Gil's faith was almost a self-immolating fanaticism and purity, and the power of his faith was pure and powerful.
And these ordinary believers, among hundreds, perhaps couldn't produce a fanatic like Gil.
At this moment, as he sorted through the power of faith, he felt that although most of it was stable, it wasn't "pure" enough.
It became known when mixed with various personal desires, distractions, and rare fluctuations.
Just as he was immersed in the power of faith to purify impurities,
a particularly strong prayer connection, filled with pain, repentance, and determination, suddenly touched his consciousness.
It seemed to be Gil? He had just thought of that fanatic.
Karl didn't hesitate; his consciousness stretched along the strong connection.
He closed his eyes and felt a slight imbalance in his body, as if his soul was being pulled upwards, crossing some invisible boundary.
When he "opened" his eyes again, the viewing angle before him was extremely high, as if he were hovering in the air.
The surroundings were no longer his temple in Terra, but the interior of a temple filled with the Nilfgaardian imperial style—solemn and even somewhat oppressive.
The decoration was mainly in black and gold, and the walls were adorned with the imperial sun wheel logo.
But at this moment, the center of the sun wheel pattern seemed distorted and covered by some kind of power, vaguely showing the outline of a blurred figure of Karl in light and shadow.
Below, Gil was leading a group of people praying with devotion and pain.
Most of them were pale-skinned, emaciated, dressed in tattered coarse cloth clothes, and were clearly serfs or poor people at the bottom.
They knelt on the cold ground, following Gil in prayer and tearful repentance, looking at the distorted sun wheel pattern where Karl's gaze was.
Gil himself was even more fanatical, his forehead repeatedly striking the stony ground.
It had become red and swollen, even bruised and broken, with blood seeping out, but he still didn't stop.
Beside his feet lay a steel sword stained with dark red blood, and on the blade, still slowly dripping with wet bloodstains.
He loudly repented, his voice hoarse but full of strength: "My god! Supreme Lord of the Sun! I am guilty! I have violated your teachings."
"I... I have killed many! I have used this sword, and it is stained with too much blood!"
"Please punish me, a sinner! Let all the sins be borne by me alone, Gil!"
Gradually, a human figure formed from golden light, its facial features blurred by the bright light.
Karl's avatar, suspended in the faith, slightly raised its brows. He hadn't seen him for a long time, this guy Gil... It seemed he had caused quite a stir.
Behind him were civilians with gaunt faces but fanatical eyes... Was this a peasant uprising?
And it seemed the scale was not small; even the local Nilfgaardian temple had been occupied or "cleansed" by them?
Karl's mind moved, and the suspended golden light and shadow became more solid, the warm light it radiated enveloping the entire interior of the temple.
Let all who were praying feel this extraordinary sacred aura.
"Gil." Karl's majestic and dignified voice, blessed by the power of faith, echoed through the temple, directly drowning out all the wailing and prayers.
Suddenly, all the civilians below trembled with excitement and shouted again and again: "The god! The Sun God has appeared!"
"Quick! Kneel reverently and worship our god!"
When Gil heard this familiar and majestic voice, his body suddenly stiffened, and he trembled even more.
He raised his head, and hot tears immediately welled up in his reddened eyes, mixing with the bloodstains on his forehead.
Instead of wiping them away, he prostrated himself even more deeply, almost harming himself, leaving a little more blood on the stone slab.
"My god... my god..." He choked, barely able to utter a complete word.
"Calm down, Gil. Tell me, whom did you kill?" Karl's voice had a calming power and somewhat quieted the agitated crowd.
"Tell me their identities and past experiences one by one." He needed to know the whole picture before he could make a judgment.
Gil forcibly restrained his emotions at Karl's voice.
He began to speak intermittently, his voice gradually becoming clear and full of hatred: "They... they are all noble lords who lie on our bodies and drink our blood!"
"And their subordinates, those tax collectors and stewards who committed evil together with them!"
"The grain we harvest each year remains after paying the tithe set by the empire and various other taxes..."
"But they, those moths under the banner of the Sun Cult!" Gil pointed to the temple's original decoration, his eyes blazing with fire.
"They also impose an additional tithe on us, to give to this... this hypocritical sun wheel!"
"That's not enough; they also want us to 'voluntarily' donate money and materials for temple repairs and conducting masses..."
"If we can't produce it, or if we hesitate, we are accused of 'heresy' and 'godlessness,' flogged, imprisoned, or have our property confiscated!"
Karl listened quietly, the golden light and shadow not wavering in the slightest.
He had thought that Nilfgaard was known for its order and efficiency, and that the situation on the ground would be better.
Now it seemed that in some areas, the greed of the aristocracy and the oppression of the church were even stronger than in the Northern kingdoms.
This systematic exploitation, with Novigrad's extremely xenophobic Eternal Fire, could just compete for the top spot in oppressing commoners.
"Besides these extortions, did they commit other crimes? Randomly persecuting the weak and killing the innocent?" Karl's loud voice sounded again.
Gil nodded vigorously, as if he had long awaited this question, and turned around.
Looking at the believers behind him, pale and thin from long-term malnutrition, but at that moment their eyes burned with the flames of revenge, he said loudly: "Did you all hear that? My god is asking!"
"Whoever has been persecuted by the nobility, the priests, and your family, speak up! Before my god, do not be afraid!"
As soon as his words ended, a woman with a thin child suddenly raised her head.
Her face was full of tears, and her eyes held bitter hatred.
She wept, but her voice held a clear grievance: "My god! Please decide for me!"
"My husband... he was originally just a steward in the manor, hardworking..."
"Only because another servant was clumsy and accidentally knocked over a fruit plate intended for the lord, and a few fruits rolled to my husband's feet..."
"They, those cruel managers, said my husband was also at fault, and publicly beat him with hundreds of lashes, regardless of right or wrong!"
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