Chapter 9 – The Grand Festival
After endless waiting, it finally happened—the High Pope entered the Third Wall, the border wall.
His speech was to be held In Paradise Square, the largest plaza in the Great Wall.
But things didn't go as I imagined.
None of the nobles showed up.
None of the main antagonists appeared.
Only the hero came.
I was handing out paper to the mages for the fireworks when the annoying fly buzzed back into my life.
Lucas: "Look who It is—Tom, the peasant-born."
Gus: "Yeah, boss always gets drunk in front of him to make him greedy."
As usual, Lucas—the younger brother of Karish, a noble—had gathered a bunch of insecure brats around him.
(He's the same noble who bullied people back In Chapter 5.)
I tried to act indifferent, but Lucas wouldn't let me.
Suddenly, he grabbed my hair.
Lucas: "Let's see if this peasant knows how to show respect to his lord."
Me: "Ah… ah…"
Lucas: "Didn't hear you. What did you say?"
Me: "I said… it hurts."
Lucas: "Of course it hurts. If you want me to let go, you'll have to beg."
Me: "It hurts!"
Lucas: "What?"
Me: "It hurts!"
Lucas pulled harder and punched me in the stomach.
Lucas: "If it hurts, then beg. Scream. Beg your lord—that's me—for mercy."
I held back tears, furious.
But I broke my pride.
Me: "Please… stop pulling my hair."
Lucas: "Didn't hear that. What did you say?"
Me: "Please, my lord… I was wrong. Let me go. I'm sorry."
Lucas: "Oh, that's it?"
He let go.
But he wasn't done.
Lucas: "Hurry up. Kneel. Lick my boots and beg for forgiveness."
Me: "…"
I wanted to resist, but he yanked my hair again.
Lucas: "Didn't I tell you to lick my boots? Why aren't you doing it?"
I had no choice.
I knelt.
And endured the worst humiliation of my life.
I licked his boots and begged.
Me: "My lord, I was wrong. Please forgive me, great master."
Lucas: "Aka, what do you think I should do?"
Aka: "I think he's learned his lesson. Let him go."
Lucas kicked me hard in the face and finally left.
I lay on the ground, crying In pain.
The pain of humiliation.
The pain of insults.
The pain… the pain… how miserable I was.
I was a peasant.
A Breach-born.
Magicless.
And I knew this wouldn't be the last time.
I'd be insulted and humiliated again and again.
The festival had free booths and games everywhere.
There were contests and fun activities.
But I wasn't In the mood for any of it.
Woman: "Young man, don't you want to try these delicious cookies?"
I looked up and saw a woman offering me a tray of sweets.
Me: "Thank you, ma'am. I'm not hungry."
I kept walking.
Rejected every offer.
I didn't feel like doing anything.
Grandpa: "Where have you been? The Pope's speech is about to begin!"
Me: "What?"
He didn't let me speak.
Grabbed my hand and pulled me along.
We arrived at the speech site.
When the Pope stepped forward, I saw his appearance.
He wore a silver-white robe—symbol of nobility and high rank.
And a metal mask with openings only for the eyes and mouth.
Unlike other Popes, he was the only one who wore a mask.
There were several stories about it.
One said he lost his beauty in war.
Another claimed he wore it to protect his family from harm.
And the strangest one?
That his face was so divine and beautiful, anyone who saw it would go mad and commit suicide.
A bizarre tale.
The crowd began cheering and chanting.
The Pope raised his hand to silence them.
Then he began his speech.
Unlike my previous world, there were no microphones.
He used echo magic instead.
Pope: "Today is a blessed day. You have proven that even in the worst of times, your faith in the Great Goddess and the *ians remains strong. You have shown that nothing can shake your devotion."
It was like most speeches.
But one thing stood out.
He didn't mention the Emperor or the Four Great Noble Houses.
Previous Popes always did.
It was tradition.
But this time, he broke it.
The tension between the Church, led by the Pope, and the Imperial Court, led by the King, had long been known.
The nobles had split—some supporting the Church, others the Crown.
But now…
The rift was deeper.
A civil war between Church and Court seemed inevitable.
And then, the highlight of the festival—
I saw the hero.
A boy standing beside the Pope.
Skin white as snow.
Delicate as porcelain.
Dark eyes and brows.
He looked at me.
I looked back.
A fateful gaze.
Between me and the hero.
A moment that would change the course of the story.
End of Chapter 9
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