Chapter 3: The True Power of the Altar Throne

Chapter Three

“To be controlled by the Illusory Demon Emperor Fist is an honor in itself.” The black-haired Pope chuckled softly, then settled into the papal throne, raising a goblet of wine and savoring a leisurely sip.

But as he indulged in his pleasure, suddenly, with a whoosh, Feng Zhe was enshrouded in flames. These were no ordinary flames—they were divine fire.

Startled, the black-haired Pope murmured, “Sacred fire?”

A moment later, he laughed again. “Without the blessing of the goddess, even sacred fire is of little consequence.”

He was just about to make a move when a sharp pain struck his head, and he clutched it instinctively. Instantly, his hair turned blue, then black, the two colors writhing and entangling until his hair was split—half black, half blue.

“I won’t let you harm my disciple!”

“Fool! The appearance of the Altar Cloth is likely the goddess’s ploy—can’t you see it?”

“I see hope and legacy in him. He is my disciple. That is reason enough!”

“You stubborn fool. He must die!”

“Never…”

The Pope muttered to himself, clearly wrestling with agony.

Meanwhile, in Feng Zhe’s mind, a sacrificial altar materialized. It felt as though he had been transported to a peculiar space, empty but for the altar and four Grecian stone pillars.

Landing lightly atop the altar, Feng Zhe reached out in disbelief—everything felt so tangible, as real as waking life.

“Am I dreaming?” He pinched his arm and felt pain.

He ran his hand over the altar and instantly recognized it as the very Altar Cloth he had acquired.

Within the circular mirror, a sliver of flame flickered—the same flame that had brought him here.

With a thought, Feng Zhe placed the flame upon the altar.

The fire soared skyward, a pillar of flame piercing the heavens as the entire space shuddered violently.

[Communicate with the ancient spirits of the Altar Cloth. By offering enough faith, you can traverse past and future, even reach myriad worlds!]

[Current faith value: 10. You may choose the mirrored node from ten years ago, at the start of the Saga Rebellion!]

[This is an E-rank node, requiring a total of ten thousand faith points.]

[Do you wish to enter?]

Feng Zhe was taken aback. Thirteen years before the present story, Kanon was imprisoned, Saga was corrupted, and the rebellion erupted—Pope Shion was assassinated, and Aiolos fled with the infant goddess, encountering Mitsumasa Kido. Everything began thirteen years ago.

At this moment, the story had not yet begun—three years remained, making this precisely ten years ago.

And now, the altar before him could take him there—a boon for Feng Zhe, whose time was running out.

“But how do I gain faith?” he mused.

[Alter the course of the story. Depending on your final rating, you will receive a corresponding amount of faith.]

“How are these ratings determined?”

[Every change to the plot will affect subsequent major events. The more significant the impact, the higher the rating: S, A, B, C, D, and so on.]

Feng Zhe pondered and understood. For example, if he entered the Saga Rebellion and managed to save Shion, help Aiolos become Pope, or thwart Saga’s plot, he would change the story’s trajectory and earn considerable faith. But if he merely fought aimlessly, his rating would be low.

“Will changing the storyline affect my own era?”

[The world you visit is a mirrored one and will not impact the main world.]

Feng Zhe nodded. No matter what he did, the timeline he came from would remain unchanged.

“But how do I return?”

[You may stay for one day. After one day, you will automatically return.]

“One day? Can I stay longer?”

[Yes, but it will require more faith.]

Never mind, one day was enough. Feng Zhe’s goal was simple: warn Shion, gain his recognition, protect the infant Athena, and, if possible, help Aiolos ascend to the papacy.

Resolute, Feng Zhe stepped into the altar, uttering silently, “Enter!”

Instantly, the flames on the altar engulfed him, burning until nothing remained…

…

When Feng Zhe opened his eyes again, he found himself in the Papal Chamber.

Everything was as it had been in his own time—even the chandelier was unchanged.

But here, there was no masked impostor Pope; everything was as it should be.

Clad in coarse robes like a novice, the standard garb of Sanctuary, Feng Zhe looked about and, finding himself alone, decided to head for the Goddess Chamber, where the newborn goddess should reside.

“Who are you?” A tall figure appeared in the Papal Chamber.

Feng Zhe grinned at the sight. “Aiolos!”

As the candidate for the next Pope, his presence was no surprise.

“You know me? Wait—who are you, really?!”

As Aiolos spoke, his fists clenched.

Feng Zhe’s interest was piqued. At this stage, Aiolos likely had not yet awakened the Seventh Sense without his Cloth. Feng Zhe wanted to test his strength.

“Lord Aiolos, why don’t we spar?” he said, launching a punch.

Though he didn’t know the Altar Cloth’s techniques, Feng Zhe’s fists had already surpassed the speed of sound. With the benevolent Saga’s help, he was even stronger than the average Bronze Saint.

His supersonic punches danced like phantoms, connecting with Aiolos.

“A Saint?” Aiolos was puzzled by this unexpected Saint, clearly unsure of what to make of it, and held back his full strength.

But that was enough. With only a few deft blocks, Aiolos deflected all of Feng Zhe’s supersonic blows.

“If you don’t tell me who you are, I won’t hold back,” Aiolos warned.

Feng Zhe burst out laughing. Aiolos was almost too kind—had it been Saga, he would have subdued him already.

With a flash, Feng Zhe swung a kick, then unleashed his ultimate move.

“Triple Supersonic Fist!”

This technique was nearly on par with a Silver Saint.

Aiolos was startled by the sudden attack, blocking once more. Still, a single punch slipped through, striking his chest and forcing him back half a step.

Aiolos’s eyebrows twitched, and he muttered, “He actually possesses Silver-level strength!”

He snorted coldly. “Since you refuse to yield, let me show you a real punch!”

“Light Speed Fist!”

With a simple, unadorned blow—without even donning his Cloth—Aiolos unleashed a punch at the speed of light.

Feng Zhe couldn’t dodge, let alone block.

Aiolos had already won, but just then, as the dust settled, a Silver Cloth appeared on Feng Zhe.

“The Altar Cloth!”

An aged voice rang out. Clad in papal robes, the true Pope approached, and Feng Zhe knew he was finally before the real authority.