pjbooks Chapter 123 Witness
Chapter 123 Witness
Chapter 123 Witness
Startled, the flock of pigeons scattered with a loud bang, their white feathers fluttering in the sunlight.
The street performer's violin struck a sharp, off-key note and then abruptly stopped. The crowd that had been watching the performance and sunbathing in Kathmandu erupted in a tsunami of gasps and murmurs.
"What happened?!"
"Look! In the sky!"
"It looks like a person? Wearing a glowing cloak!"
"The other one looks like a priest?"
"They're landing!"
Tourists took photos and videos like crazy, with exclamations in various languages mingling together.
The local Romans appeared even more uneasy, many instinctively making the sign of the cross, their eyes filled with confusion.
In awe.
"They're very noisy," Su Fan, playing Attila the Hun, the Scourge of God, said to the old priest in Latin, his tone as flat as if commenting on the weather. "Noisier than the bleating of a flock of sheep. We may get up now."
Ignoring the increasingly dense flashes of light, they strode off with the old priest. Their direction was that of the kingdom ruled by the Pope on behalf of God, surrounded by ancient walls, serene and solemn in the sunlight.
"They moved! They went that way!"
"Quick, take a picture! My God, where is he going? The City of God?"
"Stop him! Police! Where's the army?"
"Get out of the way! They look like trouble—"
"Why does the light emanating from that cloak bring such a sense of peace?"
The surging crowd instinctively parted to make way for him, like Moses parting the sea. This was not out of courtesy, but a complex result of fear, awe, curiosity, and instinctive self-preservation.
People automatically retreated to the sides of the street, crowding under the awnings of cafes, behind the railings of fountains, and in the shadows of ancient arches, with countless eyes fixed on this "miracle" walking among humans.
Su Fan, playing Attila the Hun, the Scourge of God, kept his eyes fixed straight ahead, his cloak swaying rhythmically with each step. The tranquil aura emanating from the cloak seemed to subtly expand, not physically, but through an atmospheric purification.
Wherever it passed, the most fervent shouts in the crowd would unconsciously subside, and the most extreme panic would calm down slightly, as if the pale gold glow of the moon could gently soothe the rough edges of the soul. But this did not eliminate hostility; it merely made the chaos more orderly, and mixed pure fear with more scrutiny and confusion.
The old priest followed closely behind, and the two walked slowly, one in front of the other, like pilgrims. Sacred and solemn!
Several daring young people tried to take photos from the side for a closer look, but when Attila the Hun, the Scourge of God, inadvertently swept across them, the strange contrast between the coldness in his eyes and the gentle light of his cloak made them freeze instantly. A chill ran down their spines, and they unconsciously put down their phones.
As they drew closer to the Tiber River and towards the City of Holy Light, the atmosphere in the air subtly changed.
The tourists' surprise and commotion were gradually replaced by a more solemn and wary atmosphere. More local residents began to appear, especially the elderly, who stood on their balconies or in front of their shops, watching silently, prayer beads in their hands, their faces devoid of the tourists' curiosity, only filled with deep worry and devout vigilance.
In Rome, the city at the foot of the Pope, the underlying faith began to emerge.
Not far away, you can see St. Peter's Square. At the end of the square, the facade of St. Peter's Basilica stands majestically, and the wide steps in front of the basilica are like a stairway to heaven.
A steel defensive line, consisting of blast-proof armored vehicles, half-person-high alloy roadblocks, and a dense formation of Italian troops dressed in black riot gear, carrying blast shields and automatic weapons, stands across the vital passage to Ii-Tioga.
Attila raised his head toward St. Peter's Basilica and spoke in his broken, ancient Latin, his voice not loud, but clear enough to drown out the wind in the square and the faint noise in the distance, reaching the ears of everyone present: "I, Attila, King of the Huns, guided by an unspeakable will, have traversed death and time to set foot here."
Just then, a side door on one side of St. Peter's Basilica opened silently.
It wasn't the main entrance; the bronze door, which was only opened on extremely important occasions, remained tightly shut. What was open was a simple, small door used by clergy for their daily use.
The first person to emerge from the door was an elderly man dressed in a simple white robe and wearing a small round hat. He was thin, with a gaunt face and deep wrinkles, but his eyes were clear and peaceful, as if they could encompass all turbulent waves.
He held no scepter, only a simple string of wooden prayer beads. His steps were slow but unusually steady as he walked straight toward the defensive line.
The commander of the defensive line clearly recognized the newcomer. His expression changed, and he immediately spoke a few words into the communicator before gesturing with his hand. The tight defensive line immediately parted, creating a narrow passage.
The white-robed elder walked through the passage to the front of the defensive line, facing alone the towering "Scourge of God" not far away, which was bathed in holy light yet exuded a savage aura.
The old man stopped, his gaze calmly settling on Attila's face, then glancing at the cloak on his shoulders. Finally, his eyes briefly met those of the old priest behind Attila. The old priest bowed slightly and made the sign of the cross on his chest.
Then, the old man in the white robe spoke. He used Latin, pure, fluent, and with a classical rhythm, which formed a wonderful contrast with Attila's stiff and ancient pronunciation.
"In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit," the old man, or rather the Pope, said in a low but clear voice, "guest from afar, you claim to be guided by an unspeakable will to tread this foundation of faith. Would you tell me, what is the purpose of that will that has led you here?"
The Pope did not address the King of the Huns, nor did he mention Attila, a name that evokes historical fear; he simply referred to him calmly as a guest.
This form of address maintains a distance without directly igniting hostility, leaving room for dialogue.
All eyes, including those of the tense soldiers on the defensive line, the breathless crowd in the distance, and the old priest beside Attila, were focused on Attila.
Su Fan, playing Attila, slowly turned his gaze from the dome of St. Peter's Basilica to the pope before him.
"What do I seek?" Attila the Hun repeated the word, his deep voice carrying an echo that seemed to come from beyond the reaches of time. "Not what I seek. It is the will that draws me to witness."
"If you have truly come guided by some will, and not with the old desire to plunder," the Pope's gaze, as if it were tangible, fell upon the face of Attila the Hun, played by Su Fan, "would you be willing to step aside for a while? Under the Lord's roof, discernment can be found. True guidance is never afraid to be examined in the light."