Chapter 411: Copper Bell Cakes Must Have Red Bean Paste

The grand bell of the State Church rang from the highest tower, thirteen strokes echoing all the way to the Priory of the First.

The Battle Nuns first stared in confusion, then revealed a flicker of panic and helplessness.

Even Mo Wen Val, Grand Superior of the Battle Nuns, showed a moment of shock.

"My lord, does this sacred bell signify—?" a nun clad in the Model Battle Armor beside Mo Wen Val asked in astonishment.

"How could this be so sudden?" Mo Wen Val could not help frowning.

Zhou Yun's voice suddenly rose from behind Mo Wen Val. "What does this bell mean? What's so sudden?"

The Grand Superior of the Battle Nuns spun around swiftly and saluted Zhou Yun with the Eagle Greeting.

"My lord," Mo Wen Val explained, "this is the sound of the Sacred Chire Bell."

"When it rings, it means the State Church's Pope has died."

"But—but this is too sudden! Pope Bartol Sliste is still in his prime."

Mo Wen Val's voice brimmed with disbelief.

Bartol Sliste belonged to the conservative faction, believing Imperial law was the perfect embodiment of the Emperor's will, permitting no alteration whatsoever.

Politically, he stood in opposition to Zhou Yun and Mo Wen Val.

Bartol Sliste had also attempted to manipulate Mo Wen Val to control the Battle Nuns, but Mo Wen Val was not as young, naive, or easily swayed as he assumed.

Yet even with their ideological conflict, Bartol Sliste remained the Pope, the spiritual leader of billions of faithful; his sudden, inexplicable death sent a jolt through Mo Wen Val's heart.

Zhou Yun's expression shifted slightly.

He recalled what Saint Guilliman had said during their small council meeting.

"Could it be he saw Archangel Guilliman, became so overcome with emotion his heart stopped, and was summoned by the Emperor to ascend the Golden Throne?" Zhou Yun said, his lips twitching at Mo Wen Val.

"Bartol Sliste was a seasoned political veteran—how could his will be so frail?"

Mo Wen Val shook her head repeatedly, hesitated, then said:

"My lord, I do not doubt your judgment—I doubt Bartol Sliste's faith was ever that fervent."

"You don't know what kind of man he was. Even if the Emperor himself contradicted him, he'd insist his own thoughts were the Emperor's will."

That was true, Zhou Yun nodded slightly. He had expected the State Church to be the first to come groveling after his return to Terra.

After all, he had returned with Saint Guilliman—the Emperor's purest, most perfect, most venerated offspring.

Yet the Pope had stubbornly aligned himself against Zhou Yun, Saint Guilliman, and Guilliman.

He even claimed that his rigid adherence to Imperial law was the true will of the Emperor.

It was the opposite of heaven—he understood the Emperor better than Guilliman or Zhou Yun did? Zhou Yun wished he knew whose ass had last used the Emperor's throne.

"If Bartol truly died this way, then our Battle Nuns must first recognize him as a saint," Mo Wen Val declared firmly.

It was clear this Grand Superior held deep resentment toward the Pope.

But Mo Wen Val had not considered another possibility: his faith may have been lacking, yet Saint Guilliman's psychic power could have compensated for that deficiency.

"Grand Superior! Saint Doraemon!" Magda, another Grand Superior, ran in from the outer courtyard of the Priory.

She panted heavily—clearly bearing urgent news.

"What has happened?" Mo Wen Val asked.

"The Archangel visited the State Church cathedral. Pope Bartol Sliste met Saint Guilliman, became overwhelmed with emotion, suffered sudden cardiac arrest, and was summoned by the Emperor—he has ascended the Golden Throne."

"Saint Guilliman held his body, wept for his fervent faith, and canonized him as Saint Sliste."

As Magda spoke, her own face twisted in disbelief.

". h?" Mo Wen Val's voice was filled with incredulity—both envy for Bartol Sliste and awe at Zhou Yun's uncanny accuracy.

At the same time, she sensed something was off.

Mo Wen Val was no politician; before becoming Grand Superior, she was merely an ordinary Battle Nun, and even afterward, she preferred the frontlines over Terra's political intrigues. She only felt something was wrong—she did not grasp its implications.

Until she saw a wisp of white smoke rising from the distant State Church cathedral.

"They've already chosen a new Pope? So quickly?" Mo Wen Val exclaimed in shock.

White smoke meant a new Pope had been chosen—but the former Pope had only just died. Was this not too fast?

"The State Church has chosen Eos Ritera as the new Pope, witnessed by the Archangel," Magda whispered.

Eos Ritera—a name steeped in Ultramar style. According to Mo Wen Val's memory, this Cardinal had been born in Ultramar and served there for years.

Mo Wen Val recalled Zhou Yun's earlier words. Though she knew little of politics, she now understood something.

Though it bordered on sacrilege, she could not help suspecting Saint Guilliman had used his psychic power to kill Bartol Sliste, then coerced the Cardinals into electing the Ultramar-born new Pope.

Pure, noble Saint Guilliman—could he really do such a thing? It must have been Guilliman's doing. After all, the Lord of Ultramar excelled at precisely such maneuvers.

Zhou Yun's lips twitched slightly. Compared to Saint Guilliman, he was still too gentle.

He had merely intimidated the Rogue Trader delegation and shifted the thinking of the Mars Forge General—nothing as swift or decisive as Saint Guilliman's actions.

Though the Archangel appeared pure, perfect, and kind, his inner malice rivaled Guilliman's.

At least, Saint Guilliman's maneuver was something Guilliman himself could never accomplish—he lacked the psychic talent.

Watching the white smoke signaling the new Pope's election, Zhou Yun grew still.

As agreed, Saint Guilliman still needed to secure the Master of the Assassins. Then Zhou Yun would accompany him to the Inquisitorial Fortress.

He needed to move faster—say farewell to Jeanne, brief Mo Wen Val on the High Lords' affairs, then leave the Priory to meet Saint Guilliman.

Ye Ruite stared, bewildered, stunned, frozen, at the man before her wearing a cowboy hat and glasses.

Doraemon—Ye Ruite had heard this name in the Nuns' latest sermons.

But just now, Saint Maiden Jeanne had called him "Your Majesty."

In the Imperium, only one person could be called "Your Majesty."

Ye Ruite's head spun, her body trembled, terror and awe nearly overwhelming her.

Yet she forced herself to stand, trembling, desperate to hear His holy words.

"Copper bell cakes must have red bean paste."

Doraemon, mouth stuffed with copper bell cakes, spoke solemnly:

"Eating copper bell cakes is such a beautiful thing."

The way He ate them was more horrifying than the mutants Ye Ruite had seen in the hive city sewers—as if He had not tasted food in thousands, even ten thousand, years.

Ye Ruite looked helplessly to Saint Maiden Jeanne beside her.

Jeanne merely gazed blankly and indifferently at Doraemon devouring the cakes, offering no opinion whatsoever.

At that moment, footsteps approached from outside—Zhou Yun was returning.

Doraemon, as if hearing the footsteps of an Inquisitor, snapped his head up, swiftly set down the copper bell cakes, and returned to his original position.

"Do not tell Zhou Yun about me."

He warned Jeanne and Ye Ruite again:

"This concerns the Emperor's grand plan."

Ye Ruite opened her mouth slightly.

Her faith told her to believe this man's words—but the crumbs of copper bell cake still clinging to his lips relentlessly shattered her belief.

"Your Majesty—"

Jeanne looked at Doraemon—or rather, at the will inhabiting Doraemon—with an expression bordering on pity.

If Ye Ruite had to describe it, Jeanne's gaze was like

the gaze of a father who had gone bankrupt, owed sixteen point eight billion, and sunk into drunken ruin.

". ou're not avoiding work, are you?" Jeanne asked softly.

Doraemon's face twitched slightly.

"You've become less obedient, Jeanne," he said. "Did I ever teach you to speak so bitterly?"

"You once mocked Saint Orl Peason with fragmented, cruel words for investing his entire life savings in twenty acres of land on Kaus," Jeanne whispered.

"I will reveal my existence to Zhou Yun at the proper time and place."

Hearing footsteps drawing nearer, Doraemon's voice grew slightly urgent:

"I wish to observe Zhou Yun in secret, to understand what connection he has with this so-called twenty-second century."

"You trust me, Jeanne—think of the last decade and more, I raised you."

Beside them, Ye Ruite grew even more terrified.

For the will inside Doraemon's body spoke in a tone that reminded her of her own near-monster of a father.

"Without me, where would you be? How much did I spend raising you?" Every time he took money from her, he said those words.

He had always treated his child as a tool from the start.

The tone of this will inhabiting Doraemon was eerily similar to her father's.

This god was terrible at parenting—Ye Ruite instinctively judged, though this judgment was profoundly sacrilegious.

"In any case, now is not the time to reveal my existence. Neither of you must speak of it."

The will inhabiting Doraemon gave his final warning.

Before Jeanne or Ye Ruite could respond, he stepped back into the corner, his eyes once again vacant.

At that moment, Zhou Yun entered, his gaze briefly sweeping over the nearly vanished copper bell cakes on the table.

Then his eyes passed over Doraemon, standing in the corner.

Jeanne's gaze lingered on Doraemon for a moment—then—

"The Emperor," Jeanne said without hesitation, turning to Zhou Yun and pointing at Doraemon in the corner.

(End of Chapter)