"Quick! Pile the furniture up! Don't let them in!"
Amidst the chaos, the guardians of the holy Saint Sophia Cathedral frantically piled various pieces of furniture behind the brass door from which sounds of hacking and chopping continuously emanated.
Though no one explicitly stated it, everyone in the church knew that this was a moment of critical survival; once the brass door protecting them was breached, a brutal slaughter was inevitable, and they would likely be the losers.
Some rioters tried to climb into the church through its large windows, but this was merely a suicidal act; every window was guarded, and the screams of the reckless falling to their deaths provided a small measure of comfort to the tense occupants.
Many had prepared for a desperate fight; they did not fear death, only that the basement where their families were hidden would be discovered. They silently prayed in their hearts, hoping that God would grant their humble wishes, and that their deaths would be enough to satisfy the rioters.
Metropolitan Ilarion was donning his armor with the help of his attendants. Over his original chainmail, he added scale armor, which made the Metropolitan feel a little strained; he wasn't like this before.
Hilarion had risen to the position of Metropolitan from the wilderness of Rus'. In those lands where the Grand Duke's authority barely reached, spreading the Gospel and preserving one's life required not just a mouth, but also a strong body and mastery of the art of battle.
"More slaughter again. After so many years, it still comes back to this. Taking up my old friend again, may God bless it."
Putting aside thoughts of his declining physical condition—this was not the time for such thoughts—he picked up the gold and silver studded mace. The Metropolitan always had his attendants carry this weapon. Many considered it a mere ceremonial object, but in reality, this mace had followed the Metropolitan for decades. It was only now inlaid with gold and silver; in the past, it had smashed the heads of countless pagan fanatics.
Holding this mace, Hilarion seemed to return to his younger days, when he was full of vigor, held no reverence for the wilderness of Rus', and his mind was filled with the desire for challenge and change.
However, the boundless wilderness of Rus' eventually made him face reality: relying solely on his own passion, it was impossible to change this land teeming with pagans. He had to climb higher, lead from a more elevated position, to bring Rus' into the Lord's paradise.
Therefore, he picked up the texts he had once disregarded. He wrote many articles, all about God's salvation and human souls. These were presented to the Grand Duke ruling Kiev, and the Grand Duke valued them greatly, and even more so, valued Hilarion, who had written them.
Hilarion thus became the first Rus' Metropolitan of Rus'. He spared no effort to spread the Lord's Gospel, sending more missionaries into the wilderness and promoting the conversion of the Rus' people. Under his governance, the Rus' Church flourished.
For his work to proceed better, after the Grand Duke's death, he fostered good relations with the Grand Duke's eldest son, who ruled Kiev. Everything should have continued to develop smoothly, but the death of the Grand Duke's eldest son shattered it all, and what followed were the events we now know.
Finishing these recollections, Hilarion looked into the mirror before him, seeing his well-maintained skin from the prosperous life in Kiev, his slightly plump body, and his body adorned with gold and silver jewelry. Hilarion suddenly realized that what he had once avoided thinking about was now before him. When had he, who once slept on the ground and under the sky in the wilderness, become so accustomed to luxury?
Metropolitan Ilarion suddenly felt a burning sensation on his face. He had actually neglected his own asceticism and training. What difference was there now between him and those corpulent monks in the imperial capital? The moral conscience of a devout Christian scourged Hilarion, making the Metropolitan feel immensely guilty.
"Could it be that this is God's punishment for my indulgence in wealth?"
Looking at the Savior on the cross, the Metropolitan could not help but utter this sentence.
Suddenly, an incredibly violent impact from behind the church door drew the Metropolitan's attention. He saw the brass door twist and deform under the blow, and even the furniture blocking it vibrated. Hilarion frowned at this, knowing it was about to begin.
But at this moment, he was fearless. He had now cast aside all political schemes; only one thought remained in his mind—to wash away the sins of his body with the blood of pagans or his own.
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"Hey! Hey! Hey!"
Amidst rhythmic and powerful shouts, the rioters carried a huge beam and slammed it against the brass door. The door, which countless hacks and chops had failed to breach, shook violently with this impact, as if it would be broken open at any moment.
This beam was obtained by the rioters from dismantling nearby houses; they had killed many people to find such a suitable large piece of timber.
Arrows continuously rained down on the makeshift battering ram, and rioters constantly fell to the ground, but others immediately took their places. The battering ram was like a death trap, devouring countless lives, yet people continued to press forward.
If it had been before, facing such a death trap, the rioters would have scattered like birds, but at this moment, the desire for slaughter and plunder drove them. Behind that door lay gold and silver treasures; everyone could get rich from it!
Amidst the anticipation of countless rioters, the sturdy brass door finally burst open with a crash, revealing the Rus' defenders behind it. The rioters, with their fanatical will, charged forward, only to collide with merciless swords and blades.
The guardians of Saint Sophia Cathedral had all resolved to die. Some wished to offer their souls to God, others wished to fight to the death for their families. Various reasons brought them together, to fight to the death at this moment!
With a ferocity even greater than the rioters, the guardians fearlessly charged into the mob, hacking and slashing. Relying on their thick armor, they surged through the enemy lines, enduring attacks that their armor could withstand, and using their bodies to block those it couldn't. Even if it meant being killed themselves, they had to kill the enemy first, even if it meant biting, they had to bite the opponent to death!
Metropolitan Ilarion was at the forefront, using his mace to constantly bash in the enemies' heads, while his two layers of armor were sufficient to protect his safety.
With this even more ferocious stance, the guardians intimidated the rioters. The rioters had believed these Christians could not stop them, but now they were being slaughtered and driven back. As for the perun worshipers among the rioters, they could only try their best to prevent a complete collapse, but that was all they could do.
The rioters retreated in disarray, shouting for the appearance of the wolfskin warriors. They believed that if these warriors appeared, victory would surely be theirs, but for some reason, the warriors who had previously displayed such divine power were nowhere to be seen.
In the distance, the Old Warlock frowned as he watched all of this. It wasn't that he didn't want to deploy those crazed warriors; it was that after taking perun's hallucinogen, the users had to rest for at least three hours before they could re-enter battle. During that time, they could only lie there, barely alive, like dead dogs.
This meant the Old Warlock had no solution at all. He could only watch the situation worsen, watching his team, which he had intended to deliver a fatal blow to the Christians, being massacred by the Christians.
But the burly men carrying perun's divine emblem still cast fanatical gazes at the Old Warlock. In their eyes, there was nothing the Old Warlock couldn't do.
Should he slip away now?
Just as the Old Warlock was contemplating something contrary to the omnipotent persona he usually displayed to his followers, a loud horn blast came from behind him, and then he felt something fly past him with a whooshing sound.
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