Reborn As a Pirate - Chapter 167

Chapter 167: Sacred Duel!
In the bustling heart of Santos City, off the coast of the main island, stood the grandiose Libra Holy Church. Its towering edifice was a beacon of divine authority, home to the venerated “God of Libra.”

Inside, the grand hall shimmered under the glow of chandeliers, casting a pale golden light that bathed the assembled congregation. Hundreds of eyes turned toward the witness stand where Princess Ariel of the Water Drop lineage rose gracefully. Her gown, a stunning tapestry of azure and gold, whispered around her in the gentle draft that meandered through the lofty space.

Veiled delicately, her face was a mystery, save for her striking eyes, pools deep and blue, flecked with golden specks, mirroring the ocean’s vast expanse.

As Ariel stood, the murmurs of the crowd dwindled into a weighted silence. The abrupt proclamation of “judgment” by Pope Libra had stirred unrest, but her presence commanded stillness. If Pope Saint Berg Cavendish embodied the celestial might of their faith, then Ariel was the flesh and blood of royal sovereignty, the future of the Kingdom of Santos firmly within her grasp.

Her emergence wasn’t merely ceremonial. Beyond the walls of the church, her name was synonymous with potential and promise. No longer were other royals considered for the throne; Ariel’s remarkable gifts had eclipsed them all. It was her destiny that drew crowds to partake in the “Water Drop Blessing,” not for fleeting fortunes but for a tangible connection to the burgeoning power she represented. To receive her blessing was to ascend socially and spiritually.

This dynamic had transformed her from a mere royal to the de facto sovereign, her influence a boon to her people even as she remained uncrowned.

The air thickened with tension as the spiritual leader and the future queen stood metaphorically at odds in the sacred space. The sudden conflict between divine mandate and royal bloodline left even outsiders, pirates, adventurers, and foreign dignitaries were all awestruck.

Change was imminent, palpable in the charged atmosphere.

Undeterred by the hushed awe, Pope Libra wielded his scepter with authority, his voice booming through the hall as he resumed the “Word of Judgment.”

“Water Drop Princess Ariel,” he thundered, his tone resonant with condemnation, “you have conspired with the witch Meloye to desecrate our sacred relics. Your actions have thwarted the holy ceremony, sullying the glory of our God, an act most vile and unforgivable.”

“The divine law is clear,” he continued sternly. “Those who besmirch the sanctity of our faith shall cleanse their sins through fire.”

“Thus, by the power vested in me, Pope of Libra, Saint Berg Cavendish, I declare you guilty. You shall be purged by flame!”

As his verdict echoed off the marble and stained glass, two intense shafts of golden light descended from the high dome, illuminating both the Pope and Princess Ariel. They stood, bathed in celestial light, like the dual scales of justice, poised in a delicate balance between mercy and retribution.

Amidst the grandeur of the Libra Holy Church, the solemn pronouncement from Pope Libra seemed to reverberate through the towering columns. Yet, Princess Ariel’s azure-gold eyes remained serene, undisturbed by the storm brewing around her.

Her voice, crystalline and poised, cut through the tension. “Where’s the evidence?”

Pope Libra’s response was firm, untouched by emotion. “God’s revelation requires no evidence.”

A soft chuckle escaped Ariel, her demeanor as tranquil as a clear sky yet tinged with the ominous quiet before a storm. “If that is your stance, then there is no room for discussion.”

She straightened, her gaze unwavering. “Let’s settle this with what you call a ‘holy duel’.”

Pope Libra’s expression held steady, his voice even. “The gods witness all. Should I lose, I will defer to your judgment.”

The sacred duel, a ritual born from the ancient practices of the Church, was designed for exactly such disputes where tangible evidence was lacking. With the sacred scale inoperable due to the missing holy object, this duel was not just ceremonial but necessary.

High above the congregation, the Holy Duel Arena materialized, shimmering with a pale golden aura.

“Hartmann, you go,” Pope Libra commanded, his tone light yet undeniable.

A middle-aged knight in dark silver armor, the Libra insignia proudly emblazoned across his chest, bowed respectfully. “Yes, Your Holiness.”

Opposite him, the silent figure of a female knight in pristine white armor stepped forward from behind Princess Ariel, her presence alone a stark contrast to her adversary.

The knights ascended to the arena, their figures radiant against the mystical backdrop.

“I am Hartmann Priven, the First Judge of the Libra Church,” declared the silver-clad knight, his voice resonating across the gathered crowd.

“And I am Hadari Nicholson, squire knight of the Iris Family,” the female knight responded, her tone as cold as the steel she was armored in.

Their brief introductions gave way to a palpable energy surging around them, illuminating the arena with a vibrant display of spiritual might. One knight shone silver, the other white, both as formidable and unwavering as the blades they represented.

Amidst the onlookers, two nondescript figures in grey hooded robes observed quietly. In the chaos of Santos City, their simple garb went unnoticed, yet under the hoods, a pair of keen dark blue eyes tracked every movement in the arena, lingering a moment longer on Princess Ariel. These observers, blending seamlessly with the crowd, were as much a part of the unfolding drama as the combatants themselves.

Miss Witch’s brow furrowed, a shadow of doubt flickering across her eyes. “This feeling…”

Deep within a shadowy, labyrinthine cave, Ryan and his comrades from the “Temple of Overthrow” stood at the precipice, gazing out over a colossal rift cleaving the underground expanse before them.

The sight was awe-inspiring: a vast subterranean world unfolded, its enormity so profound it bordered on the unbelievable. How could such a massive cavity not threaten the island’s very stability above?

The rift, a monstrous gash stretching thousands of meters, seemed a clear mark of divine wrath, too immense and precise for any hand but that of gods.

At the cave’s mouth, the Water-Drop Princess, her form shimmering like a mirage, addressed them softly. “As promised, I’ve brought you to the Saint Phile Underground Rift Valley. Red Kite informed me of your alternate escape route via teleportation.”

“Until we meet again, I wish you all the best.” With those parting words, her figure fragmented, dissolving into myriad droplets that vanished into the misty air.

Ryan exchanged glances with his team. It was No. 3 Yellow Sand, clad in a white hooded robe, who broke the silence. “Let’s make haste. Without the ‘Sacred Libra’ seal, the entrance to the deeper labyrinth within this rift risks exposure at any moment.”

“If we can neutralize the black-robed foes before the maze unlocks, our task becomes simpler,” he continued, urgency lining his voice.

The group nodded, their resolve firming. Their mission was clear: penetrate the underground labyrinth once it opened, and secure the ninth level’s entrance to thwart any intruders.

Ordinary foes, pirates or adventurers lacked the prowess to navigate to the ninth floor. Thus, their primary adversaries were the enigmatic black-robed figures lurking in the shadows, their identities and motives shrouded in mystery.

The team was under pressure. The Labyrinth’s seal remained intact for now, but breaching it prematurely and confronting the black-robed menace could spare them a more perilous confrontation deeper within. Success not only meant fulfilling a triennial obligation but also securing a rare mid-level artifact as a bonus reward.

The threat posed by the black-robed individuals was formidable; their strange spiritual powers made them daunting opponents. Overthrow Tample despite their number and strength, recognized the challenge they faced, each black-robed adversary was a formidable force.

Yet, following Yellow Sand’s lead, No. 4 Green Tide, No. 5 Cyan River, and No. 6 Blue Mountain voiced no dissent. Together, they prepared to descend into the darkness, their minds set on their daunting objective.

Ryan’s gaze flickered with hesitation as he took in No. 3 Yellow Sand’s commanding presence. Sensing his doubt, Cyan River leaned closer, her voice low and reassuring. “Purple Wind, you’ve only recently joined us at the Overthrow Tample, so there’s much you don’t yet understand.”

She glanced toward the enigmatic figure in the white hooded robe. “Yallow Sand, our No. 3, is a Tier 3 Extreme Professional. The Tample Master himself has ranked him among the top ten of all Tier 3s globally.”

Ryan’s eyebrows shot up, surprise etched on his features. The implication of Cyan River’s words wasn’t lost on him. The realm of third-level extreme professionals was vast and fiercely competitive. To be touted as one of the top ten was no minor accolade.

He had always sensed an aura of formidable power around Yellow Sand, but the true extent of his capabilities had remained a mystery. Now, with such high praise, Ryan felt a mix of awe and curiosity stir within him. He hadn’t yet measured his own strength against such esteemed ranks, making Yellow Sand’s expertise all the more formidable in his eyes.

This revelation bolstered the morale of the team. Even Cyan River, who had faced the menacing black-robed adversaries firsthand and knew well their formidable nature, seemed invigorated by the assurance Yellow Sand’s reputation provided.

Emboldened by their leader’s reputed prowess, the team readied itself. Ryan, previously uncertain, now felt a surge of confidence. With unanimous agreement, they proceeded toward the rift valley, a gaping hole in the earth that promised peril and adventure.