484 Pretty

Late at night, the tavern was busy. Smoke lingered in the air. The smell of tobacco, alcohol, and body odor mixed together and rose up. Under the pinkish light, the mandolin player tiredly sang an overplayed song. Everything was just as before. It was an average night in the Sacred City.

For these poor men with nothing in their pockets, there was nothing different tonight. Not even a week after order was reinstated, the blood shed by the pope had been forgotten in a corner.

The big figures were fighting each other, making the situation tense and strange. But to the people here, it was just a faraway tale.

Only the evil plans that had been ruined or tricks that had succeeded would become a legend and spread by itself.

The city garrison had revolted, an important witness from a certain department of the Sacred Amnesty Ministry had his whole family massacred, the pope's assassination had been planned long ago, the wife of a noble had an affair with the pope, and other rumors spread along with the low-quality alcohol and tobacco.

Within a week, the wind had swept the entire world. Nations everywhere were shaken. So many had died. But to the commoners, it was a simple sentence: the pope died. They still needed to live, even though the storm was about to come.

At midnight, the mood of the tavern was pushed to the max. As the people cheered and yelled, the pinkish light became ambiguous and faint. Under the dim light, a dancer in a thin veil walked onto the stage. She leaned against the pole and danced to the seductive music. She had thick makeup on to cover the yellow spots and wrinkles on her face. She touched herself as she moved, moaning. Her relaxed leg trembled. Taking off a veil, something lustful came in and out of view.

"Strip more! More!" The captivated audience yelled but the dancer ignored them. She grinded on the pole, her moans growing more lustful. Her eyes were filled with need.

In the hot atmosphere, handfuls of money rained down. The dancer's smile brightened. She undid another veil on her shoulder and tossed it into the air, revealing a breast that jiggled. She danced under the hot and wet air.

Behind the bar, the owner counted the money and smiled happily. Reopening after so many days of the martial law, he needed to get the money back from these deprived guys.

He subtly gestured at the dancer. Don't strip too fast. Lead them on. Make them pull out their money! Money!

"Strip more!" the audience yelled excitedly. "Strip! B*tch, take your dress off!"

Crumpled bills and copper coins covered the stage. The dancer stepped on the sweaty money and rolled her body. When she sucked on her fingers, her eyelashes fluttered.

The owner was so happy he could not stop smiling. He waved his hands frantically. Go harder! Take out your fatal move! Make these b*stards go bankrupt!

And so, a crack finally appeared in the annoying skirt. The audience's yells intensified. The dancer lifted the thin skirt with a pinky and wiped it over her body. The thin veil became wet with sweat and turned see-through.

The thirsty men stared.

The dancer grinded and moaned. She lifted her skirt. "Who wants?"

The tavern was silenced. And then it exploded. Everyone rushed forward and fought each other. They reached out, trying to grab the dress that smelled of the dancer and sweat. Their eyes were practically red.

"Five hundred!" a gaunt man yelled. "I'll pay five hundred! No one can fight with me!"

"Seven hundred!"

A bare-chested muscular man rose and slammed a hand on the table. "Eight hundred!"

"Mine! Mine!" a sharp voice rang out. A bald old man jumped onto the stage. "No one fight with me. It's all mine!" He was obviously drunk and couldn't even talk properly. His old limbs shook with excitement like a monkey. Seeing him like that, everyone started laughing.

"Sir, do you want to buy some clothes?" The bartender walked over and studied him while trying to hold back his laughter.

The old man wore a church robe but there were monks all over the Sacred City. It was nothing special. Plus, the robe was so tattered. He probably came from some poor rural place. He probably had not bathed in a long while either. His drunken nauseous smelled made everyone hold their noses.

"You need money to buy it." The bartender asked, "Do you have money?"

"Money?" After a pause, the old man smiled. "You want money? Tell me earlier! Here, all for you." He pulled a wrinkled piece of paper from his pocket and stuffed it into the bartender's hand. Then he grabbed the dancer's dress and danced.

The bartender froze. His expression grew uncomfortable and he could not process this. Was this guy trying to cause trouble? But when he read the paper clearly, his vision went dark. Gasping, his legs weakened and he almost knelt onto the ground.

A money order! They were all money orders from the Sacred City Church! Each one had a giant sum on it. There were so many numbers he couldn't even count clearly… Crumpled up like waste paper, he could not tell how many were there but even one was enough to buy this tavern, burn it, and hire the best assassins to kill all these poor guys five or six times!

Before anyone could realize, the bartender stuffed it into his pocket and ran out.

"What's wrong?" The boss looked at his white face and frowned. "Son, did that old guy give you a bag of sh*t?"

"I wish he did." The bartender's smile was ugly. He showed the boss what he had.

The boss gaped for a long while before gasping and plopping onto the ground. "Holy f*ck!"

After a long, long time, he looked back in shock. The old guy was entwined with the girl onstage. Like a monkey, he grinded on her shamelessly under the audience's jeers. The drunk guy even put the dress over himself and tried to dance. His moves were comical and everyone laughed. Some guys who liked drama tossed money onto the stage and called, "Nice, nice! Dance more!"

"Did he really give it?" the boss asked.

"Positive."

After a moment, the boss narrowed his eyes. "He must have more in his pocket. Tell the kitchen to get ready and tie up this monkey. But be clean. Don't leave any evidence."

The bartender froze. "Are you sure? What if he's a noble… Wouldn't we be dead?"

"Are you stupid?" The owner slapped him and muttered, "After this, we can leave the city before daybreak. Where can't we go with the money?"

"You can't go anywhere." It was an old and hoarse voice.

The owner looked up in confusion and saw an indifferent old man outside the bar table. He wore a pure black robe. The fabric was excellent and had gold-lining around the sleeves. The tie was flawless. Even though he was old, he still looked imposing. No matter what, he should not be in this d*mn place.

Before the owner could react, the man waved and took the two away without leaving a trace behind. The tavern was still busy and loud. No one realized that these two had disappeared.

Feeling the hot and disgusting air, the comer frowned unhappily. He coughed and sat in the corner. The old man who had been dancing drunkenly onstage was quickly brought over and tossed into the seat before him.

In this overlooked corner, everything was silent behind the sound-proof barrier.

-

"Wagner, it's you?" The old man studied the one before him for a while before letting out a sigh of relief. "I was so scared! I thought someone was going to steal my dress!"

Wagner involuntarily looked at the vile dress and his features twisted. "The pope had not died long ago. Albert, archbishop of the Church, commander of the Central Church cardinals, is it okay for you to become so lowly?"

"Is it bad to relax a little?" Wagner's brows knitted.

"There's nothing bad. Everyone wants to relax. They'll choose their own basements with the dancers and slaves they keep in their homes. Or they might go to a private club. After closing the door, they'll play games with the girls prepared just for them.

"Other than you, no one would choose to come to a lowly strip club and use public funds to wear a girl's dress…" Wagner paused and sighed weakly. "Don't you ashamed?"

"I'm not like the man I succeeded, f*cking on a wheelchair. What's so shameful?" Albert said, annoyed. "Anyhow, Hawking told me when he retired that no one who likes dresses is bad!" Wagner's face twisted and he muttered a curse.

"It's okay if I want to be so lowly but you're a saint. Why are you here?" Albert smirked and asked, "Here for the striptease too?"

Emotionless, Wagner said coldly, "You were missing from the Sistine Conference today. The influence was negative."

The Sistine Conference was a meeting held by the Cardinals and important clergymen in the Sistine Church. Ever since the pope was established, it had been held sixteen times. There was no set date because each time, it meant…a pope had died. The new one would be elected during the conference. No one dared to miss something so important.

In the past, there had even been archbishops close to death who went connected to tubes. They would not allow themselves to die until they voted. As the one in charge of the Central Temple, Albert was eligible for voting and being nominated but he did not even go. Without a doubt, he had started a horrible precedent but he did not care.

"Would the result be different if I went? I'm not interested in scripted plays." He glanced at Wagner. "But you went so how was it?"

"How do you think?" Wagner said coldly. "Even an idiot can guess. More than eighty percent voted for Ludovic. Under the witness of the holy spirits, the result passed and now the announcement has probably been sent to the nations."

He paused and told Albert, "By daybreak, everyone will know that two days later, Ludovic would move into the Solomon Temple, see to the Holy Cauldron, and become the new pope."

"So Ludovic is experiencing his glory days now?" Albert laughed drunkenly. "What a pity I didn't kiss up to the Ecclesiastical Order in the past. Ah, what a pity."

"You've gone against the Ecclesiastical Order enough times these past years. Now you want to change? You probably don't even know what 'going with the flow' means," Wagner mocked. "The central temple will take responsibility this time. They're worried that they won't have enough powerful positions. There's no reason to kill you. It'll be too late if you go suck up to them now. Just get ready to be sent to some monastery in the wilderness."

"Whatever, there's no point in staying here." Albert shrugged and eyed him. "What about you?"

Wagner was silent for a while. Then he answered, "Probably to the Dark World. I'll die in three years. I should make the most out of it. Mr. Bach has been struggling by himself all these years. He's worked too hard."

"Isn't that good?" Albert laughed. "I went to a poor monastery and you were sent to the Dark World. We all have such a bright future! Glory to the Sacred City!"

"Stop saying that and drink." Wagner sighed. "Give me a glass too."

Albert raised his glass. "Cheers to our powerful pope."

"Which one?"

"Anyone. They're all the f*cking same anyway."

Wagner smiled bitterly. "Cheers!"

Bottoms up.

After setting down the cup, the low-quality alcohol made Wagner lose his breath. He started coughing violently as if his lungs would tear apart. He spat out phlegm and could not catch his breath. The air quality was too horrible. It agitated his asthma and lung disease.

Albert shook his head and rose. He pulled an inhaler from his pocket with practiced ease and forced Wagner's teeth open, shoving it into his mouth. "Inhale!"

Wagner quickly recovered. He sat in the chair limply. The tears and snot were still on his face. His composure was all gone.

Albert shook his head and drank his wine. "You've been like this since childhood. So weak. I have to worry about you dying even if I want to take you out for fun. Can't you let me stop worrying?"

"I'm about to die anyway. No need to worry anymore." Wagner wiped the dirtiness away and smiled. He rose. "I'm leaving."

"Hurry and get out." Albert waved impatiently. "I'm too lazy to send you off when you leave. Take that glass as my farewell."

Wagner smiled. Without saying anything, he patted Albert's shoulder and turned to leave. When he reached the door, he heard a hoarse voice behind him.

"Hey, Wagner!"

"Huh?" Wagner turned to look at Albert.

The old man sat under the dim light. His white hair was thin. He laughed dumbly and looked at himself. His eyes were intoxicated. For some reason, Wagner felt something bitter.

"Does my dress look pretty?" Albert suddenly asked, seeming to anticipate a praise.

Wagner froze. He turned in anger and waved his hand. "F*cking idiot!"

Albert was left alone in the tavern, holding his belly with laughter.

He laughed like an idiot.