Ice Vapor Goddess

Chapter 1 Bishop
Years later, whenever a blizzard struck, Siron Delland would recall that beautiful afternoon in Lundiny, when the warm sunshine and the cloyingly sweet toffee tea made him drowsy.

At that time, he had just been respectfully "invited" out by the unfortunate Scotland Yard officers, and ordered afternoon tea in a glass-walled café with blooming flowers by the roadside, exchanging the last few silver shillings in his pocket for a brief moment of mental blankness and tranquility.

As for being arrested by the police as soon as he transmigrated, Gu Jun didn't care at all—because he was the victim.

In his slightly painful memory, he died in a car accident. As a Lacanian psychoanalyst, he had just finished a consultation, but the guy's XP was too strange. He was still analyzing his symptoms on his way home from get off work when he drove off a cliff.

When he woke up again, he was shocked to find himself in his own home, having a private dinner with three noblewomen and two priests. Such private dinners usually have an ambiguous atmosphere, especially with six people. One of the noblewomen, with an angry expression, was standing behind him holding a blood-stained glass lamp.

Gu Jun wiped the back of his head; it was covered in blood.

Then officers from nearby Scotland Yard arrived.

It was a servant who reported the incident; he had been lying on the table for half an hour with his head covered in blood.

“Your Excellency Father Delrant,” the middle-aged, balding superintendent asked helplessly, stroking his sparse hair with concern, “we have already questioned Mrs. Payne. Do you have any further requests? But I must say that after examination, you are actually fine, so it might be difficult to request compensation…”

He had already checked the records and knew that the young priest in front of him was going to be promoted to bishop today and go to the northern diocese to take up his post. However, he knew that being a bishop in the north would definitely not be as lucrative as being in Lundin. That's why he was so angry and made plans to vent his anger with his friends and mistress that night.

But this kind of thing... involves the privacy of nobles and the new bishop of the church. He can't afford to offend either side. If things get out of hand, he'll be the first one to lose.

“No requests.” Siren Delland snapped out of his daze. “Since there’s nothing else, I’ll be going now. The train departs at seven o’clock tonight.”

The bald superintendent breathed a sigh of relief, as if he had been granted a pardon. He hastily wrote down some words like "an argument had occurred" and then asked Gu Jun to leave Scotland Yard.

Gu Jun wandered aimlessly through the unfamiliar streets, then was drawn to the bright purple irises at the entrance of the glass coffee shop. He decided to get some fries first—so he ordered toffee tea and freshly fried fries at the counter.

Over the time it takes to drink a cup of black tea, Gu Jun, bathed in the warm afternoon sun, reminisced about his short life of over twenty years before seriously considering his current situation.

His name is now Siron Delland, and he is Father Windington Parish of the Messianic Church in the London district. He can also be called the parish priest, a position that is excellent for a young man.

Moreover, he was in Lundinia—the capital and heart of this vast empire.

Moreover, Siron possessed beautiful long, slightly wavy black hair and a handsome face with a sculpted appearance reminiscent of ancient Greek sculptures, making him very popular among the local noblewomen. Perhaps his only flaw was that his shoulders were not broad enough, giving him a somewhat insecure and frail appearance. However, this only made some powerful noblewomen eager to take this young priest as their sugar daddy.

Therefore, before Gu Jun's transmigration, Father Xilun was a notorious socialite, and according to unreliable sources, he also had a history of using the gold pounds of noblewomen to support young boys and mistresses.

However, these sensational allegations are primarily based on claims from other contenders in the Wenttington parish, with the only confirmed claim being that he kept a mistress – a fact recently confirmed by Scotland Yard.

But no matter how heinous Father Siron's behavior was, God would still forgive him, and the best proof of that is—

Xilun snapped his fingers, and a hymn began to be chanted in the void, as if many holy little elves were swirling around his ears, scattering pure white notes.

“Divine will…” Xilun murmured as he looked at the miracle dancing at his fingertips, feeling the strange rhythm of divine will flowing around him, speechless for a moment.

Looking up, Xilun gazed at the classical stone buildings. At the top of the clock tower, a huge steam-powered airship drifted by slowly. The Queen's royal knights, clad in heavy gold and red plate armor and equipped with mechanical wings, guarded the brown airship, with pale red steam emanating from the gaps in their armor.

On the street ahead, a strange inventor was driving recklessly in a simple four-wheeled vehicle. A blue magic orb in the center of the axle continuously injected fluorescent light into the steam chamber, which in turn drove the linkage and made the wheels spin.

This place is just like the 19th century, but all the signs indicate that this is another world.

Father Siren Delrant, now fully clothed, finished the last sip of tea, wiped his mouth with a white silk napkin, then stood up, adjusted the white Roman collar at his neck, and began to sort through the fragmented memories in his mind, most importantly those about the sacred texts—he had to pretend to be a real priest.

But at that moment, the pedestrians around him gasped in surprise. Xilun looked up and saw a huge black shadow descending from the sky, accompanied by a deafening roar of steam and the sound of mechanical friction!

Xilun instinctively raised his arm to defend himself, but the expected impact did not come; instead, a large amount of steam and water mist sprayed into his face.

Floating before him was a knight in armor over two meters tall, covered entirely in platinum plate armor engraved with ancient and intricate metal patterns and messianic crosses, decorated with gold metal as if entwined with thorny vines. Large amounts of steam spewed out from the gaps in the joints, and huge white mechanical wings unfurled behind him. Intricate gears were encased in translucent pure white crystal, emitting a rhythmic "click-clack" sound.

He glanced at Xilun, then reached out and pressed a hidden mechanism on his neck, opening the platinum knight's mask to reveal a young, handsome face.

The man smiled brightly at Celen and said, "Long time no see, Celen. I heard you were arrested and taken to Scotland Yard?"

Xiren searched through his memories and finally found the corresponding information: Anthony, a senior at the seminary, and their mentor was the same person.

A hint of relief and joy appeared on his face, then he scratched his head, expressing his embarrassment: "Don't say anything, it's just a small problem. But you, what are you doing here? Should we find somewhere else to talk?"

Anthony laughed heartily, “It’s nothing, my mentor asked me to bring you something—he should have written to you.” When he mentioned “mentor,” Celen’s expression turned serious. That distinguished gentleman was the Cardinal of Florence. If Celen hadn’t performed exceptionally well at the seminary back then, he wouldn’t have won the favor of this elder and become his spiritual disciple.

He is now able to serve as the parish priest of Lundiny thanks to his connections.

That "letter from the mentor" was precisely the reason why the original owner of the body became depressed and then did those things.

Xilun paused for a moment, then said somewhat dejectedly, "Yes, I received it."

"Don't be sad." Anthony patted Celen on the shoulder. "It's just being transferred to Speyside as a bishop. At least it's a promotion. Becoming a bishop before the age of 30 is a rare honor in the world."

He shoved the package on his back into Siron's hands. Inside were a purple shirt unique to bishops, a black robe with purple accessories, a small round cap, a ring, and a shepherd's staff.

Generally speaking, one can only become a bishop at the age of thirty and a cardinal at the age of fifty. Siron, however, has donned the purple robe at such a young age, indicating a limitless future.

“But there…” Xilun hesitated.

Speyside is a small northern city in a harsh, cold region. It has no plains and is not close to a seaport. Its only advantage is its abundance of coal mines, which also results in the sky being filled with gray particles and smog.

How can being a bishop in such a place compare to being a priest in the capital?
Moreover, for the original owner, this meant leaving behind the beautiful streets, trendy pleasures, beautiful ladies, and lovely gold coins.

Seeing Xilun's troubled expression, Anthony sighed inwardly. Remembering his mentor's instructions before his departure, he patiently coaxed, "Don't blame your mentor. Although Speyside is a bit harsh, this appointment is related to the overall plan of the Papacy. Moreover, in Lundin, you have someone in charge, but once you go to the north, the endless mountains and wastelands will be your territory. You can do whatever you want."

"A grand plan?" Xilun asked in surprise.

"Hmm...you'll find out when you get there anyway, so I'll just give you a little hint." Anthony carefully glanced at the crowd of onlookers around him and softly chanted in his pleasant baritone voice:
"Sooner or later, you will see it."

"A great change is taking place."

"The horror of blood and freezing,"

"Then take revenge."

"The moon was thus guided by angels."

"The sky is approaching Libra."

As Anthony recited this poem, a sacred and solemn aura seemed to rise around him, and even the flowers outside the coffee shop drooped slightly, as if it were a preordained sound.

Xiren searched his mind for the source of the passage, then blurted out, "Chapter 56 of The Centuries? Doomsday prophecy, Nostradamus... Isn't he a fraud?"

Anthony was shocked and quickly covered Xilun's mouth: "Shut up! How could you say such a thing about the prophet!"

Xilun then realized he had misspoke, having used his pre-transmigration world to represent this world.

He searched Siren's memories and discovered that Nostradamus had lived for four hundred years and was still in good health. All his prophecies had been proven true, and he was an honorary bishop, widely respected.

So he laughed awkwardly and said, "...May the Lord forgive me."

Then, somewhat awkwardly, he made a cross on his chest.

Anthony looked at his somewhat strange junior and attributed it to the fact that they hadn't seen each other for a long time. Then he instructed, "The Northern Holy See Train will arrive in a little over an hour. Don't miss it, or your mentor will be angry."

“Okay, I understand,” Xilun nodded.

After looking at his junior again to make sure he really understood, Anthony closed the visor and tapped the side of the armor. The steam backpack on his back started to operate, and a large number of intricate mechanical structures rotated under the power of the steam. White mechanical wings unfolded, making him look like a steel angel. The platinum armor was faintly visible in the steam.

The surrounding crowd knelt down and prayed to the Lord's guard.

After five seconds of preheating, a large amount of steam was ejected, and brilliant holy light flowed over the mechanical structure. The sacred patterns on the armor shone with ancient and solemn starlight. Anthony leaped up and flew into the sky, then quickly turned into a small black dot.

Siren watched Anthony leave, patted the water droplets off his black priest's robe, and then hurriedly left before the crowd gathered around him.

(End of this chapter)