Chapter 97: It’s Not A Story

Now, this dungeon was truly the most secure in Celeste. Its walls were made of pure steel, half a meter thick, with countless intricate magic arrays carved into them, all designed to enhance defense and durability. The entire room was essentially a massive iron box. The lock was a masterpiece crafted by the renowned dwarf genius two hundred years ago, using all his strength and skill. At that time, the highest-ranking three thieves from the Assassin's Guild were tasked with opening it, but after an entire day of trying, they still couldn't manage to break it. Compared to any other prison, this was a fortress.

Only a handful of people in the past hundred years have been deemed worthy of being imprisoned here, and none of them were anything less than notorious criminals capable of shaking the entire continent with fear. Yet, none of them were treated as severely as Asa, for Asa's hands and feet were actually bound to the walls.

The restraints used were chains made of steel ropes, twisted into thick strands about the width of a thumb, interwoven with strands of fine iron, pure gold, and the rare Helia silver. Every few inches, sharp metal spikes protruded, embedding themselves into the prisoner's flesh, injecting weakening curses, debilitating hexes, and minute amounts of poison. The enchanted Helia silver was particularly effective at draining a person's magical energy. These chains had been hastily crafted by several powerful mages and skilled artisans.

Asa had been imprisoned here for some time now. He had tried several methods to break free, but even the chains binding him proved unyielding, let alone escaping from this fortress-like cell.

The intricate lock turned with a series of deliberate clicks, and the heavy prison door creaked open. Two figures stepped inside—Lancelote and the Pope.

Lancelote's expression remained as calm and unreadable as ever, like a still lake undisturbed by wind. Even after capturing Asa, the one who had repeatedly thwarted their plans, his face showed neither joy nor anger.

In his hands, he carried a large chair. Entering the cell, he placed it firmly on the ground.

The Pope sat down on the chair—or rather, lay on it. Compared to when Asa had last seen him, he now looked at least twenty years older. The once well-defined wrinkles, which had seemed to be mere marks of wisdom and deep thought, now held nothing but signs of aging and frailty. His hair and beard remained pure white, but they had lost all their previous luster. The once sharp and radiant eyes had turned into a dim and feeble haze.

Lancelote exited the cell and shut the door. Now, inside this massive iron box, only Asa and the Pope remained.

After coughing lightly twice, the Pope's gaze fell upon Asa's face. Asa silently returned his gaze, looking at the old man.

"Completely beyond my expectations… Was that a gift sent by Moriel through you? Such a heavy gift… so heavy that I can barely handle it." The Pope's voice was weak, as if he could lose his breath at any moment.

"But didn't you all still manage to destory it in the end? That was beyond my expectations as well." Asa looked at the Pope's hand—the ring was still on his finger, as unremarkable as ever, looking like some cheap trinket one could find at a roadside stall. "What surprised me even more was that the ring I had been wearing all along could actually summon something like that. If I had known earlier…"

"Even if you had known, you wouldn't have been able to use it." The Pope waved his hand. His movement was slow, and his voice was weak, yet Asa unconsciously stopped speaking. Even in his frail state, his gestures carried an undeniable authority—he was still the most powerful figure on the continent. "That is a sacred artifact resonating with the entire Glory Fortress, containing the faith, hope, and will of countless believers over centuries. Can you comprehend that? Can you bear such a burden? Only those who can shoulder it are qualified to wield this power—only they can be kings. That is why it is called the Ring of Kings."

"Why did you capture me? Is it because of the prophecy of the Black Star?" Asa asked. In truth, he had been waiting for the Pope to speak.

"Something like that." The Pope nodded.

"Then I regret to inform you that you're all mistaken." Asa gave a bitter smile. "You've been trying everything to capture me because of the power of the Sunwell and the World Tree's Leaf, haven't you? Unfortunately, everything you believed was wrong..."

"Oh?" The Pope seemed slightly surprised.

"This is what Moriel told me. Believe it or not, that's up to you…"

"Oh? It seems like you've gained quite a bit there in Nigen. In fact, I was going to ask you about this myself. Go on…" The Pope straightened up slightly.

After listening to Asa's account, the Pope let out a long sigh and leaned back onto the chair again. His face was filled with astonishment. He closed his eyes, remaining motionless, as if trying to slowly process everything Asa had just revealed.

After a long pause, he opened his eyes again, his expression returning to a state of calm. In a light tone, he said, "That's quite an interesting story…"

"This is not a story," Asa replied coolly.

"I know, I know what you're implying. I can tell you're not lying," the Pope said, nodding slowly. "So, you're telling me that there's no great prophecy, and that you actually have nothing to do with the great vortex of this necromancer, right? That's what you want to tell me."

"Yes." Asa nodded.

"But let me tell you, I didn't capture you because of some prophecy. Those things, I never cared about from the start," the Pope said indifferently, his gray eyes still lacking any energy, yet as steady as rocks that had been formed over millions of years. "Asking you about what happened in Nigen was just one of my reasons for coming here. The main reason is… I wanted to take a good look at you."

"What?" Asa's eyes widened, and if possible, he would have perked up his ears. He doubted his hearing had failed him.

"I don't believe in destiny," the Pope said slowly, his voice distant. "Destiny is nothing but a delusion created by the weak… But sometimes, many coincidences can make one feel as though there is such a thing as 'destiny.' It's an interesting feeling, quite fascinating... Especially when I look at you, it becomes even more intriguing... In fact, we do have some connection, after all."

"What are you talking about?" Asa asked, his voice filled with confusion.

The Pope didn't respond immediately. He remained half-reclined in the chair, silently staring at Asa, who was chained to the wall not far away. But his gaze gradually drifted, as if he were looking past Asa's body, focusing on something far in the distance. His expression was strange, almost like he was reminiscing, but Asa couldn't discern anything from it.

For a long while, the Pope remained lost in a strange, absent-minded state, and Asa said nothing. Inside the massive iron box, the old man and the young man locked eyes without uttering a word. The Pope didn't seem to want to speak, while Asa was unsure of what to say.

Finally, the Pope let out a long sigh and returned his gaze. He raised his voice and called out. Then, Lancelote entered, opening the door.

"This man must be watched carefully, and absolutely must not be allowed to escape. You understand that, right?"

"Yes, Your Majesty," Lancelote nodded.

"But this man is quite skilled, and his luck has always been on his side. You should know that as well."

"Yes, I am aware. That is why I had special shackles made for him. These should be impossible for him to escape."

"Actually, there's no need to go to such complicated measures. There are simpler and more direct methods..." The Pope weakly pointed at the chains on Asa, or perhaps somewhere else. "Haven't I told you that as long as he's alive, it's fine? It's no matter if a few limbs are lost..."

Lancelote didn't respond directly. Instead, he kneeled on one knee and said, "Your Majesty, I swear on my knightly honor that he will not escape. Please rest assured."

"Alright, in that case, I will truly be at ease." The Pope stood up again, coughed softly a couple of times, and without looking at Asa, turned to walk toward the door. "By the way, Sir Talice's faith and loyalty are unquestionable. Let her return to her position as a Temple Knight."

"Yes." Lancelote stood and followed the Pope as he walked toward the cell door. Just before leaving, he turned around and gave Asa a meaningful glance.

With a loud bang, the iron door of the cell was shut once more, and only a faint beam of light came through a small ventilation hole.

"Dammit... how could this happen... But... what is the situation now...?" Asa lowered his head and let out a long sigh.

Actually, even before the Archangel disappeared and the Holy Warriors hastily bound Asa, Lancelote had already given orders to the Holy Warriors: "Cut off his hands and feet, just don't let him die." There was no need for the Pope's instructions; Lancelote knew well that this method was indeed the best and most effective way to deal with Asa.

"Stop." Talice stood up from the rubble. She wasn't dead, and her injuries weren't too severe; only the hand and sword that had blocked Asa's strike were broken. The sword fragments were embedded in her arm, leaving a bloodied mess.

"What's the matter?" Lancelote looked at his disciple.

"Why not just lock him up properly? There's no need for this." Talice walked over to look at Asa. Her gaze was still strange, still filled with a sad sort of determination.

"This is the most effective method. Stop talking nonsense," Lancelote waved his hand at the Holy Warrior holding the sword, giving a calm command. "Chop it off."

With one swift strike, blood splattered, and a hand flew through the air. But it wasn't Asa's hand.

It was Talice's hand. She had thrown herself in front of Asa, and so her hand was the one that flew off in place of Asa's.

"Master, I beg you." The blood splattered across Talice's face, her own blood. Yet, neither her voice nor her expression faltered in the face of such excruciating pain. Her bloodied face was no longer just determined; it was stubbornness incarnate. She could have found another way to block the strike, but she chose to do it this way.

Lancelote gazed at his disciple, and for the first time, a rarely seen darkness clouded his expression. Then he sighed and nodded.