For the pagans who are about to embark on the pilgrimage, the arrival of Manuel, the priest of Resurrection Town, is undoubtedly the most unlucky thing of the day.
Wearing a simple Dalmatian monk's robe, he held scriptures in his arms and stepped into the lecture hall with steady steps, completely ignoring the disgusted eyes of the pagans. At this time, he did not know that the pagans were about to break into the church and kill him. His niece was sent to jail.
"Father, are you here to debate the Bible?" Lomea stepped forward, covered with gauze.
Manuel nodded and pointed out the ring ceremony with his finger, "May your God bless you. Please tell me, is Priest Isa here?"
"I hope you will be blessed," Lomea said, turning the beads. The simple sandalwood beads were not decorated too much, but just because of their spice material, they were better than countless golds. "Please let me tell grandma."
Manuel thanked Lomea. He stood aside, beside the tall wall pillars, and stared at the stone pillars carved with angels. They originally belonged to the true religion. In the pagan scriptures, their king of kings is named after the Lord God. The successor claimed that he was in heaven, so at the top of the stone pillar, under the base of the ring connecting the ceiling, there was a relief sculpture of the intersecting scepter and crown. The carvings were so new that Manuel scoffed.
Manuel looked around at the lecture hall converted from a church. The hall that should have been covered with pure black cloth carpets as the aisles was now dug out with a half-meter-high pit and filled with water. Every pagan always asked when he came forward. Kneel down on your knees, dip your fingers into the holy water in their eyes, smear it on your forehead and cheeks, bend down and kneel before the icon, then stand up, close your eyes and cross the aisle paved with milky white stone bricks, which they regard as the holy bridge. , walking this way, they touched the oak frame of the tall icon painting.
From this, they thought they were protected.
"Lord, forgive these deceived people." Manuel said silently in his heart.
Wearing a sacrificial veil and a robe with stripes, Priest Isa looks like a senior cleric. She is leaning on a long staff.
"Pagan priest, you still want to argue with me?" she asked.
"Not with you, but with your god," Manuel replied.
Priest Isa smiled indifferently, turned around and went to the guest room.
The pagan priest on the side made a gesture of invitation.
The priest strode forward.
.............
It was nearly dusk.
Manuel lost the argument again.
After the last debate, he stayed up all night reading pagan scriptures. It turned out that the question of the existence of the King of Kings was related to Christopher's innocence, that is, the thunder that fell on the Lecture Hall was just a fault of the gods, not a divine punishment. .
He discussed that the King of Kings does not exist, so there is no and cannot be divine punishment. In the scriptures of the True Religion, the Lord God who coexists with the three has not predicted that the King of Kings will be born in the future and come to His Kingdom of Heaven.
At that time, I saw that Priest Isa had been thinking for a long time, with a look of hesitation on his face. For a moment Manuel thought he had the upper hand.
Then, Priest Isha said that the King of Kings is also the God of the three. He was never born in the future, but was with the Lord God in the past. Therefore, the Lord God never said that the King of Kings will be in the world. Hereafter is born, for the King of my kings has always been with the Lord God.
If it were just these words, Manuel still had the capital to speak eloquently.
However, Priest Isa simply said: "After the scriptures were rewritten, how many of your true religion's scriptures have been tampered with? How many times have you denied the ancient holy capital."
Manuel's face changed and he was speechless for a moment.
In the legendary epic, the Holy City was swallowed up and fell by the dead souls of ancient families, becoming an unmentionable city of dead souls.
The pontiff of the Ain family fasted for ten years, received an oracle from an angel in 324 A.D., and re-edited the classics, which was recorded as "re-editing of the scriptures".
Using this as a breakthrough, Manuel's arguments were refuted one after another, and even became a weapon for Isa's counterattack.
As the debate drew to a close, Manuel was dripping with cold sweat and his fingers felt cold to his heels.
"May you be blessed." Manuel tried to maintain his last dignity and walked out of the lecture hall unsteadily.
Walking through the earthy streets, Manuel clutched the scripture in his hand and kept reciting scriptures, begging God to forgive his failure.
When he came to the church, he saw the monks with bandages and a pool of wet blood on the ground.
"Father, Anne has been taken away," cried the monk.
As soon as he finished speaking, Manuel was trembling all over, as if his cochlea had been filled with molten iron. He pressed the scripture in his hand and breathed rapidly.
He didn't ask "What did you say?" or anything like that. Manuel rushed into the church impatiently and stumbled around every corner of the church, including the cemetery in the backyard, but could not find the girl.
His niece, Anne, was taken back to prison by the pagans and, together with her sister, was about to be sent to the Holy Land and burned at the stake.
Manuel kept chanting the Lord in his mouth, even ignoring the evening prayers. He knocked open the door of the confessional in despair, sat in front of the carved window lattice for a long time, and mourned in silence through the dim light of the hollow lace.
The confessional was so quiet that you could see the dust floating around.
At some point, Manuel noticed a figure blocking the light.
"We won't accept confessions at this time." Manuel said coldly.
"A strong feeling of despair." The man seemed to be talking to himself.
Manuel raised his head. He couldn't see clearly the figure of the other party outside the window. This old-fashioned confessional room is isolated from both parties, so that believers can better confess their faults.
"Listen, I don't understand what you are talking about, and I don't care who you are. If you want to confess, just wait until tomorrow. I won't accept confessions now." Manuel couldn't help but sternly said.
Manuel, who welcomes all comers, is not in the mood to listen to confessions.
"No, Father, I'm not here to confess." The man raised his hands to cover the hollow of the window lattice, "I am an entertainer, a minstrel who can play the lute."
"Okay then, Mr. Artist, please go back and leave me alone for a while." Manuel said in a deep voice.
"Okay, Father, before that, I have to make a small request to you." The man smiled brightly.
Manuel felt a shiver for some reason.
"I don't care what you ask for, I just want you to go and get out of here."
"Don't worry, Father, don't worry, you are already desperate enough, how about a little more fear." After saying this, Manuel saw the man standing up slowly outside the window lattice, away from the confession window, and opened the door.
Manuel breathed a sigh of relief, held his forehead in his hands, and sighed heavily.
Thinking of how Anne was dragged out of the church, Manuel punched the table hard.
He rubbed his forehead, bored despair filling his heart.
Snapped.
Behind him, a hand from nowhere placed on his shoulder.
Manuel's hair stood on end, and the fear that surged upstream grabbed his throat.
"Father, how about I show you a trick first?"
The voice I heard just now sounded with a strong smile behind me.
The cold barking of dogs echoed through the backyard of the church.
