In a hidden corner of Emerald City, Syndra-Lo quietly stepped into a softly lit room.
In the center of the room sat a snow-white bed, where a grey-haired man lay upon the soft bedding.
His eyes were tightly shut, his brow slightly furrowed, as if he were deep within an endless dream.
Syndra-Lo walked silently to the head of the bed. He took off his purple top hat and set it aside, then removed the clown mask from his face, revealing an exceptionally handsome, pale countenance.
He gently brushed his fingertips across the grey-haired man’s cheek, his voice as thin as silk yet brimming with deep affection.
“Brother, it should be fine now, shouldn't it? ...It seems the day you spoke of isn't too far off.”
His words received no reply. The grey-haired man remained in the deepest of slumbers, as still as a statue. If not for the slight rise and fall of his chest proving he was alive, an ordinary person might not have even sensed his presence.
After sitting by the bed in silence for a while, Syndra-Lo let out a soft sigh. He picked up his hat, donned the clown mask once more, and stood to leave the room. Everything returned to a state of tranquility.
...
When Aila, who had been surrounded by black shadows, finally came to her senses, she and Midir were back on the surface. Unlike teleportation magic, this inexplicable method of movement felt like being stuffed into a pitch-black pipe, hurtling through it, and then being tossed out without warning.
“Midir, are you okay?!” Aila shook her head, finally breathing a sigh of relief when she saw the white-haired figure beside her. The pressure brought by the man named Syndra-Lo had unknowingly soaked her back with cold sweat.
But Midir seemed captivated by something before him and did not respond to her concern.
Only then did Aila look around, realizing they weren't at the dim hotel side door where they had started, but on a brightly lit street.
This wide avenue was currently surrounded by multicolored lights, as if daylight had descended. However, only a few sparse figures moved through the space, adding a touch of quiet mystery to the scene.
Along both sides of the street, two rows of stone relief murals several meters high shimmered with a faint fluorescence under the lights. Midir was staring up at these artworks, his eyes filled with contemplation.
“What is this place? Why are there so many stone murals!”
As Aila stepped forward, she made a rough estimate. There were no fewer than several hundred stone murals visible along the road. Not only did their content vary, but their artistic styles were also distinct. The one Midir was examining closely was clearly not a product of the modern era.
“Look, Aila. These murals seem to be telling a story, don't they? Did Syndra-Lo have some other intention in sending us here?” Midir turned and pointed toward the thought-provoking artwork as Aila approached.
The stone mural before them, weathered by time, appeared to be at least several thousand years old. Although the style was simplistic—even crude by modern standards—it possessed a startling expressive power, outlining a breathtaking scene.
In the upper half, a towering spire pierced the clouds, with a city perched atop it. The city’s residents all possessed wings, gazing down at the world below. In the lower half, the creatures on the ground knelt toward the tower in pious prayer, as if performing some sacred ritual.
“Are these angels... or gods? Do these murals tell the story of the Age of Gods?” Aila’s gaze darted between the paintings, then turned to the sides, discovering that these stone murals seemed to form a continuous and grand narrative epic.
Just as the two were immersed in thought and speculation, a kind, elderly voice sounded from behind them.
“Hoho, it seems you two are travelers from afar. This street is called ‘Miracle Avenue,’ and every stone mural you see before you is a witness to the long history of the Holy Church of Light.”
The two turned to see a simply dressed old man. He was hunched over, slowly approaching the murals with eyes full of reverence.
“Old gentleman, are you saying all the stone murals on this street are related to the history of the Holy Church? Since so much effort was put into making this, I suppose this place is considered a landmark?”
Aila nodded politely to the old man, her tone revealing a strong sense of interest.
The old man, now standing before the mural, returned her smile and pointed to the content on the stone.
“Indeed. A large portion of these murals are genuine artifacts. After Saint Lord Roland took office, he spent a great deal of effort collecting these stone murals from various places. The missing parts were supplemented by hiring people to use ancient techniques based on records from old texts.”
As Midir listened to the old man, he looked at another mural nearby. It depicted a human wearing a crown and holding a longsword, bowing his head toward an angel descending from the sky. Both figures stood within a magic circle, and lines representing light radiated from their bodies.
“So, do you have any unique insights into the stories behind these artworks?” Midir asked curiously.
The old man gently stroked the stone slab in front of him and continued speaking slowly.
“These paintings are too old. In folk legends, they’ve long since split into many different versions. I am no historian, so I don't delve deep into their meanings. However, for the history of the past century—history we can almost touch—we hold the Church in the highest esteem. After all, since Saint Lord Roland took over, the entire city-state has changed tremendously. At the very least, life has become better, and that is something we have experienced personally.”
“I see. It sounds like you have a very high opinion of this Saint Lord. He seems like quite a decent person, wouldn't you say, Aila?” After hearing the old man’s account, Midir turned thoughtfully toward Aila.
“I haven't specifically researched the matter, but if the locals say so, it’s likely true. At least in my impression, he’s a rather amiable person.”
Aila shrugged and continued pacing forward, seemingly not particularly interested in the topic.
The old man, however, strongly affirmed Midir’s words. “Absolutely. Saint Lord Roland is perhaps the most popular one in history. There are even more stone murals about him further ahead; you might as well see for yourselves and feel the weight of that history. It’s just that, nowadays, there are fewer and fewer young people willing to understand this history in depth...”
With those words, the old man smiled and pointed toward the far end of the road. After a slight nod to the pair, he turned and tottered away, leaving behind only the sound of his fading footsteps. Midir and Aila shared a glance and then continued forward in the direction the old man had indicated.
A few minutes later, the two noticed the style of the stone murals on both sides of the road was quietly shifting. The art became closer to modern aesthetics, with clearer and more detailed images. A few were especially striking, as they detailed the legendary life of Saint Lord Roland.
Saint Lord Roland was born into poverty, yet through indomitable will and the careful guidance of a benefactor, he climbed the ladder of growth step by step. Ultimately, through his own tireless efforts, he ascended to the throne of the Saint Lord of the Holy Church of Light.
During his reign, he implemented a series of bold reforms, bringing prosperity to the economy of the Emerald City-State and allowing the people to live in peace and contentment. Simultaneously, he personally led armies to subjugate the monsters within a radius of several hundred kilometers, ensuring the city-state’s tranquility. This made Emerald City a unique place of peace on the continent, one that required no city walls for protection.
Every piece focused on depicting his great achievements. Midir couldn't help but nod inwardly. Based on the old man’s praise and the content of the murals, this Saint Lord was indeed a remarkable figure.
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