Wizard: I Have a Cultivation System

Chapter 418: Chapter 88: Bell

"I..." A faint, dry syllable finally squeezed through Bellardi’s stiff lips. The fact he could move at all startled even him.

"Tell me," the Ironspine Duke said, gazing at him, his gray-blue eyes bottomless. "Tell me what you truly think. There is no judgment here, only the truth. What is your opinion of them?"

A long, suffocating silence spread through the frozen time.

Finally, the last trace of struggle in Bellardi’s eyes was swallowed whole by a surge of venomous resentment. He summoned every ounce of his soul’s strength to hiss out the hatred he had suppressed for more than a decade:

"They... they’re all a bunch of damned parasites! Leeches! Noe VII at least... at least he kept up appearances! Saint Cyril... and those Cardinals who follow him... all they see is power and Gold Coins! Faith? Salvation? It’s all bullshit! They destroyed my life... and now they want to play the Savior? Pah! They can all go to Hell! That stupid bell had better never ring! A coronation? It’s more like they’re digging their own graves!"

Shouting those words brought Bellardi a sense of exhausted satisfaction, which was immediately overwhelmed by a greater terror.

The Ironspine Duke, however, revealed a faint, unreadable smile.

He slowly extended his hand, holding something in his palm.

It was a jet-black stone, no bigger than a thumb. It looked unremarkable at first glance, yet it emanated a faint, unsettling chill.

"Very good," the Ironspine Duke said, tossing the black stone. It floated on its own, settling gently into Bellardi’s rough palm. "Keep it. Feel it... It will tell you what you must do."

"On the day of the grand ceremony, in the square before Chenxi Hall... find the spot where the crowd is thickest. The security will look tight, but in reality, all attention will be drawn to the grand ritual. That’s where this needs to go. You don’t have to get too close. You don’t have to do much. At the right moment, just let this little thing touch the ground. Leave the rest to fate."

Bellardi’s eyes filled with confusion and fear, but they held something more: a stoked excitement.

"Remember," the Ironspine Duke’s figure began to blur, his voice sounding as if it came from far away, "you are not doing this for me, Bellardi. You are doing this for yourself. For everyone they’ve trampled underfoot. You are taking back a small, insignificant piece of ’justice’."

As soon as his voice faded, the Ironspine Duke’s figure, like a shadow melting into sunlight, completely dissipated into the frozen air.

HUMMM!

The frozen world abruptly lurched back into motion.

A drop of glue fell. Dust motes danced in the air. The distant, clamorous music flooded his ears once more.

Bellardi shuddered violently, nearly knocking over the tool basket at his side.

He blinked, bewildered. That long, bizarre conversation, the old man with gray hair and blue eyes... it felt like a hallucination, born from a moment of intense resentment.

It was like a daydream that leaves no trace upon waking.

He shook his head, trying to dispel the feeling of unease, his gaze unconsciously falling upon his open palm.

The jet-black stone lay silently in his palm.

Bellardi was stunned.

’This isn’t mine.’

’Where did it come from?’

The moment his eyes fixed on the black object, a clear, distinct thought surfaced in his mind.

’At the climax of the ceremony... the coronation of the New Pope... when the eyes of the world are upon him...’

’...plant the seed that brings truth in the shadows of that place where the light converges...’

The thought felt so natural, so perfectly aligned with the deepest desires of his heart, that he didn’t question it in the slightest.

He believed it was a stroke of genius he’d devised himself after much bitter reflection.

’Yes, revenge!’

’A little surprise for those self-righteous bastards!’

’Right at their moment of greatest triumph!’

Bellardi clenched the black stone tightly. The cold, hard sensation had a strangely calming effect on his chaotic thoughts, even sending a shiver of excitement through him.

The naked jealousy in his clouded eyes receded. He carefully tucked the "Seed of Hope" into the most concealed pocket of his innermost clothes.

Then, he lowered his head once more, picked up the tattered copy of the *Lamb’s Teachings*, and resumed his tedious repair work.

...

「The next day.」

In a garden at an elegant state residence in the Holy City, a place reserved for visiting foreign dignitaries.

Sunlight dappled the ground, filtering through meticulously trimmed greenery. The air was thick with the rich fragrance of rare and expensive flowers.

An informal afternoon gathering was underway, its attendees all guests of great distinction.

Murphy’s wheelchair was parked beside a white column at a corner of the garden.

Just then, a slight commotion arose from the entrance.

A group of people was striding into the garden.

At their head was none other than the King of the Vilt Kingdom, William IV.

He was a far cry from the beleaguered monarch of a decade ago—a man so desperate amid the precarious state of his rule that he had risked pushing his daughter into the selection for a new Saint. Today, William IV was the very picture of a confident, middle-aged king.

He was of average height and had put on a little weight, but his well-preserved face was ruddy with health. His jet-black eyes were sharp and alert, and the meticulously trimmed beard on his chin added to his air of authority.

He wore an impeccably tailored, deep purple velvet doublet—the King’s formal daywear. The collar and cuffs were embroidered with the intricate royal crest in Golden Thread, and several glittering medals adorned his chest. His stride was firm and powerful, and with every glance, he naturally commanded the attention of the room.

The transformation was hardly surprising.

Ever since Elizabeth had emerged victorious from the Saint selection, becoming the Church Court’s officially recognized "Dawn Star Favored One," a sturdy bridge had been forged between the Vilt Royal Family and the uppermost echelons of the Church Court.