Chapter 80: The Covenant of the Holy City, The Pope’s Welcome

Vatican City, St. Peter’s Basilica.

This is the center of faith for billions of believers worldwide, the very heart of the Holy See.

At this moment, deep within the basilica, in the hidden chamber known as “Among the Apostles,” the atmosphere was suffocatingly tense.

The current Pope, Benedict XVII, a benevolent-looking, white-robed elder, whose appearance could be mistaken for that of an ordinary old man, sat quietly, listening to the report from three knights of the Holy Temple.

Before him lay three lilies, forged from the melted Holy Sword.

Also present were several cardinals clad in crimson robes, and a figure shrouded entirely in a dark red cloak, whose aura was as deep and impenetrable as an abyss—the Director of the Inquisition, the most mysterious and feared institution in the Vatican.

“…He said he was an old acquaintance from the East, and that three days hence, he would visit the Holy City in person, requesting that you…prepare tea.” The lead knight, in the humblest posture, repeated my words.

“An old acquaintance…” Pope Benedict XVII’s clouded eyes flickered with a complex, inscrutable light. He reached out with a withered hand, gently stroking the metal lily, sensing the lingering essence upon it—an aura both simple and primordial, yet sovereign over all things.

“Director, what do you make of this?” The Pope turned to the man in the dark red cloak.

“His power is as unfathomable as divine judgment,” the Director’s voice rasped, low and ominous. “His strength lies outside our understanding. The Holy Light withdraws before him, proving his rank far above our angels, perhaps…even equal to the Lord Himself.”

At these words, the cardinals’ faces turned deathly pale.

“What should we do? Activate the ‘Gate of Heaven’ defensive array? Or awaken the slumbering ‘Holy Spirit’?” one bishop asked urgently.

“No.” The Pope shook his head, stopping him.

“He said he comes to negotiate, not to declare war. He turned sword into flower—a warning, but also goodwill.” The Pope stood, his eyes regaining calm and wisdom. “If he wished to destroy us, we wouldn’t even have time to activate the array.”

He moved to the window, gazing out over the majestic St. Peter’s Square.

“Pass my order: three days from now, open the Holy Gate with the highest ceremonial honors, clear the square, and I shall greet him personally.”

“Your Holiness! This is absolutely forbidden!” several bishops exclaimed in unison. “Your safety…”

“This is our only choice.” The Pope cut them off, his tone brooking no argument. “To face a mysterious ‘god’ with any hostility is to court annihilation. All we can do is show enough respect and humility.”

He turned to look at them all, speaking slowly: “Moreover, I am quite curious as to what this ‘old acquaintance’ from the East wishes to trade with us.”

Three days later.

Vatican City, St. Peter’s Square—closed to visitors for the first time in history.

Pope Benedict XVII, arrayed in the most solemn ceremonial white robes, holding a golden staff, personally stood at the center of the square. Behind him were all the high-ranking members of the Holy See, their expressions grave, tinged with nervousness.

At noon, sunlight poured down right on schedule.

Without any earth-shaking spectacle, my presence—and that of Yi Yi—appeared naturally at the far end of the square, as if we had always belonged there.

I took Yi Yi’s hand and, step by step, walked toward the Pope.

The entire Holy City was silent.

Only the sound of our footsteps echoed clearly across the empty square.

With Yi Yi beside me, I stopped before Pope Benedict XVII.

He looked at me, and I looked at him.

In the old man's eyes there was tension, curiosity, but above all, the wisdom and calm born of enduring many storms.

“Welcome, honored guest from the East,” the Pope bowed slightly, speaking in flawless ancient Latin. “I am the servant of this land, Benedict.”

“Jiang.” I stated my surname as a reply, then pointed to Yi Yi, smiling, “This is my daughter, Yi Yi.”

Yi Yi politely nodded to the elderly man.

The Pope’s gaze rested on Yi Yi, a hint of affection in his eyes, and the tense atmosphere seemed to ease a little.

“Please, come with me. The tea is ready.” The Pope made a gesture of invitation and personally led the way.

We passed through the grand basilica, arriving at a small, elegant parlor not open to the public. There were no dazzling decorations here, only walls lined with books and the gentle aroma of tea.

Once we were seated, the Pope personally poured me a steaming cup of black tea.

“Mr. Jiang,” he asked directly, “may I know what brings you here?”

“I have come for an item,” I replied plainly. “The ‘Tear of the Holy Grail.’”

At the mention of this name, the Pope’s hand holding the teacup paused. Even the Director of the Inquisition behind him, cloaked in dark red, seemed to ripple slightly.

The Tear of the Holy Grail—one of the highest sacred relics of the Church, the foundation of their faith, proof of ‘miracles’. Its significance was beyond question.

“Forgive me, sir,” the Pope deliberated for a moment, speaking cautiously, “The Tear of the Holy Grail is an invaluable treasure of the Church, a miracle left by the Lord, it…”

“I know its origin,” I interrupted. “It is not the tear of your so-called ‘god’. It is, rather, a fragment of a star infused with vast life energy, which fell to Earth thousands of years ago and happened to land in that cup.”

I revealed the truth calmly.

“That life energy, pure and gentle, can heal wounds and purify souls—so to your ancestors, it appeared miraculous.”

The Pope and the Director of the Inquisition were silent. For they knew that in the oldest, most secret manuscripts—accessible only to the Pope and Director—the records matched my words almost exactly.

“I need it, because it is one of several items I’m seeking,” I continued. “But I respect your faith and do not wish to take it by force. That’s why I call it a ‘trade’.”

“A trade?” The Pope’s eyes flashed with hope. “May I ask…?”

In his view, for someone of my nature, all worldly things had lost their meaning.

I smiled slightly and raised one finger.

“I can restore ‘miracles’ to your Holy Grail.”

As I spoke, I gently picked up the teacup before me.

A pill, exquisitely pure—a manifestation of my Nascent Soul cultivation and understanding of the path of life—slipped from my fingertip into the tea.

The pill dissolved instantly, and the entire cup of tea glowed with a gentle, jade-like green light. An intoxicating aura of life filled the room. Simply breathing it in, the aged Pope felt vitality surge through his once-withered body.

I pushed the cup toward him.

“Drink it.”

The Pope hesitated, but finally raised the cup and drank it in one gulp.

In the next moment, a miracle occurred.

His white hair began to darken at the roots, visible to the naked eye. The wrinkles on his face smoothed away rapidly. His once-clouded eyes became clear and profound.

In just a few seconds, he looked as if he had grown thirty years younger!

“This…this is…divine grace!” The Pope, feeling unprecedented vigor within, trembled with excitement.

“This is not divine grace, but the power of life itself,” I said calmly. “I can infuse your Holy Grail with life energy a thousand times stronger than in this cup—enough to shelter your Church and sustain the next millennium of ‘miracles’.”

“I offer you a new, more powerful ‘miracle’ in exchange for your old, soon-to-be exhausted one.”

“Do you consider this trade fair?”

The Pope stood and bowed deeply to me.

“Fair.”

He turned to the Director of the Inquisition. “Go, bring forth the Holy Grail.”

Moments later, the Grail was brought forth with reverence. I took the gemstone, shaped like a teardrop, and fulfilled my promise—pouring into the empty cup a blaze of life essence bright enough to illuminate the entire Holy City.

The sixth gemstone, acquired.

The transaction—delightful.