Only God
Chapter 355 - 312 Doomed to Fall

Chapter 355: Chapter 312 Doomed to Fall

The soldiers of King Nesol were bound to arrive at the Royal City of Danschel sooner or later.

This subconscious shadow hung over the entire city, causing people to sink into a mire of fear.

People flocked to the Temple in the Royal City, offering various precious sacrifices to the stone statues. In past rituals, some handled their duties carelessly, but as disaster loomed, they deeply regretted their past actions, weeping bitterly for their previous irreverence.

Catherine was not among them, but she too sought answers from her faith, praying to the Almighty God.

Even the True Believers who came to preach could not escape this heavy and oppressive atmosphere.

There weren’t many who didn’t fear death, including even those with unwavering faith.

True Believers feared the forthcoming war, and they were also panicked by the increasingly scarce food within the city.

A widespread famine had spared not even the typically peaceful Danschel, and there had been rumors of people starving to death on the streets not long ago, even though last year’s great harvest had provided them with a large supply of food. There were simply too many mouths to feed in the city. King Phil led by example, tightening his belt and rationing, and by ordering the Nobles and Ministers to hand over their stored grain, they had managed to hold out until today.

King Phil had hoped that, after the plunder of the great nations, Prince Tyrone would bring back their food to Danschel to relieve their food crisis, but all these hopes had turned into pipe dreams.

Catherine, a musician, was not going to starve to death on the streets—after all, this was the Royal City, and musicians, like Priests, were revered in these desperate times. However, even the musicians’ lives were not good, eating porridge just like the common citizens, only getting a bit of salted meat during rituals.

The city had already imposed martial law, allowing people to go out only during the first half of the day. Catherine saved some of her allotted food and took it to the True Believers.

She had thought that the True Believers would lack food, but to her surprise, when she arrived on that street, she saw the Vice Elder leading the True Believers in distributing thin wheat porridge.

Every time the preaching True Believers handed out a bowl of porridge, they said, "This is given to us by God," and as those words fell, many of the civilians receiving the porridge had tears welling up in their eyes.

"This, this is..."

Catherine exclaimed in astonishment, watching the crowds of civilians bunched together to receive the porridge.

The Great Elder walked over, smiled at Catherine, and said,

"Are you surprised?"

Catherine nodded.

"Is this a miracle?"

Catherine asked subconsciously.

For a moment, she could not understand how, in a city where everyone was short of grain and even the highest-ranking Priests could not satisfy their hunger, True Believers had managed to save so much food. Could it really be a miracle?

The Great Elder spoke in a lower voice,

"You know, True Believers are human; we have no miracles, nor do we falsely claim them.

If you want to know where this food came from? We came here to preach three or four years ago. Every one of us would work for others, harvesting wheat, herding, tending vineyards, receiving donations... Money came to us in this way, but we did not use it; instead, we saved it.

We use this worldly wealth to buy food and then distribute it to the poor who lack clothing and food. In secular terms, the poor are more likely to believe in God. Spiritually speaking, Prophet Noen did the same in his day, and so we follow his example.

The wealth of the Mortal World is spent and used on others. Through this, we True Believers accumulate true wealth in Heaven."

The Great Elder, like a tireless sage, cleared these little matters up for Catherine.

Catherine suddenly understood, and she couldn’t help admiring, but when she thought of such a Great Elder harboring doubts about God, she couldn’t help feeling a bit heartbroken.

The Great Elder seemed to capture what was on Catherine’s mind and said with a wry smile,

"Catherine, I suppose I guess what you’re hoping for, but it’s probably not going to happen.

Countless True Believers have never witnessed a divine miracle...

I think I’m one of them. I’m not special, why would God specifically show mercy to a speck of dust from the earth who is nearing his end?"

The Great Elder’s voice was very low, so low that the devoutly faithful True Believers could not hear it, only Catherine could.

"But, but I have seen... a miracle."

Catherine couldn’t help saying.

She had told the Great Elder that story before.

"I remember you mentioned it before, but it’s quite likely just a trick,"

The Great Elder turned around and said slowly,

"Perhaps that woman made use of some Divine grace, or maybe it was the power of the Ancient Language... I used to think so when I was young, but not anymore now that I’m old."

Just like before, the Great Elder did not believe Catherine’s words.

In Danschel, no one believed Catherine’s story. The harp’s fifteen strings turned into nightingales... Either it was an elaborate trick or a complete lie.

Catherine couldn’t help feeling discouraged. She was sure that it was no trick or deceit, but a true divine miracle. The miracle wasn’t complicated, Sola uttered a word, and her harp turned into nightingales.

To this day, those nightingales have not returned; the harp remains empty.

When the released nightingales would return, Catherine didn’t know.

...

No matter how humbly the people of Danschel knelt before the icy Divine Statues praying, what was inevitable would still come.

King Nesol had temporarily quelled the chaos within the country, and after barely establishing stability in these times of destruction, he led his troops to plunder abroad.

In an era of unrest, the various desires of human nature would be maximized. Even a grain of wheat, however insignificant, could provoke two strangers to draw swords against each other.

And so it was between nations.

The enemy, dense like an army of ants, surrounded the walls of Danschel City. King Phil and the Crown Prince donned their Armor, personally standing on the city walls, undoubtedly boosting the garrison’s morale. But it wouldn’t be long before a curtain of arrows flew from the distance.

Among the rain of arrows were a dozen or so fireballs of varying sizes. Any garrison touched by them burst into flames instantly and turned to char in the blink of an eye.

Was it some Divine’s grace or the Ancient Language spread across the land? No one knew. All they saw was wave after wave of arrow rain followed by a tide of enemy forces.

Siege ladders were erected, the sounds of war drums and horns intertwined on the battlefield, and the garrison fought fiercely. Various heads and bodies fell, blurring the line between friend and foe, as hot blood splattered in all directions.

The fall of Danschel City was inevitable; any resistance was but futile effort, merely a matter of time.