Chapter 530: I Borrowed Something Good

Five days later.

Vatican.

Shengbideguangchang was once again flooded by a sea of people.

The last time Yu Lin arrived, this place had already experienced an unprecedented congestion.

The Church, after deep reflection, poured huge funds into expanding the roads, replanned the square's capacity scheme, and even converted several adjacent streets into temporary gathering zones.

But today, those expanded streets, the newly built square, and the added evacuation passages—all have become ineffective.

There are too many people.

From the steps of ShengbideDajiatang, spreading all the way to the end of XieheDadao, then extending to the blocks across Taibeihe, a black mass of crowd surged like a tide, filling every inch of space.

People of different skin colors, languages, and ages were packed together; some held up crosses, some cradled Bibles, some simply stood there bare‑handed, heads tilted upward, looking toward the same direction.

In the sky, dozens of helicopters hovered, their rotors' roar drowned out by the voices below.

They were live‑feed helicopters from major global media, their cameras aimed at the platform in front of JiaohuangGongdian.

Every nation dispatched its most elite technical teams.

Of course, Xia Guo was among them.

Xia Guo not only sent its top engineers, but also proactively supplied numerous satellite links, ensuring the network would encounter no issues even amid such dense crowds.

They, of course, wanted to join this grand spectacle.

Today this is not an ordinary religious event.

It is a judgment against the entirety of Christianity.

And a judgment on those who make Divine Jesus want to cleanse the earth.

On the platform of JiaohuangGongdian.

Pope Francis stood at the front, his white robe fluttering gently in the morning breeze.

Behind him were a group of Red Cloaked Cardinals, Grand Archbishops, and the leaders of various Knight Orders.

No one spoke or whispered, and no one made any superfluous expression.

They all looked in the same direction.

Staring at the figure standing at the center of the platform, back turned toward the dome of ShengbideDajiatang.

Yu Lin.

He stood there, like the sole still object at the heart of this clamor.

All the world's cameras focused on him, all eyes in the venue fell upon him, yet he merely lowered his gaze slightly, as if waiting for something, yet as if thinking of nothing.

The time had come.

He lifted his head.

"Cough."

A clear throat‑clearing sound rang out, broadcast through the square's sound system and through the live feeds of hundreds of media worldwide, reaching every viewer of the broadcast.

Yu Lin spoke.

"Welcome, everyone, for coming."

His voice was flat, neither deliberately lofty nor pretentiously solemn, just as if speaking to an ordinary friend.

"As everyone knows, I am someone who likes to act directly, get straight to the point, and am too lazy for idle chatter.

"But today," Yu Lin continued,

"I may have to waste a few more words."

His gaze swept over the audience below.

It passed over the unfamiliar faces, over the hands holding crosses, over the devout, curious, nervous, and fearful eyes.

"I'm sure everyone knows about the Church Great Purge that England carried out many years ago."

The atmosphere in the square shifted slightly.

That happened centuries ago, yet for many present, it remains textbook history, a legend they have heard since childhood.

Yu Lin paused.

"Now I no longer need to hide anything from you."

His voice was not loud, yet it pierced clearly into each person's ears.

"I did it."

The venue erupted.

Not a chaotic explosion, but a collective, uncontrollable uproar.

People whispered to each other, stared around, and shouted in low voices in various languages.

They knew Yu Lin had only recently been selected by the Vatican as a "Saint".

How does this tie back to events from centuries ago?

But some people's reactions differed.

Members of Xia Guo's delegation exchanged a "just as expected" glance.

On Yingguo's viewing seats, several white‑haired elders nodded slightly, as if they had long foreseen this day.

Since learning that Arthur King was Yu Lin's disciple, they have pored over countless historical records, attributing every inexplicable historical mystery, every vanished figure, and every bizarre twist to Yu Lin.

Yu Lin dares to say it, and they dare to acknowledge it.

Yu Lin doesn't speak, yet they think the same.

Ignore all the other nonsense.

If there's anything you can't explain, go tell Miracle.

This is Miracle Power!

The commotion lasted almost a minute before it gradually subsided at Pope Francis's slight raised‑hand signal.

Yu Lin and the others fell silent, and only then did they continue speaking.

"In fact, I performed the Wash long before."

"But I won't tell you about that."

"In any case, counting today, it is the third time."

His gaze deepened, as if piercing the crowd before him and seeing farther away.

"As the saying goes, nothing exceeds three."

"The next time…"

He paused.

"I will not act again."

A collective gasp rose from the plaza.

Yu Lin ignored it and kept speaking:

"I await the moment when good and evil rebalance—perhaps the next era."

He did not pursue the topic further.

His gaze shifted to the other side of the platform, where no one stood, only a camera pointed at him.

"Back to the main point."

He raised his hand and pointed to the sky.

"For today's judgment, I have specially borrowed a fine item."

His voice was low, yet it cracked like thunder in everyone's ears.

"This item, in Xia Guo, is called—"

He hesitated.

"Sever Immortal Platform."

The words hung in the air.

The sky changed.

The heavy cloud mass seemed torn by an invisible giant hand, slowly splitting from the center outward.

The fissure was straight and clean, as if someone had cut a slit in the heavens with the sharpest blade.

Golden Radiance poured down through the fissure.

It was not sunlight.

Sunlight never bears that hue.

The clouds continued to part.

Something slowly descended from the radiance.

At first it was just a black dot, hovering at the exact center of the split.

Then it grew larger and clearer, as if being gently pushed from another realm into this world.

It was a platform.

The entirely black platform revealed no discernible material.

It resembled metal, yet stone, yet some substance not of the Human World.

It was square, each side at least thirty meters, its edges etched with dense patterns that, under Golden Radiance, flowed slowly like living things.

At each of the platform's four corners stood a massive stone pillar.

Chains coiled around the pillars, their other ends hanging in the platform's center, suspended there, awaiting something.

Below the platform, mist swirled, obscuring the base; only the ever‑churning clouds could be seen, as if stirred by an unseen force.

The entire Sever Immortal Platform slowly descended within that Golden Radiance.

Its speed was slow, yet it carried an irresistible pressure.

With each inch it fell, the people in the plaza felt their breathing grow heavier.

Some began to retreat, some knelt, and some simply stood there dumbfounded, heads tilted upward, mouths open, unable to utter a sound.

Finally, it halted in the air less than twenty meters below the platform's top.

Hovering.

Motionless.

The chains wound around the pillars trembled slightly, producing faint metallic clinks.

Yu Lin withdrew his hand, lifted his head, and gazed at the Sever Immortal Platform suspended in the air.

Sunlight streamed through the cloud fissure, falling on him and also on that black, silent, awaiting ancient execution platform.

He turned around, facing the crowd below the platform.

Facing countless eyes, countless faces, countless souls awaiting judgment.

"Now, begin."