Regressor of the Fallen Family Novel - Chapter 276 (New)

Episode 276: A Motion to Depose the Pope!

The Holy City was engulfed in a storm of chaos as high-ranking clerics from the Central Temple clashed violently with the Papal loyalists.

While the name Nobience echoed through the rumors of the world, a momentous event was quietly unfolding on the outskirts of the Maclaine Kingdom.

“It is time for your return, Your Eminence,” the statement was made with finality.

“Preposterous! We shall not retreat! Unhand the prisoners of the damned this instant, or you will face—” Eshell’s face was a mask of crimson rage, his voice thundering with its usual arrogance.

However, his bravado withered into stone-cold silence at a single remark from the Sword Saint.

“I have received word that factions within the Central Temple are calling for the removal of His Holiness the Pope. Can a man of your standing truly afford to be idling here, Your Eminence?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“There is deep-seated unrest within the Temple. Perhaps you should see to your own house?”

As the weight of the Sword Saint’s words settled in, Eshell’s complexion drained of all color. He retreated into his tent in a blur, only to re-emerge moments later in a frantic state.

“The investigative team departs for the Temple immediately!”

With that desperate command, the mission of the clerics came to an abrupt end.

Du-Du-Du-Du.

As the Temple’s group galloped away in a frenzy, the elite soldiers of the 2nd Army followed behind, their voices low with annoyance.

“Must we truly let these fanatics depart in peace?”

Louis’s grumbling resonated with the surrounding knights, who nodded in grim agreement. To them, these heresy inquisitors were little more than unhinged extremists. They were men who equated disagreement with sin, eager to spill blood or impose agonizing penance on anyone who failed to bow to their specific dogma. Had the knights not been present to act as a shield, many innocent peasants would have met an unjust end.

The Sword Saint heard their protests but remained stoic, shaking his head slowly.

“We cannot permit them to suffer misfortune while on our soil. To do so would give the Temple the perfect pretext to lay the blame at our feet.”

“It’s a bitter pill to swallow.”

“Watch them,” the Sword Saint noted calmly. “These zealots are racing back, abandoning their official duties just to protect a single vote in a deposition hearing. The rest are merely puppets with hollowed minds. Do not waste your energy on them.”

Louis understood the logic, yet a detail nagged at him. “Just one vote?”

“Every high priest of bishop rank or higher is summoned to cast a ballot on the motion for removal. In that chamber, even a cardinal is reduced to a single tally.”

“I see… So he’s breaking his neck to get back for that? Wait, what about the heresy inquisitors? Don’t their leaders carry the divine rank of a bishop?”

“Those who lead dioceses are excluded from this particular privilege,” the Sword Saint clarified.

“So this entire frantic retreat is over one solitary vote?”

“That man cares for nothing but the soil beneath his feet. He believes he must prove his worth to the Pope to survive.”

The motivation behind the cardinal’s panic was as shallow as it was clear.

“Unbelievable. I’ve watched them for weeks, and their sickness still turns my stomach,” Louis spat, eyeing Eshell with cold disdain.

Ignorant of the soldiers’ mockery, Eshell continued his desperate ride. After three days of relentless travel through the merchant hub of Kail, the party reached the border. The Sword Saint, looking relieved to be rid of them, addressed the cardinal.

“Our paths diverge here. May your journey back be swift, Your Eminence.”

“I shall remember this… kindness,” Eshell replied through gritted teeth, glaring at the Sword Saint’s faint smile.

It was a hollow politeness; Eshell was seething with resentment. The investigative team was returning with nothing to show for their efforts, their objectives thwarted at every turn by the Maclaine knights. But he had no leisure for grudges now.

“Push on! To the Temple!”

Heeiiiiing.

As the dust settled behind the fleeing inquisitors, Louis let out a light chuckle.

“Finally. Now, let’s head for the capital. I imagine you’re dying to see Miss Stella after all this time.”

“Actually, I have more pressing matters to attend to,” the Sword Saint replied, his expression turning grave.

“What do you mean?”

“You are to lead the knights back to the capital without me.”

“Me? Alone?”

“It is a direct decree from His Majesty. Secure a man with a frame similar to mine and have him ride at the head of the column. Both you and the knights must act as though I am still among you.”

Louis’s jaw tightened as the implications took hold. “You don’t mean…”

“I’m counting on you.”

With a firm pat on Louis’s shoulder, the Sword Saint flickered like a phantom and vanished into the distance on his mount. Having studied under him for years, Louis had a terrifying inkling of exactly where his mentor was headed.

“Could it really be…?”

Though dread pooled in his gut, Louis remembered his orders and turned his horse toward the capital, signaling the march.

“Faster! We are losing time! Move!”

Du-du-du-du.

Since crossing the Imperial border and shedding their Maclaine escort, Eshell had been driving his men to the point of collapse. He went so far as to pump divine energy into his horse, which was foaming at the mouth.

“Deposition? What madness.”

If the Pope fell, Eshell’s world would crumble with him. He knew the Holy Father well enough to know he would burn the world down before falling alone.

“He would drag me into the abyss with him.”

That thought haunted him. There were shades of corruption in the priesthood, and while the Temple might blink at a bribe, Eshell’s private appetites were a bridge too far even for the most jaded clerics. Discovery meant certain excommunication—or the gallows. This was why the Pope held him on such a short leash, despite his rank.

He cursed his past carelessness once again. “Why did I leave a trail?”

He didn’t believe the Pope would surrender quietly. To survive, he had to arrive and pledge his absolute fealty before the blow fell.

He was pushing the limit of his endurance when a shout rose from the rear of the galloping column.

“Your Eminence! There is a blockage ahead!”

A blockage?

On the ridge, silhouetted against the dying embers of the sun, stood several figures as still as monoliths.

“What in the world…?”

The path they had chosen was the swiftest route from the border to the Central Temple, a rugged but familiar trail. Eshell had used this very road days ago; such prominent landmarks could not have simply appeared.

Thud. Thud.

“Wait! They’re moving! Out of the way!”

“What are they?”

“Golems!”

“Form up! Prepare for engagement!”

Stunned by the sight, Eshell was pushed aside by Robe, who took command of the frantic inquisitors. But their horses were spent, their legs trembling from the uphill sprint.

Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.

Before the team could set their feet, the armored giants were upon them. Standing over three meters tall, the statues looked like metal titans, swinging colossal two-handed blades. Terror gripped the men as fifty of these iron monsters charged.

Woowwng.

A crushing pressure suddenly descended upon the clearing.

“Sorcery! Unleash your divine light!”

At Robe’s shout, the inquisitors began to glow with a brilliant white radiance. They channeled ‘Sanctum Declaration,’ a high-tier group spell designed to bolster their strength and steel their resolve.

Robe gripped his mace, his heart hammering against his ribs, when a sudden, icy premonition seized him.

This is it!

He ducked instinctively just as he saw a severed arm, still clutching a weapon, sail through the air. The sight was hauntingly familiar. Then came the pain—a white-hot agony that felt like a memory.

“Aagh!”

“Tsk. Only two down?” a chilling voice drifted through the carnage.

Robe screamed as he looked down. The head of one of his fellow inquisitors lay in the dirt, but the voice beside him was far more terrifying.

“Sword Saint!”

A masked figure flickered into existence before Robe. Despite the unmistakable aura and the familiar tone, the figure simply tilted his head.

“Hmm? Who might that be? I believe you have me confused with someone else.”

“Cease this mockery, you devil! Do you not fear the wrath of the heavens?”

A reply thundered from the center of the column.

“This is the wrath of heaven!”

With a roar like a tidal wave, a radiant golden aura exploded in the heart of the investigative team. In a heartbeat, the inquisitors caught in the blast were shredded into nothingness. Then, the very earth gave way.

Rumbleeeeng.

The ground beneath the galloping inquisitors simply vanished, collapsing into a chasm nearly eight meters deep.

Heeeeeiiiiing!

“Heaven help us!”

“Look out!”

“High Magic!”

While the survivors reeled in shock, they looked up to see a second masked figure standing on the precipice. Amidst the screams and the dust, the central masked man radiated a golden light, sealing the tomb of the heresy investigative team.

“No signs of life remain, my… cough… My Lord.”

“That was a decent warm-up. A pity for the one we left behind; he would have enjoyed the sport. Tsk tsk.”

“You both performed admirably.”

The four individuals—a group of master swordsmen and a wizard—who had just annihilated the Temple’s finest, gathered together. It was a feat that should have been impossible, yet they spoke as if it were a simple chore they had meticulously prepared for.

“Nonsense, Lord. It was your overwhelming power that carried the day.”

“Your precision is as frightening as ever.”

“It was the master’s strategy that ensured success,” the group offered their praise.

Logan, standing at the center of the masked group, allowed a small smile to touch his lips behind the fabric. He had utilized the 6th form of the Divine Sword Warfare, ‘Origin Cleaver.’ Usually a move meant to erase anything in its path through pure focus, the Sword Saint had suggested a variation: turning that destructive force outward to collapse the environment itself.

This new technique, ‘Total Collapse,’ had exceeded all expectations.

“I was a bit concerned about Lou… not being here, but it seems I worried for nothing.”

“The man is a brute,” one of the swordsmen laughed. “He’s too loud and too large to hide. He would have been noticed instantly.”

The warriors shared a laugh at their absent comrade’s expense, but Clayton, the magician, remained focused on the aftermath.

“However, My Lord, while I can magically scrub the ‘memory’ of the earth to hide our tracks, such a violent disappearance might still draw the Temple’s eyes toward us rather than their internal strife.”

“I hear your point, Clayton. But there is no need for concern.”

Logan looked toward the horizon with absolute confidence, dismissing the wizard’s fears with a wave of his hand. “Everything is moving exactly as it should.”