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109
The barrier isolating the village had disappeared, the curse threatening the people was gone, and the person presumed to be an official of the Salvation Church had been beheaded. Yet, it would be an overstatement to say that the situation had been completely resolved.
Setting aside the aftermath of the ruined village and the treatment of the injured, it was the first time in decades that the Salvation Church had acted so conspicuously. With unclear objectives and ominous movements, a gloomy tension settled on the faces of the priests who decided to stay there for the time being.
The only one who knew the inside story of the series of events in Bemos Village was Rohan, but he…
“You, you can’t do this here!”
He was currently ransacking the temple near the village.
Normally, he should have remained in the village, but the priests who had guessed that something was wrong with him after hearing the commotion following the official’s fall, coupled with Rohan’s ominous aura, couldn’t bring themselves to stop him.
Rohan didn’t spare a glance at the priest panicking in front of him. This was despite the fact that from their first meeting, there had been conspicuous and elaborate bruises around both of his eyes that anyone would have questioned.
From the moment he set foot in this temple, Rohan had only one goal: to find the prayer room used by the bishop.
‘If it’s there…’
He might be able to meet the Demon God.
However, this was constantly being interrupted by the priest in front of him. Perhaps it was because the thought of meeting the Demon God as soon as possible, the thought of checking on Arpel’s condition, had consumed his mind so much that he couldn’t maintain normal thought processes.
Despite causing such a commotion, only one crying priest was blocking his way, and he didn’t find it strange that this temple was too quiet. More accurately, he was so obsessively focused on a single goal that he had no time to notice.
Finally, he felt a surge of impulse. All his nerves were fixed not on the dark sword at his waist, but on the dagger he had carefully placed in his bosom.
Should I kill?
The conclusion he reached was extremely irrational. The fact that something might have happened to Arpel, the unfamiliar fear that he might never see him again if things continued like this, had spurred him on.
“Clearly, I was told not to let anyone in! If I let you through like this, this time my head might really roll…”
The last thread of reason snapped when the man’s hand grabbed him. It might have been a plea in his own way, but to Rohan, that action was like a trigger. Eyes revealing cold murderous intent focused directly on the priest in front of him.
“Huk…!”
Perhaps only then did he realize the gravity of the situation. The priest trembled as he felt the terrible killing intent, making the air several times heavier, directed at none other than himself. Although he carefully removed his hand after gauging the situation, there was no sign of the killing intent constricting his body being withdrawn.
Instinct sounded an alarm. This man is dangerous. So run away immediately, without looking back.
His legs trembled and then gave out, causing him to collapse on the spot. Unable to breathe properly, his already pale face turned blue. At that moment…
“Lord Rohan.”
A voice from behind rescued him from hell.
Rohan narrowed his eyes at the familiar voice, but only for a moment. Without sparing a glance at the collapsed man, he turned his back and immediately approached the one who had called him, Owen.
“Where is the prayer room?”
There were no questions about why he was here or what he had been doing. Whether he wasn’t curious or didn’t have the presence of mind to be curious. From a quick glance, Owen could confidently guess it was the latter, as Rohan looked visibly distressed to anyone who saw him.
“I’ll leave the cleanup to you.”
“Yes, understood!”
After entrusting the cleanup to Halion, a priest armed with armor, he moved on. As they walked up the corridor where not a single person could be sensed, he glanced at Rohan following behind. Even though the temple wasn’t usually a bustling place, this was enough to feel out of place.
The fact that he didn’t even question this… After quietly gauging his intentions, Owen voiced a question that suddenly occurred to him.
“Where is Lord Arpel, and why did you come alone?”
“Prayer room.”
“…”
After that resolute answer, no more words were exchanged. It only clearly confirmed that the other had no will to continue the conversation.
Owen didn’t ask for the reason, nor did he press the issue. He certainly didn’t take offense. Perhaps the moment he asked that last question about Arpel’s whereabouts, he instinctively realized, ‘This is something I shouldn’t dig into.’
The moment that name was mentioned, he even had the illusion that those eyes, faded and dead black, glowed red. Was it murderous intent contained in them, a warning not to ask further, or was it fear?
There was nothing he could be certain of, being unaware of his condition due to not participating in the fight with the Salvation Church. However, one thing was clear: when it came to matters related to Arpel, simply going along with Rohan’s words was beneficial for both their mental and physical health.
Following this belief actively, Owen guided him to the empty prayer room. It was the prayer room that had been used personally by the ‘former bishop’ of the temple.
“I’ll make sure no one enters.”
With those quiet words, the door of the prayer room closed firmly.
It was only after that that he could let out the sigh that had been circling inside his chest. He had seen with his own eyes that the spectral veil in the distance had been lifted, and given that Rohan had personally walked to this temple, the village matter must have been resolved well. But could this really be considered fortunate?
Owen had never seen Rohan look so desperate. The more he recalled that face, sharply honed yet paradoxically seeming more fragile than anyone else’s, complexity clouded his eyes.
“Priest, how is he?”
It was Halion’s voice, returning after completing the task he had been asked to do, that broke his deepening thoughts. The metallic sound of clanking armor rang out in time with his footsteps.
Owen responded to the brief question with a light nod and quietly observed Halion, who seemed excited. Had he properly seen Rohan’s grim expression?
He had come to this temple with him right after the veil had fallen over the outskirts of Bemos Village. Unless one had skills that could be of help, it was obvious that entering the place where the fight had broken out in earnest would only be a hindrance.
Readily accepting this, Owen had changed course on the spot and headed to the temple he had scouted earlier. With one capable priest he had asked Casia to provide.
‘This guy will be perfect for interrogating heretics.’
Casia had said that, pointing to Halion, when she heard the situation. The true meaning of those words became clear the moment they started to clean up, barging into the temple that had stubbornly refused support until the end.
He vaguely recalled hands that piled up people without hesitation while talking about ‘God’. How dissonant it felt to see a face that didn’t lose its bright smile even while folding people. He was half-crazed with devotion to God.
There was a reason why this temple, which had quite a number of priests if not teeming with them, was now empty, with only one novice priest left – the one who had tried to stop Rohan earlier.
‘I should go down to the prison to check…’
He could leave Halion here and go check the prison. Since he seemed to admire Rohan, who had been directly blessed by God, he would guard the outside well without any problems.
Despite knowing this better than anyone, Owen couldn’t easily move away from pacing in front of the prayer room. Anxiety and unease were layered on top of the complexity he was already feeling.
Yes, perhaps this was worry.
Owen exhaled softly as he recalled the round, light brown back of the head he had seen last before closing the door of the prayer room.
***
As soon as Rohan entered the prayer room, he drew his sword. The blade, embedded with a lustrous purple jewel, maintained its pitch-black color without fading even under the long-reaching sunlight.
“Arpel.”
It was a small, final call of the name. There was no response – neither the sword’s trembling, which he had thought was a bit cute, nor the gentle answering voice. His eyes, which had become desolate as if stripped of emotion, flickered briefly.
Rohan, who had been quietly stroking the sword, slowly knelt before the altar. It was a devout posture, like a priest begging for his wish.
Light, broken into fragments as it passed through colored glass, shone down on Rohan’s head, making his light brown hair appear almost golden. Anyone who saw this sight would have exclaimed that it looked like a sacred painting, one hundred times out of a hundred.
Rohan, preciously holding the sword in both hands, slowly closed his eyes. His quivering lips finally uttered a cracked voice.
“…Oh Demon God.”
Despite being blessed by God, and despite having considerable experience leading worship while entrusted to the temple, Rohan had never once entered a prayer room to pray to God like this. Perhaps it was only natural.
Because he didn’t believe in God.
He didn’t believe in anything. Just that Arpel was everything in this world, the greatest existence. But now, for Arpel’s sake, Rohan was offering a desperate prayer to God for the first time in his life. He hoped and hoped that the Demon God who had blessed him would answer this prayer.
Please, Arpel.
Before that fragmented thought could continue, his consciousness was sucked somewhere.
Author: Hyacinthus B
Hyacinthus
