Divine Flame Crystal

Chapter 638 Agent of Light

Valerian crossed out a section on the array plate and drew a new circle: "Add an 'Echo Well' here, let the external beat eat itself first, and then feed it to the Scorcher." Hubert was puzzled. Valerian knocked his chest with his knuckles: "What people hear is not the beat itself, but themselves..."

Like scholars with deep knowledge of theology, the two men engaged in a heated discussion on the spot.

In the pain medicine department, he reduced the oil-guiding formula by half, increased the proportion of "pain-relieving powder", and added a line of small notes: "Use bitterness to relieve pain."

Hubert frowned: "Pain relief, shouldn't it be paralysis?"

"No." Valerian shook his head. "Numbness is an escape; pain is endurance. We don't want to fall asleep, we want to complete the experiment awake."

He added a small but crucial step: before the sixth needle fell, the carver was asked to confess his sins and wishes.

Elena suddenly realized: "Let him find his place in life amidst the pain."

"Yes." Valerian closed the book. "The fire without a name will disperse. The fire with a name will remain."

This group of people were just a group of low-profile holy scholars before, but now when the demigod bloodline is dying, they use their past experience to start a new path that no one has ever walked for the Holy See of Light.

The wind outside the monastery cut through the stone walls like a blunt knife. When Carloen led his men to the underground ritual chamber, the old scars on his chest were still burning. He glanced at the array and, without asking for specific steps, said, "Start with me."

"In order," Valerian refused. "You have old scars, just look at them first. There's no need to rush this moment. I need a blank subject."

A voice with a youthful shrillness rang out from the crowd: "Me."

The man who spoke was as thin as paper, but a strange persistence lingered in his eyes. He was the trainee knight who had always been held by Celine's neck on the battlefield, reminding her not to charge forward—Ilio.

"I'll do it." He swallowed and repeated himself, raising his voice slightly in case others didn't hear him clearly. Perhaps because he was too nervous, it sounded a little shrill. "I'll do it."

Carloen was about to persuade him, but Valerian raised his hand to block him: "That's right. A blank experimental question is closest to the truth."

He looked at Elio. "Remember three things. Watch the beat; watch the light; don't hide."

Ilio lay down on the broken platform, shivering with cold. Elena draped an old cloak over his knees and whispered, "If you're afraid, just stare at me and count the beats."

"Yeah." Ilio nodded and looked at Carron's wooden leg again. "Captain, if I yell, don't laugh."

Carolan smiled and said, "You yell, and I'll yell too."

The rhythm of the song begins.

When the first blood line was carved, Ilio almost instinctively flinched—his fingers clenched instantly. Elena's fingertips gently tapped the back of his hand: "Don't hide."

He bit his lower lip, tears welling up in the corners of his eyes. On the second line, he began to count: "One, two, three, four—one, two, three, four—" His voice was as soft as the footsteps of an ant, yet remarkably steady.

The third line had a platinum nail at the end. Ilio let out an "Ah!" and his whole body was like a peeled harp, all the strings suddenly lit up.

"What are you looking at?" Valerian asked in his ear.

"……black."

"Look again."

"There's... a little bit in the black."

"Sing louder," Valerian said in a low voice. "If you sing, it will hear you."

The chorus's next phrase arrived half a beat early, and the echo well, like a slow-beating heart, gave the young man a breath of fresh air. Ilio's pain became countable within the beat; he stopped dodging and began to wait: for the next beat, for the next line to fall behind, for that tiny ray of light to respond.

The fourth line, Randiansheng.

The fifth line, the ignition point is stable.

In front of the sixth line, Valerian gestured: "Stop."

The stone chamber suddenly became quiet, with only the candlelight crackling.

"Tell me your sins and wishes."

Ilio closed his eyes, a vein throbbing beneath his eyelids. He opened his mouth, his voice still trembling, "Sin… I'm greedy for life, afraid of pain, wanting to live and witness the prosperity of the world; wishing… I want to live, to be with everyone, to live with them in this chaotic world."

Elena's eyes turned red, and Carlon's wooden leg made a thump, as if anchored by these words.

Valerian pressed his finger downward. "Sixth line—name."

The bone-engraving needle wrote a short, succinct message on his chest. It wasn't a sacred text, but his own name. The silver hook then pierced through, and the platinum nail fell into a groove like a star. The binding law locked in this moment—the burning point no longer spilled out, like a lamp properly placed in its box.

Ilio almost cried out loud. He felt like someone had stuffed a small sun into his chest. It wasn't hot, but light was shining from inside.

Valerian didn't let him get up. He stretched out his palm, pressed it on the burning point, and whispered, "Sing."

Ilio did as he was told.

The voice gradually rose, not majestic, not gorgeous, and even had a bit of a cracked sound. But it was this cracked sound, like a new fire biting dry wood, bit by bit, until "whoosh", the candle flames in the entire stone chamber were all half a finger higher.

The chorus' mouths were all open, and Elena forgot to count the beats - she saw the statue with a missing nose on the wall, and at that moment, her eye sockets lit up.

"Record." Valerian held down his hand. "Suffering level 76%; self-reported effectiveness; good restraint. Supplement: Subject is stable within the rhythm of song, suggesting classification as 'song-driven'."

Another incomprehensible conversation, but no one showed any concern, as their eyes were now looking at the young test subject.

Carolan couldn't help but chuckled softly, "Boy, when you sing from now on, I'm afraid everyone will have to follow your lead."

"Captain, please don't laugh at me..." Ilio also laughed out loud, "I really didn't mean to sing off-key just now. It was just too painful."

Valerian helped him up. "Very good. Fear is the skin of man; not running is the bones of man. You may be singing out of tune, but you haven't run away."

After three days and three nights of adjustments, the ritual diagram finally completed its third draft. Valerian nailed it to the stone wall. The sound of the nail entering the crack echoed underground, like an invisible bell being struck.

Hubert was still uneasy: "We turned pain into rhythm, songs into melody, blood into oil... Isn't this too—"

"—Like those magicians?" Valerian replied calmly, "Instead of like the clergy? Very good. God gives us direction, and our paths of faith in God are different." He drew a circle around the edge of the array with his scepter. "The road must have mud, stones, potholes, and people paving the way. We are the ones paving this new road."

Elena sniffed and asked cautiously, "What if someone wants to just sing without carving?"

"That's fine," Valerian said. "If you sing so deeply that it carves itself into your body, that's fine." He turned and nodded to the chorus. "You go to bed first. The next group will be the knights."

Carlon threw his cloak back and turned to Celine and Mara: "Who's going first?"

Celine placed the broken blade on the stone table. "My hands are steady. I'll carve it."

Mara glared at her. "If you carve him, he'll be laughing and cursing. If I carve him, he'll even be able to recite a few verses from the Holy Tablet."

"Shut up, everyone." Carlon chuckled, revealing a bit of his youthful energy. "Listen to the Archbishop—"

Valerian looked at the group of people talking nonsense, and his eyebrows raised slightly like a blade of grass emerging from a crack in the stone. He knocked the scepter on the ground for the last and hardest time:

“Remember: we no longer ask for light—we are to be agents of light.

People, songs, blood, and bones, from tonight on, the cycle will run in a closed loop."

Through the crack in the cave ceiling, the moonlight fell right on the center of the formation plate, like an invisible seal being pressed down.

The candles all looked up.

The ground in the distance seemed to shake slightly - as if countless people's feet took the same first step at the same time.

In the square, the air was filled with the stench of rust and the sweet aroma of incense. Blood and holy light intertwined, creating a scene both profane and holy. As the bells of the Church of Light rang, the remaining citizens gathered beneath the shattered city walls. Their faces were gray, but their eyes were blazing.

"May my blood turn into the flame of holy light."