Chapter 160
After Eris left to fight in the wasteland, "Ismara" did some more things in the Lostbelt.
But the Bell of Ys only gives her one chance, so what can she do?!
Thoughts began to race and circulate wildly within the Swarm, but Pierre had no time to pay attention. He struggled to pry open Joan of Arc's hand, but the Burning Witch stared at him expressionlessly, unmoved.
"You have already... received two punishments from the Celestial Flint!" Pierre struggled to squeeze out the words through clenched teeth, "This ceremony is not just taking place in Domremy ... but simultaneously throughout Gaul!"
Through his status as Eris, he "infected" these priests together, causing them to "transform" symbolically into one.
If she were to commit murder, the severe punishment she would face would be far more than just that.
But Joan of Arc simply tightened her grip, and then, pale flames rose from her palms.
Judgment has arrived!
"Aaaaaaah!" Pierre cried out in agony.
He did not die, but he was also chosen as the target of Skyflint's Excommunication!
Four kilometers away, there are two small churches where priests are also holding ceremonies.
However, an invisible bolt of lightning suddenly rang in their ears.
Boom!
As the excommunication fell, the priests who were holding torches fell silently to the ground, the torches landing on their bodies and burning them along with the church.
236 Joan of Arc Madness
The invisible white thunder, along the connection between "influence" and "ritual," traverses thousands of miles through the linking of "imagery."
Pierre is not dead yet; he has already become the target of extermination, but Eris is a whole.
Until the entire group is completely annihilated, he will always have a breath left, only able to watch helplessly as the ultimate punishment continues to fall.
Points of light kept falling from the clouds, like stars or raindrops.
Every ray of light that falls ignites a grand bonfire on the land of Gaul.
Absolute punishment!
Blood gushed from Pierre's mouth and nose, and his face trembled violently, like overlapping pages of a book, or like wings about to take flight.
Joan of Arc of Arc was shrouded in dark shadows—the dark sun did not leave her, but followed her like a shadow.
Lyon.
Led by the bishop, the devout priests filed into the cathedral, which housed the sacred relics. They wore dark flat-brimmed hoods and carried Orthodox Church crosses in their hands.
People lined the roads, holding flowers and colorful flags, cheering with joy.
The Bishop of Lyon stopped before entering the final door.
Before crossing the threshold of consecration, as a bishop, he was customarily required to say a few words.
"Today, we will hold a blessing ceremony. Today, we will witness the birth of a miracle."
"What will come down on the land of Gaul is not only divine grace, but also the Holy Spirit walking among us."
"The bells of the new century are near! Gaul will rise again in the millennium, and be great again... From the divine miracle, each of us will gain dignity."
He spoke eloquently, as if to emphasize the effectiveness of his words, and the clouds in the sky seemed to shimmer.
Immediately afterwards, a bolt of lightning struck down from the clouds!
As nearly ten thousand residents of Lyon watched in horror, the terrifying white lightning bolt twisted and fell from the sky like a dragon, striking the bishop who was still preaching in an instant.
Bai Lei leaped and weaved through the crowd.
No one dared to witness how it lashed out at mortals; all who dared to look directly at it had their light permanently extinguished in an instant.
The organs that once formed the eyeballs no longer exist. The only light they can recall for the rest of their lives is the lingering trace of white lightning flowing between heaven and earth at this moment.
A deafening roar that sent shivers down one's spine resounded nearby.
It sounds like a long process, but it only took two or three seconds. Once the effects of everything subsided, the remaining people dared to raise their heads.
The dome of Lyon Cathedral was cleanly and neatly pierced through, the magnificent building torn to shreds like a piece of paper; as for the priests and the bishop of Lyon... they were struck dead immediately and then burned by the intense heat that followed, truly melting in the lightning and fire like a piece of paper, and being kneaded into a stinking pile of mud.
The air still seemed to echo with the spirited voice of the Bishop of Lyon.
Absolute punishment.
Another extermination!
Pierre was furious.
"Why did you have to do this?" the cardinal gasped. "Among them are not only the Lord's shepherds, but also many innocent lambs... Under excommunication, neither shepherds nor lambs are spared, and the impact you have had is considerable!"
The Skyflint's Excommunication doesn't care whether you have any unspeakable secrets!
But Joan of Arc said nothing; her body grew darker and her face grew colder and paler.
Her hair fluttered in the wind, and the trident-shaped armor on her forehead seemed to burn like flames.
Bordeaux.
In the vineyards and fields where crops grow, simply dressed priests and farmers sit around a campfire.
The distance between them was initially uneven, but the priest didn't seem to mind; he seemed to prefer this irregular approach.
As the hymns rose, the priest stood up and began his sermon, watched with reverence by the farmers.
As he opened his mouth to utter the first syllable, he suddenly heard an extremely distant roar in his ears.
So the priest from Bordeaux stopped and asked the surrounding audience, "Did you hear thunder?"
The farmers looked at each other and said, "No."
But the priest did not speak again. He stood there, spitting out dark blood from his eyes, ears, nose and mouth—the excommunication had already fallen when he heard the thunder, striking him to death!
The farmers scattered in panic, and the priest who had been killed trembled once before finally falling forward and crashing into the campfire, emitting a terrible stench.
Joan of Joan of Arc's arm was covered in dark armor, but Pierre noticed that it was trembling.
This should have been a joyous moment, but Pierre felt only despair – how many penalties had she received?
She had already suffered one of Celestial Flint's ultimate punishments during her previous battle with the Fallen Empress. Now she's suffering three more!
There's no point in trying to escape; he's already been locked into the Punishment.
He finally understood Joan of Arc of Arc's intention: she wanted to use excommunication to wipe out the Eris faction throughout Gaul!
Yes, Eris will continue to grow, infect, and mutate.
Killing individuals is useless, but to kill them all, the ruling party must take action.
However, the Celestial Flint can no longer operate on its own.
The wars that followed His return have already led to a half-century of accelerated technological development.
Signs of social disconnect are already emerging in the world today!
Like a tug-of-war, the mere existence of the Celestial Flint requires all other ruling powers to exert their utmost efforts in the opposite direction to prevent the world from falling into an irreversible abyss.
The so-called extermination punishment is merely a mechanism by which the Celestial Flint manages the mortal world, just an insignificant tentacle projected onto the present world during the Twelve Archons.
However, for the mortal world, this is already an extremely severe punishment, and no one has ever dared to exploit this mechanism.
Only "The Burning Witch", only Jeanne Darc!
Only she dared to pay such a terrible price, using excommunication to lash out at the world... Pierre was suddenly filled with intense fear, realizing that the calm woman before him was already a complete madwoman.
A gentle rain suddenly began to fall on the blue fiery tree.
This is the last of the Three Sages Orthodox Church saints, symbolizing the June Archon of the Holy Spirit, Pearl.
He brought rain at that moment.
The rain fell softly on Joan of Arc and the fiery tree, quenching her thirst and suppressing the raging fire within her.
A glimmer of light returned to those dull golden eyes.
The ultimate punishment is coming again!
Marseille.
The priests, who were about to hold a ceremony, walked toward the church in twos and threes.
The sea breeze in the distance made them feel hungry, and a strong appetite suddenly surged from their stomachs.
The priests exchanged glances and decided to buy two bowls of mixed fish soup from a roadside stall.
Marseille is very famous, but it was originally just a dish made by fishermen who would stew together leftover fish, shellfish, kelp, and other seafood that they hadn't sold that day.
Because of its fresh ingredients, delicious taste, and simple preparation, it spread throughout Gaul and even Western Europe.
If I had to say, there's no fixed formula for this kind of home-style cooking; you can add whatever you want, it all depends on the chef's skill.
The priests were not people who indulged in gluttony; they finished their fish soup, paid, and left.
After walking only a few steps, the priests slumped up – not in the way of bending over, but in a terrifying way, with their heads raised so high that the backs of their heads almost touched their backs.
The bow is in a backward tension!
Such a tragic death was not an isolated incident, but rather a common occurrence among all the priests.
The stall owner, who had just picked up the money, turned pale. The coins in his hand seemed to be burning hot. He screamed and collapsed to the ground.
Joan of Arc released her hand.
Pierre's mangled body fell to the ground.
Both sides understood that after the excommunicated death of the cardinal in Paris, the last two targets were each other.
But Pierre never understood why Joan of Arc would pay such a terrible price and do something so recklessly.
What did she experience in the Lostbelt that enabled her to make such a decisive decision, even at the cost of endangering a nation, to wipe out the entire Eris faction in Gaul?
"Ha..."
The cardinal struggled to sit up, managing a forced, ugly smile on his charred face.
"I lost... I really didn't expect it."
Joan of Arc was no longer Eris's woman, but rather the real-world ally of that great enemy.
"No, I'm not her assistant either."
The thunderclouds grew thicker, but Joan of Arc shook her head and uttered her first words to date, which were also the last words Pierre heard.
"I will repay her for the torment I suffered... but who else but me deserves to take revenge on her?"
The final, devastating punishment crashed down.
Pierre froze, staring at Joan of Arc, before turning to ashes with a whoosh.
With his death, all of Eris's minions throughout Gaul perished, not one was spared.
Joan of Arc bent down, kneeling on the ground, and bluish-white flames flowed from her seven orifices.
The drizzling rain gradually intensified, eventually extinguishing the flames on her body.
A continuous rumble of thunder echoed from the clouds, sounding like a debate or a violent argument.
Joan of Arc waited in silence, but no more excommunications were delivered.
The rain intensified, and the downpour hindered everything.
The low temperature spread across Joan of Arc of Arc's body, turning water into ice and sealing all the restless flames under the cold snow.
Her skin grew even paler, but instead of flames, cold icy mist spewed from her mouth and nose.
Joan of Arc turned around, looking around with a sense of bewilderment and helplessness, and she shivered in solitude.