Sword of Dawnbreaker

Chapter 493 - 492: The First Toll of Dawn’s Bell

In the darkness.

Pinpricks of artificial light flickered weakly in the dark alleys.

The increasingly chilly night wind swept between buildings, carrying the stench from the gutter corners through streets and alleys. Ancient edifices stood in this dead and cold night sky, with starlight cascading from the eternal sky upon rooftops, spires, and city walls, revealing vague outlines of these dark silhouettes, amidst which shadows occasionally flitted by.

Those fleeting shadows carried an air of tension and resolve, with slightly hurried steps in the darkness, they passed along a hushed message among neighbors, friends, and kin: "Wait for the first toll at dawn."

Cobbler Brum, wrapped in a scarf, walked on the darkened streets. The night wind at dawn seemed to carry malice, making him shiver slightly—he couldn’t tell if the shiver was from fear, excitement, or merely the cold, but he felt as if a flame burned in his chest. With this fire, he dared to step outside and onto the street.

The curfew decreed by the priests of the church district had long been void, and patrolling soldiers and Church Knights had vanished. The Outer City District had been uncontrolled for several days, while a current once hidden in darkness began to rise, now reaching its moment of breakthrough.

New shadows appeared on the darkened street; the cobbler’s steps hesitated, but soon he recognized the familiar shadow of the Mender, and their steps quickly converged. They looked at each other in the darkness, lowering their voices to ask quietly: "Waiting for the bell?" "Waiting for the bell."

A flickering light emerged from the corner not far away. The cobbler and mender immediately looked toward the source of light. They saw a man known for his daring reputation, a blacksmith, approaching them. Behind the blacksmith was a woman carrying an oil lamp, a farmer holding a pitchfork, and an apprentice wielding a stick.

The blacksmith handed the torch to the cobbler: "There’s no need to hide; stepping outside is already a crime punishable by death."

More and more people emerged from their homes, some were craftsmen, others farmers, and apprentices. These emaciated individuals seemed to emerge from hell, but flames danced in each of their eyes as they gathered between streets, with more torches and oil lamps gradually illuminating the street corners. Amongst the wavering lights were pairs of still muddled yet remarkably determined eyes.

"Act when the bell tolls. Remember, those with white bands on their arms are friends." "What about friends outside the city?" "They’ve already arrived..."

No one could clearly say where the rumors first started, nor could anyone say who propelled tonight’s events, but everyone knew—they’d consumed the last of their household food, gathered the last of their strength, and they might not survive the night. But as long as the morning sun rose, each would achieve freedom.

Cobbler Brum held the torch aloft, his gaze directed towards the western direction of the city wall, where a flickering light appeared.

The soldier guarding the gate nervously held an oil lamp, eyeing the situation beneath the city walls. Beside him were two similarly tense soldiers, and before their eyes sprawled a dark mass of people on the vast plain outside, accompanied by countless flickering lights within the crowd.

These people, from villages near Lu’an City, neighboring cities, and even territories next door gathered on the plains. Their commotion grew increasingly loud, and from the rear of the gathering, more approached along the gravel road. The torchlight stretched across the plains, like a giant burning serpent slowly enclosing this church city that stood for centuries.

Most striking upon these plains were those at the forefront of the crowd, clad in heavy white armor, bearing giant hammers, enveloped by radiance.

Those were the White Knights from the Cecil Clan.

At this moment, they represented not the armed forces of Cecil but the new Holy Light Order.

"Do we... do we open the gates?" The soldier asked, trembling as he turned to the veteran beside him, touching the white band on his arm, his voice filled with fear, "Won’t they also..."

The veteran was likewise steeped in fear, yet he knew there was no choice. Long before the priests utterly closed the church district gates, those left in the Outer City and on city walls were essentially abandoned; without the church’s support, soldiers retained their wits and laid down their swords, becoming accomplices in this chaos—or, rather, allies in this righteous act.

"Open the gates," the veteran replied, "Let the Cecil people in, and this city’s blockade will end."

The iron-clad winch began to turn, the chain drove the bearings, producing a creaking sound, and Lu’an City’s heavy gates, closed for dozens of days, slowly opened again. The gathered crowds on the plain watched the gradually opening gates, then countless pairs of eyes fell on the front of the procession.

The heavily armored White Knights were the first to step forward; these individuals cloaked in steel provided endless courage as if they were lighthouses in the night. The massive gathering moved forward, surging towards Lu’an City behind the White Knights.

The soldiers opening the gates hid nervously in the shadows, observing those armored knights silently leading the crowd, watching the extensive and chaotic procession flow through the gates. Within this procession, they saw nearly every profession imaginable—farmers, blacksmiths, cobblers, masons—there were those in tattered clothing alongside well-dressed merchants. Some bore pitchforks and sticks, while others wielded longswords and spears; some were ordinary citizens, while others seemed like mercenaries just stepping off the battlefield...

The soldier even felt a delusion as if it seemed the entirety of the southern borders had gathered here.

...

With half an hour until the first ray of sunlight rose, the cobblestone and slab-strewn streets echoed with heavy and disorderly footsteps, causing the ground to tremble slightly. Accompanying these sounds, torchlight emerged from all directions, revealing numerous unfamiliar yet friendly faces amidst the flickering flames.

Warriors clad in peculiar heavy white armor, appearing as if cast in light, emerged from the crowd, approaching the anxious citizens of Lu’an. Beneath their winged and scripture-inscribed helmets emanated a deep and friendly voice: "We are the White Knights under the Great Shepherd, here to aid the people of the Holy Light."

As described in the rumors circulating within the city for days—Holy Light allies appeared in the dark, led by powerful White Knights, guiding citizens of the Holy Light from all directions to save this sacred city lost to darkness.

The two factions quickly merged under the guidance of several pathfinders, this enormous gathering advanced towards the cathedral.

Encircled by Holy Light, the White Knights numbered several dozen, constituting only a small portion of the entire crowd, yet they led the forefront like sharp arrows. In their midst, a hazy shadow unnoticed by anyone approached the leader of the pioneering knights.

Amber emerged from the shadows, raising her gaze to the towering White Knight: "I didn’t expect such a large gathering..."

That towering White Knight was Wright; bare-headed, his scarred face brimmed with resolute expression, he glanced down at the petite half-elf: "They come from the entire Lu’an region and neighboring Carol City, gathering in the plains for days—that’s thanks to your efforts. Without you, people wouldn’t have seen the decayed truth of the Holy Light church, nor would they be so indignant to gather independently."

"I’ll accept the compliment," Amber replied with mild pride, then with a hint of curiosity in her tone, "Yet I didn’t expect you to come personally—as the Great Shepherd of the New Church, you didn’t stay behind... Did the old man... the Duke send you?"

"My own decision," Wright replied calmly, pausing for two seconds, with his tone more solemn than usual, "This is our mission."

Amber blinked, listening to Wright’s solemn voice continue through the night:

"Cecil Clan has taken root in the Dark Mountain Range, which constantly exposes it to the threats of the wastelands. Whenever Cecil faces an attack by aberrations, the leader always stands on the frontline. From him, I learned one thing—the decision of a leader may lead to the sacrifice of hundreds or thousands. Sometimes this decision is necessary, and sometimes the people’s sacrifice is voluntary, but a leader can never complacently accept these sacrifices; he must stand with those who sacrifice and be prepared to bleed with them at any time.

"This is a war of the Holy Light, for the reform of the Holy Light, for the freedom of faith. Ordinary people without weapons will challenge the Transcendents who are far more powerful than them. In this revolution, blood is inevitable, but as the leader of the New Church, I cannot let them bleed alone.

"That’s why I came."

Wright, carrying a Mechanically Powered Warhammer wrapped in the sacraments band, walked resolutely ahead, while Amber remained a bit dazed. A few seconds later, this half-elf shook her head: "That guy really attracts strange people around him..."

Ten minutes before dawn, the crowd gathered at the fan-shaped square in front of the church district.

This place, once used for trials of heterodoxies and execution of burnings, was crowded with people. The smell of flames burning oil spread throughout the square, and more and more people continued to pour in from all directions, but the limited space of the square could no longer accommodate more people. So those who came from farther away had to gather on the nearby streets.

As the crowd increased and time passed, louder noises began to rise from various places, and even foreigners began shouting angry slogans. Mercenaries waving swords loudly cursed the cowards inside the church, merchants waving their staffs angrily condemned the injustice of the Church of the Holy Light, and some stood on the few high platforms at the edge of the square, waving fists and denouncing the priests inside the cathedral as thugs, butchers, and devils who eat human flesh—this intense anger even shocked the local people of Lu’an on the square, who found it hard to imagine why these allies from afar would hold such great anger towards the priests inside the cathedral.

This anger even surpassed theirs.

The terrible commotion on the square reached the church district, and those priests who had shut themselves inside the walls of the Inner City District, pretending to be deaf and dumb for days, finally couldn’t sit still. They climbed up to the walls and sentinel towers of the Inner City District in amazement, trying to see what was happening outside—and then this amazement turned to terror.

People.

There were people everywhere on the square.

These were the crowds that could cause fear even in priests and knights with Transcendent power.

And at the same time, Sevin Terry was quietly confronting a black-robed Priest with tattooed symbols on his head in front of a key theurgy circle node in the small church district of the Inner City.

Looking at the fellow member of the church before him, Sevin Terry sighed: "Step aside, Orkut, there’s no other way."

Yet the black-robed Disciplinary Monk just stood motionless in front of the theurgy circle, eventually breaking the silence after a long time: "The pioneering knights and other Disciplinary Monks will soon notice the anomaly in the small church district..."

Sevin Terry couldn’t help but step forward, his tone passionate: "Can they hold out here for a moment, or can they hold out for a lifetime?!"

The black-robed Priest looked into Sevin Terry’s eyes, his expression calm as he spoke: "...But my mission is to guard the great barrier of the small church district—unless death ends my mission."

Looking at the calm expression of this clergyman before him, Sevin suddenly grasped the true message.

He furrowed his brow, his voice filled with sorrow: "Orkut, I know, in that trial of heterodoxies... Although you hid it well, your faith was also shaken. Don’t continue to insist, I know your character, you clearly know what the church has done these years, know how they’ve intensified in this last year..."

"I am a Disciplinary Monk, maintaining the church’s order is my everything, that’s the vow I made before the Holy Light," the black-robed Monk calmly interrupted Sevin Terry, "Do you remember the vow you made before the Holy Light?"

The response to the Disciplinary Monk was a long ten seconds of silence and a resolute statement: "...Of course I remember, I will never forget."

"That’s good," the Disciplinary Monk softly sighed with a relaxed demeanor, "Priest, do what you must."

Sevin Terry looked somewhat confused as he approached the black-robed Priest before him, yet seemed to forget what he was supposed to do.

"The bell is about to ring."

The words of the black-robed Priest snapped him awake.

He looked in shock at the black-robed Priest before him, hearing the quiet voice:

"...I am a Disciplinary Monk. I know all the secrets of these churches; it’s my duty... Priest, do what you must. That fragile door cannot withstand the angry crowd; if the bell rings and the theurgy circle is still operating, many people will die."

Sevin Terry felt his blood gradually solidifying, the cold sensation spreading from his heart to his limbs. He heard the distant, indistinct first bell ring and heard the final plea of a devotee:

"Kill me and save the Holy Light."

A warm feeling spread from his fingertips, Sevin Terry felt his gradually solidifying blood regain warmth. He saw a dagger in his hand, the tip piercing the chest of the Disciplinary Monk.

The Disciplinary Monk fell, the theurgy circle node in the small church district quietly lay on the platform behind him, holy magic symbols flickering dimly there.

Sevin Terry rushed toward the node, while the black-robed Disciplinary Monk slumped to the ground, and amid the low hum of the stopped theurgy circle, he heard the increasingly clear and loud bell ring from afar, hearing the sound of the church district gate collapsing thunderously.

He exhaled a breath, his last breath carrying a soft murmur:

"Lord..."