Chapter 203: Heavenly Punishment

Chapter 203: Divine Retribution

In the Great Library.

Jin Cheng staggered forward, his steps unsteady.

The bronze incense burner he clutched slipped from his grasp, striking the floor with a shattering crack.

Before his eyes, scarlet mist surged from the mouth of the mechanical “angel” relief he had designed, its exquisitely carved wings—cold, hard, sharply beautiful in a way only machinery can possess—trembling like raven feathers soaked in blood.

He could no longer distinguish reality from illusion.

He did not know where he stood, nor what he was meant to do.

He only remembered that he was a follower under the Holy Trinity, a saint wielding the highest earthly authority.

Yet, was this saint truly a saint?

Jin Cheng’s mind was in turmoil.

He could no longer recall when he had truly become a saint.

Perhaps it began the moment he ordered the complete sealing of the library’s third floor and deliberately erased from his mind the “forbidden” knowledge?

From that point, he felt himself drifting farther from “machinery” and nearer to the “divine.”

Then why did a bone‑deep terror still cling to him?

“Holy Trinity above, grant me salvation.”

Jin Cheng fumbled for the familiar seal pressed to his hand, seeking its power, but the oily slick of his fingertips birthed an overwhelming dread.

Instinctively, as if touching a venomous snake, he flung the seal away; its landing produced a modest thud that rang in his ears like an explosion.

The scene before him grew ever more blurred, phantoms and reality intertwining beyond his comprehension.

He seemed to see the faithful still kneeling in the cathedral square, yet the prayers they chanted turned into sharp wails.

On the ceiling, stained‑glass murals began to ooze viscous fluid; within the fresco depicting the divine realm forged by the God of Machines, the mechanical angel spewed thick oil that instantly ignited into fierce flame.

In those infernal flames, the scrolls he had once cast into fire resurfaced.

Ash blossomed and drifted, a ruinous smoke settling upon his scripture‑embroidered vestments as if to bury them.

“May gunpowder and steam cleanse all heresy.”

A thunderous, chaotic voice boomed.

Jin Cheng glimpsed a faint light in the distance.

He saw the mecha statue outside the cathedral, yet from its eye sockets a silver centipede crawled forth.

“Why—why does my heart still beat beneath the idol’s feet?”

Jin Cheng muttered to himself, trying to tear off the breathing mask fused to his face, only to discover his flesh already rotted, the mask adhered to his skin.

He was wracked with pain; the ring of authority on his ring finger suddenly constricted, and in the illusion the brittle snap of breaking bones mingled with the hissing of toxic gas exploding in his lungs.

Pressing onward, he saw the high priest he had executed upon taking the saint’s throne now standing at the secret chamber’s doorway.

The priest’s decayed fingers were entwined with electric cables that flickered like a lash poised to deliver punishment.

“You have betrayed the Holy Trinity, you have abandoned the great power of electricity!”

The high priest shouted, brandishing the cable and striking at him with fierce force.

“Scripture. Chapter Seven.”

Jin Cheng staggered back, fell to the ground, lifted his head, closed his eyes, and tried to recite the exorcism verses, pleading for the God of Machines’ protection.

Yet in the next instant his voice was cut off.

“Boom!”

“Bang!”

A massive impact locked him firmly to the earth.

A taste of rust spread through his mouth.

In his final breath, Jin Cheng saw a colossal black shadow sweep across the sky.

It might have been

a true angel from the divine realm.

All the civilians who had not yet fled witnessed the descent of divine punishment.

Dark‑gray, enormous wings flashed across the heavens, roaring like thunder.

Nearby glass shattered completely, the shockwave rattling the city’s signs to a frantic clatter.

At an unrivaled speed, the angel surveyed the mortal kingdom of the God of Machines from a lofty perch, then, with a heart‑stirring pivot, thrust straight upward.

Its silhouette gradually vanished into the clouds, yet just as everyone thought the angel would depart, a more staggering explosion echoed from the sky.

The angel dove, as if plummeting, hurtling straight toward the ground.

The kneeling believers looked up in shock; all assumed they would witness an angel’s fall.

But at the moment of impact, the angel abruptly rose.

From beneath it, a spear wreathed in flame drove violently into the earth.

“Bang!”

A violent crash rang out, and dust rose in its wake.

The angel circled the mechanical cathedral once more, and as Zhang Tao raised his right hand to breach the sanctuary, the angel, as if in salute, lifted briefly then sharply reduced its speed.

Then it drifted away slowly.

When its form disappeared among the crowd, the battle on the ground had already ended.

All the stubborn resistors were exterminated, and the lightly poisoned guards of the 15th Vanguard were disarmed and held on the cathedral’s side.

Watching the litter of corpses and flowing blood, Zhang Tao’s hands trembled slightly.

Even now, he had not yet recovered from the overwhelming shock.

Is it over?

The “saint” who had ruled the Mechanical Cult for decades meets his end in this way?

Zhang Tao stared blankly at the corpses before him, then snapped back to attention.

He carefully yet swiftly adjusted the bodies’ positions, then raised both arms and shouted:

“The sinner has atoned!”

“Lift the boundaries!”

“Let all the faithful ascend, that they may witness with their own eyes the divine retribution exacted upon the truly unjust!”

“Yes, sir!”

At his command, the warriors of the 15th Vanguard instantly dispersed, standing solemnly to leave a wide passage.

Immediately after, the doubtful worshippers began to tentatively move toward the cathedral.

They saw the corpses, the scars of artillery; all of it filled them with dread.

Yet the miracle of the “angel’s descent” bestowed upon them a tremendous courage, sustaining them as they pressed onward toward the “land of divine punishment” that the guard regiment’s soldiers had pointed out.

Thus, a moment later, the most devout believers beheld the “unjust one” who had perished by divine retribution.

A spear of iron, sent from the angels, pierced the sinner’s body from top to bottom.

The sinner raised his hands, kneeling in supplication, pleading to the angels above the heavens for forgiveness.

But it was evident that forgiveness was not granted.

For he was already dead.

A frenzy of zeal spread like wildfire.

In the next instant, someone shouted:

“The unjust one is a false saint!”

“He is a sinner!”

“He has disgraced the Holy Trinity, the Almighty of All Affairs, and the city of Jinling!”

“Now.”

“The false saint is dead!”

“A new saint must arise!”

(End of Chapter)