Chapter 73: The Mountain of Ashes

Majestic mountains rose at the edge of the grand Holy City—or rather, the city itself was built nestled against the Mountain of Ashes. The mountain was shrouded in a profound darkness, like the colossal horns of a demon erupting from the earth. Its peaks soared into the clouds, and winding paths spiraled upward.

At the foot of the mountain stood several sturdy, towering fortresses, garrisoned by fully armed soldiers of the Penitence Army. After two days of hard travel, Li Nanke and Reynold finally arrived at the Mountain of Ashes. Disguised in hooded cloaks, they blended in with the throngs of pilgrims making their way up the twisting mountain roads.

Those who came to the Mountain of Ashes were fanatically devout believers. Some walked barefoot across the rough stones, tracing the figure eight over their chests every three steps, then kneeling to press their foreheads to the ground, blood streaming from their brows as they kissed the soil of the sacred mountain, oblivious to their own pain. Others bore heavy diamond-shaped crosses strapped to their backs, hands bound behind them, bodies contorted with the burden, while some wielded short whips, scourging themselves as they walked, their garments stained crimson but their faces radiant with pious smiles.

Travelers like Li Nanke and Reynold, who simply pressed forward without partaking in these rituals, were rare and conspicuous. Along the mountain path, not only were there Penitence Army sentry posts, but also statues of the Thorned Father erected at intervals.

Suddenly, a sharp scream echoed from nearby. Li Nanke looked toward the sound and saw a figure bound to a thick wooden stake. The devotee’s limbs were twisted into an unnatural shape, his body ensnared by countless sharp thorns that pierced deep into his flesh, blood flowing down in vivid streaks. With eyes tightly shut, each breath he took was accompanied by agonized moans, sweat and blood mingling as they trickled down his cheeks.

He was imitating the Thorned Father.

Pilgrims stopped to watch, their eyes filled with admiration and reverence. Some prayed in silence, while others drew knives and sliced their own arms, offering blood as a sign of respect and devotion to the Thorned Father.

The Penitence Army stood quietly by, neither intervening nor objecting, as if this ritual had always been tacitly permitted.

“Monstrous,” Li Nanke muttered, hastening away.

Midway up the mountain stood a large, flat-topped church known as the Sanctum of Contrition, where faithful could pray for forgiveness. Ordinary believers could go no further. Beyond lay the mountain path guarded by a mass of Penitence Army soldiers, who permitted only clergy of the Holy Congregation to proceed to the All Saints Cathedral atop the peak.

The soldiers here were the elite of the elite, clad in heavy armor and armed with spears and shields, blocking the way for any pilgrims whose zeal might drive them to madness.

“These soldiers are merely the outward strength of the Holy Congregation,” Reynold whispered quietly beside Li Nanke. “The true power lies within the cathedral at the summit. The highest-ranking clergy and Penitence Army commanders are all there.”

Li Nanke raised an eyebrow. “With so many experts in the cathedral, how did you manage to reach Anya back then?”

“Because I was once a high-ranking officer in the Penitence Army myself. Few in the army could match me,” Reynold replied, neither boasting nor exaggerating—his strength was indeed formidable.

“The commander of the Hammer Corps, the one blessed by the Sixty-Seventh Grace—is he the strongest in the Penitence Army? Could you defeat him?”

Reynold was silent for a moment, then said irritably, “If I could beat him, I would be the corps commander, not a Grand Instructor.”

The ranking of the Painful Graces had nothing to do with personal strength; it was determined solely by the order in which the blessings descended, and many recipients were merely ordinary believers.

As they spoke, they drew near the checkpoint, and several Penitence Army soldiers cast them warning glances.

Li Nanke turned to Reynold. “Are you ready?”

“Of course.”

Reynold straightened his back and strode toward the soldiers.

“Halt!” Spears barred their way, and two soldiers stepped forward to block Reynold.

Reynold threw back his hood and cape, barking, “Take a good look at me! Summon your commander!”

The young soldiers clearly did not recognize him and exchanged uncertain glances.

An older, sharp-eyed soldier in the group looked surprised. “Grand Instructor Reynold?”

Many younger soldiers had heard tales of Reynold’s ‘heroic’ exploits, even if they had never seen him in person. Even though he had been banished from the Holy Congregation, he was still a figure none could afford to treat lightly.

The young soldiers looked at one another, unsure what to do.

Reynold nodded to the older soldier, adopting a stern tone. “Tell your commander that I wish to ascend the mountain. If he cannot grant permission, then fetch someone of archbishop rank.”

The older soldier turned and went to report.

After a long wait, a group approached. They were clergy in robes, led by an elderly man wearing a crown entwined with thorns—attire reserved for the Archbishop of Contrition.

The archbishop’s gaze was icy, lingering on Reynold for several seconds before he sneered, “Reynold, you have been expelled from the Holy Congregation for years. What makes you think you still have the right to ascend the Holy Mountain?”

Reynold did not flinch. “Archbishop Kolonna, I have come not only to ascend the mountain but to seek reentry into the Holy Congregation.”

The archbishop was taken aback, as if hearing a ludicrous joke, and scoffed, “The crimes you committed would have warranted your execution. The Holy King’s pardon was mercy beyond measure. Now you dare to seek entry again?”

Li Nanke, holding a large box in both hands, stepped forward. “Archbishop, since Lord Reynold has requested to return, it shows he comes with sincerity.”

“And who are you?”

“I am Lord Reynold’s retainer,” Li Nanke replied. “My identity is irrelevant. What matters is the sincerity Lord Reynold brings.”

With that, Li Nanke offered the box.

Now, standing on the Mountain of Ashes, the archbishop was unafraid and opened it directly.

Inside lay a bloodied head. The archbishop’s gaze froze as he scrutinized the twisted features and the burn scars on the cheeks, recalling a certain individual. Judging by the degree of decay, the owner had died only days ago, yet that person had passed away more than ten years prior.

“This is…”

Li Nanke coughed softly. “Archbishop, your guess is correct. This is Friisia.”

“The Holy King canonized Friisia as the Scorched Mother and built her a convent—a great honor.”

“However, Friisia was ungrateful. Instead, she nurtured heretical thoughts and resented the Holy Congregation, blaming them for her disfigurement and her lonely years in the convent.”

“Before her death, Friisia prayed quietly, wishing for another chance at life. Her wish was granted—a miracle of resurrection.”

“But after returning, she chose to hide in the convent’s crypt, preferring the darkness underground to serving the Holy Congregation again.”

“During Lord Reynold’s years in exile, he was tormented by regret. Though the Holy King forgave him, he never forgave himself, always seeking to atone for his past.”

“By chance, Lord Reynold and I discovered the Scorched Mother’s shocking secret. When he tried to report it to the Holy Congregation, he was attacked by the Mother.”

“Facing such evil heresy, Lord Reynold fought a long and perilous battle, finally severing the heretic’s head.”

“This head is his atonement for past mistakes, proof of his sincerity in returning, testament to his loyalty to the Holy King, and unwavering devotion to his faith.”

The archbishop looked at the head in the box, then at Reynold, falling silent for a long moment.