Wizard: I Have a Cultivation System

Chapter 417: Chapter 88: Bell

「Holy City, Old Document Lane.」

The festive clamor washed over the Holy City’s towering halls and wide squares like a tidal wave, yet it scarcely touched this dilapidated alleyway, curled up in the shadow of the Mountain City.

The faint scent of festival spices, the muffled music of a distant band, and the roar of cheering crowds drifted through the air, but none of it had anything to do with Bellardi.

He remained crouched on the threshold of a low-fronted shop, using a sliver of bleak afternoon light to mend a copy of the Lamb’s Teachings. Its corners were riddled with moth holes.

Years of heavy drinking had dulled his nerves, leaving his fingers clumsy and trembling.

The foul, mingled stench from the depths of the alley had not dissipated for the celebration. In fact, it seemed to have grown even more complex and nauseating with the extra trash brought by the recent influx of people.

’Damn this celebration...’ he spat, unclear if he was cursing the parchment that refused to stick or the joy that existed only in rumors and distant noise.

For most of the Holy City’s lower-class residents, the celebration meant more security checks, more crowded streets, and inexplicable price hikes. It also meant a parade of haughty, visiting gentry who gawked at them—the "local scenery"—with either curiosity or contempt.

Their livelihoods wouldn’t improve one bit. On the contrary, they might be driven even farther away for "marring the Holy City’s appearance."

As he irritably tried to glue a detached illustration back into place, a group of people passing the alley’s entrance caught his eye.

A black-haired man with a placid expression sat in a wheelchair. His clothes seemed plain, but the fabric was clearly of exceptional quality.

Pushing the wheelchair was an exceptionally young, golden-haired girl in a lavender dress so magnificent it was utterly out of place in Old Document Lane. Its layered skirt, like a cloud, cut a jarringly bright streak through the dim alley entrance.

The girl leaned down slightly, speaking to the man in the wheelchair. Her sapphire eyes sparkled, and a distinct smile played on her lips.

Bellardi’s clouded eyes stared at the girl’s radiant profile and her look of intense focus. A venomous fire of jealousy and indignation suddenly surged in his heart.

’Love? Heh.’

’A cripple confined to a wheelchair, relying on God knows what power and wealth, gets a young, beautiful girl from a clearly noble background to wait on him so attentively. And the affection in her eyes... Bellardi was certain he wasn’t mistaken about that.’

’And what about him?’

’He was able-bodied! He’d once worked in a respectable place like the Sacred Affairs Bureau! He had seen the world!’

’But now he was stuck in this rat-hole of an alley, dealing with moldy junk, earning coppers that couldn’t even buy a decent loaf of black bread!’

’Why?!’

’If I had that kind of power, that kind of status... I wouldn’t have ended up like this!’

’I could be living in a respectable district, wearing fine clothes, frequenting luxurious establishments, and enjoying fine wine and beautiful women! I would make all those who once looked down on and abandoned me grovel at my feet!’

’Not rotting away in silence like this, stinking of poverty and glue, completely cut off from the celebratory clamor.’

Just as this jealous notion grew like a poisonous vine, threatening to strangle all reason in his mind—

Suddenly, everything froze.

Motes of dust drifting at the alley’s entrance hung in midair. The distant music and clamor stopped abruptly. Even the drop of murky glue about to fall from his fingertip was suspended, motionless.

The wind held its breath. It was as if time itself had been stripped away.

Bellardi was frozen in place. His clouded eyes couldn’t move. Only his thoughts buzzed in terror within the absolute silence.

A tall, imposing figure had appeared a few steps in front of him, as silent as if he had been standing there all along.

The man had gray hair, blue eyes, and a deeply lined face that bore the marks of time.

He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, calmly studying Bellardi’s face, which was twisted with agitation, and his eyes, which were steeped in jealousy.

"You’re very angry, Bellardi," the Ironspine Duke’s voice rang out in the absolute stillness. "Watching those glamorous people outside, enjoying everything you’ve never had, while you’re trapped here with rot and poverty. What’s even more infuriating is that those high-and-mighty figures—whether it’s the Pope who orchestrated your downfall, or the Cardinals who framed the Pope—are all being cheered by the masses, as if they represent justice and hope."

Bellardi couldn’t move or answer, but an irrepressible shock at being so accurately read, mixed with a deeper fear, flickered in his pupils.

"There’s no need to deny it, and no need to be afraid." The Ironspine Duke took a slow step closer, his gaze seeming to pierce through Bellardi’s grimy exterior, straight to the heart that had been pickled in hatred by years of failure. "It’s just you and I here, outside of time. No third person can hear our words. Tell me, in your heart, do those sanctimonious bastards who decide the fates of millions really deserve the glory and power they are about to receive? Are Saint Cyril and the people behind him truly the saviors of this land, or are they just another group of more calculating plunderers?"

A guttural sound escaped Bellardi’s throat, the noise of extreme terror and inner turmoil trying to break free from the temporal shackles.

He instinctively wanted to deny the bizarre stranger’s words.

Years of struggling at the bottom had taught him that honest thoughts were often fatal.

"Look at you now," the Ironspine Duke’s voice carried a strange, bewitching quality. "You were once so close to that world, weren’t you? And then what? They used you up and tossed you aside like a dirty rag. They make the rules, they distribute the profits, and people like you are just an acceptable cost, ready to be sacrificed at any moment. Now, they’re about to put on a grand performance to consolidate their power. Are you content with that? Just a few streets away, they’re about to ascend to the pinnacle of power and receive the adoration of the entire Continent, while you might lose even the meager income from mending a broken book because of some ’public order cleanup’ for the festival."