Volume 1 Chapter 663

Chapter 663: Rainy Night

The Holy Capital knew no rain in ordinary times.

Its cerulean skies existed as immutable fact, an unbroken law of nature. Like apples destined to fall to earth or light bound to scatter through prismatic air, this eternal clarity had persisted since time’s dawn, unchallenged and unchanged. The city’s "weather" manifested as a pale reflection of the Divine Kingdom’s radiance upon the mainland plane.

Thus only one circumstance could alter the Holy Capital’s skies – when the connection between the Divine Kingdom and the main plane itself fractured.

And Lolth understood precisely where that fracture lay.

The Holy Light permeating the capital had waned to dim embers. Not obscured by clouds, but diminished in its very essence. The ancient guardian who bore the God of Light’s divinity, that living key to the Divine Kingdom…

Had perished.

In the bleeding hues of twilight, Lolth alone grasped this truth first. Raindrops pooled in her outstretched palm, each bead heavy with finality.

Then the deluge began.

Heavens cracked open with thunderous applause. Darkened clouds pressed low enough to scrape cathedral spires as raindrops fused into silver threads, weaving an impenetrable watery shroud. Night descended alongside the rain, their veils merging into one.

From the Heretic Tribunal’s shadowed archway, Coristo came rushing, her footsteps splashing through newborn puddles.

"Teacher—it’s raining!" The princess’s voice trembled between wonder and dread.

"So it is." Lolth’s reply hung moist in the air.

Coristo’s features tightened with uncertainty. "Then… what’s happened?"

The demon queen studied the royal heir’s conflicted expression before delivering the verdict. "The Pope is dead."

Five words struck harder than lightning. Coristo staggered, rainwater streaming down paralyzed cheeks. Her breath caught in her throat.

"What?"

The choked whisper hung unanswered. Comprehension followed—the implications, the historical precedents of pontiffs dying mid-reign…

Even someone like Coristo could grasp this truth.

The present Holy Capital stood at a most precarious juncture for any "unforeseen events" to occur.

Like a snow-capped mountain on the verge of avalanche, the slightest tremor might unleash catastrophic consequences.

Yet…

Precisely at this critical moment, a seismic shock equivalent to an 8 or 9 magnitude earthquake had struck.

Her pupils constricted sharply. Yet tempered by Lolth’s rigorous training during recent days, she drew several measured breaths until her composure crystallized like winter frost.

"Teacher… Were you aware of this beforehand?"

"Indeed. The Pontiff informed me."

Lolth replied while studying Coristo with newfound interest. This young girl proved more astute than anticipated – she’d instantly discerned Lolth’s connection to the crisis.

No praise came forth, however. When steel met flint, sparks required no commentary.

"Since you’ve pieced this together… you may partake in the proceedings."

Lolth interlocked her fingers, pale digits weaving invisible threads of strategy.

"Dispatch a messenger to the Privy Bishop. The Privy Council will enact curfew edicts tonight – this isn’t negotiation. Should resistance arise, inform me immediately."

"Then mobilize the Ascetic Order and the three Grand Knight chapters… Their blades shall enforce the lockdown."

"Subsequently blanket the capital with proclamations: any soul found wandering without cause from rainfall’s cease through night’s depth… meets merciless judgment."

Her words fell like tempered ice, each syllable honed to lethal precision.

Coristo’s breath hitched momentarily before she inclined her head.

"By your command, Dame Lolth."

The junior retreated into shadowed chambers as her mentor contemplated the storm. After three heartbeats’ deliberation, Lolth stepped into the relentless downpour.

Magic could easily repel the deluge…

Yet she permitted the elements their due.

Torrents saturated ceremonial robes, transforming ebony fabric into leaden shrouds. Cascades streamed from hem and tresses alike – a living embodiment of the tempest.

Her path led not toward the Holy Capital’s gleaming spires, but to an undistinguished plot within the Devout Quarter.

Neighboring the Sacred River’s silver currents, this century-old district remained half-forgotten – relocated refuse facilities and vacant lots punctuating its checkerboard of paved desolation.

Through sheets of rain Lolth progressed. Holy Light lanterns lining the streets flickered to life, their luminous haloes dissolving in watery darkness. Illumination proved feeble against the storm’s veil… as intended by the capital’s architects, who’d never designed for such sodden extremities.

In contrast, though the drainage systems were operational, their efficiency left much to be desired. The low-lying streets had become shallow rivers, their waters rising to ankle-deep levels. Most citizens had retreated behind sealed doors and shuttered windows, while others sought refuge in the nearest churches. Soon, through the relentless drumming of rain, a weathered voice resonated across the city.

"A curfew is hereby imposed upon the Holy Capital. Those who defy shall be deemed heretics."

The proclamation from the Privy Council reverberated through the storm, echoing thrice across the drenched metropolis. Lolth’s lips twisted in a wry smirk.

_Those Privy Council fossils… quicker to act than I anticipated._

Yet paradoxically…

Her boots came to rest in a vacant lot within the Devout District. Before her stood skeletal remains of architecture – an incomplete chapel suspended in semi-abandonment. Originally conceived to serve the district’s spiritual needs, its construction stalled when Church of Light hierarchs became embroiled in endless debates about establishing new archbishopric or cardinal seats.

The chapel’s bones stood complete – stone foundations bearing timber ribs, walls adorned with unfinished carvings – a body awaiting its stained glass eyes and oaken doors. This skeletal sanctuary marked Lolth’s objective.

Wiping rainwater from her face, she flicked droplets from gloved fingers. From the chapel’s threshold, she addressed the silver curtain of rain with mirthful challenge.

"Though honor and integrity elude you, your punctuality surpasses expectations. But my lord… is this nocturnal wandering not a capital offense under curfew?"

Her casual taunt hung between thunderclaps until the downpour itself answered – a voice oozing with cloying arrogance, each syllable thick as treacle.

"Why should any Demon God heed laws forged by a succubus wearing the Church of Light’s stolen skin?"

The rain-curtain erupted as viscous shadows burst forth, tainting falling droplets with ichorous corruption. From this tainted deluge emerged an elongated silhouette – grotesque limbs stretching like taffy beneath a comically tall hat, its absurdity belied by the crushing aura radiating from its form.

The presence pressed against Lolth’s senses like physical weight as the entity concluded:

"You presume your decrees might bind… a sovereign of Hell?"