Don't confiscate my identity as a human race-Chapter 1203 - 801: Not the Black Sun Lord, but the Madly in Love Lord

Four days later.

In the northern part of Holy Polante Theocracy, the capital Helshalem finally recovered from a period of turmoil.

Following that, Helshalem's city-state began busily preparing for the grand coronation ceremony.

This nation, having endured hardships, is about to welcome a new leader.

Beneath the Papal Hall at the summit, the city-state's buildings were mostly in deep gray or white classic style, the air filled with the fragrance of flowers and solemn music, and the streets, neat and spacious, were everywhere dotted with well-dressed merchants, knights, and priests.

In the corners of streets and alleys, citizens gathered in small groups, quietly discussing the news from the southern Honing Empire.

"It is said that the situation in the Honing Empire is terrible now, chaos and slaughter everywhere."

"Apparently, it's a man in a black robe, commanding several incredibly powerful black-robed demons, as if demonic lords descended from heaven, truly god-like figures of calamity for mankind..."

some citizens cautiously said.

Another person quickly interrupted him.

"Don't talk nonsense; the source of the disaster in Honing was the evil aspect of our former Pope Lankros..."

Before he could finish, someone scolded,

"Watch your words! Our current Pope is Her Majesty Sigrid Saint Anastasius!"

If Sigrid had not defeated and expelled the crazed Lankros, it might have been the citizens of Helshalem who suffered the indiscriminate slaughter.

At least on this matter, the residents of Helshalem were all thankful.

The calamity had just brushed past them, and now the whole district was immersed in a festive atmosphere.

Flowers and ribbons adorned every street and windowsill of every house; indoors and out, people were discussing the forthcoming grand event.

Although in these two days the news of sudden changes from the Honing Empire made them realize that the fourth anniversary celebration of Seville's peace restoration was likely canceled, they wouldn't despair like they had decades ago, whether the wars erupted again in this world or not.

Success is not the endpoint, nor is failure the end; only the courage to move forward endures.

The spark in their hearts had already been ignited many years ago; it was merely in trying times that it blazed strongly once more.

And now, the Holy Prant Empire was not without its pillar of strength.

It was their faith —

The most majestic and crucial building of the Holy Polante Theocracy, the Helshalem Papal Hall, today's venue for the coronation ceremony.

After days of diligent cleaning and repairing, the scars left by battle had been thoroughly erased, and the Papal Hall was restored to its former glory.

Outside the hall, priests dressed in white cloaks bordered in blue had already lined up, uniformly majestic in all four directions.

Leading them, a paladin held high the Holy Prant National Flag adorned with a unicorn emblem, fluttering in the wind.

Before the ceremony officially began, from the square in front of the Papal Hall stretching for miles along the street, it was already a sea of people, tons of them.

Thousands and thousands of people came from all directions, cramming the square tight, just to witness this historic moment.

In the center of the square stood a circular platform, covered by a crimson carpet, surrounded by three rows of pristine white marble columns, wrapped with purple and green ribbons, and in the center stood a statue of the Goddess of the Moon holding a rod, draped in a sheer veil, with knights standing rigidly on either side of the front steps of the platform.

They were clad in silver-white armor, their helmets topped with azure plumes, and their spears shone with a cold light, forming an invincible iron wall; the church's Musicians' Corps positioned at the steps, ready to play the celebratory music.

Until the clock in the Helshalem Clock Tower struck noon.

The chimes rang out, and cheerful music suddenly erupted.

Accompanied by the melodious tunes, the procession of bishops grandly emerged from the Papal Hall and, under the gaze of all, escorted Sigrid, who was dressed in splendid attire, slowly walking towards the platform.

Her figure was tall, her light-colored hair cascading down her back, her eyes shimmering like stars in the night sky or violets blooming in spring, the aura of ambition around her as powerful as that of a queen of this land—

At the sight of her, many ordinary citizens were involuntarily intimidated.

"She has a completely different aura from the old Pope."

Anyone could see that she was not satisfied with controlling what was before her eyes; she intended to conquer everything her gaze touched.

"Far more sharp than the conservative old Pope, she looks like she really wants to conquer the world all the way to the south, one could feel a biological fear of her."

"It's said that Sigrid Saintess is a powerful yet relatively gentle woman, why does she seem more pope-like than the Pope?"

"What else do you think it takes for someone to drive the old Pope from office..."

The distant citizens whispered among themselves.

But they couldn't see, there was a hint of loneliness in Sigrid's eyes.

"Such a beautiful scene, yet you cannot share it with me."

Sigrid gazed at the magnificent scene, whispering silently.

She still remembered, the first time she enticed the Saint Heir to her hideaway, Lanci had wanted to take her along to infiltrate Nirvana Branch, and had asked her, when she reached the high places and found herself always alone, no one speaking to her, the harsh winter of solitude making her shiver, what really did she seek in high places?

She had not admitted that, after all the busyness was over, she could only enjoy her hideout alone, no matter what achievements she had accomplished, there was no one to share her joy with.

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Back then, that kid had somewhat sparked her playful spirit, and what followed was irresistible, and by the time she came to her senses, she had already understood the reason for standing at high places.