kingdom.

So, it was because of this that the once weak Kingdom of Fis had rapidly grown in strength over the decades, surpassing all neighboring countries in one fell swoop.

While other kings indulged in revelry and neglected state affairs, Morton Fis was always pondering how to make his country stronger, not even sparing time for his children.

And precisely because of this, at the age of sixty, he was on the verge of death, frail and elderly, with the priests of the Dawn Church unable to reverse the inevitable, resorting to various precious treasures to sustain his failing health.

“Hehe!”

Morton Fis didn’t care about his body; he had no regrets for everything he had done, nor did he need others to judge his accomplishments.

If there really was another chance, he would still do the same, unwaveringly.

However, as he approached the end of his life, he couldn’t help but feel a bit more affection and care for his own blood children.

“Do you think we’ve been too cruel to young Julius?”

Cedric bowed his head in silence, even though he already had an answer in his heart.

“I’m getting old and soft-hearted.”

Morton shook his head with a sigh, unsure if it was for himself or for Julius.

“Then I’ll give him this chance.”

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