“......”
The Pope smiled. In his pure white papal robes, he looked like a young man. Smooth white skin, flawless features. A face untouched by time.
But his eyes were different. Something far too ancient to belong to a human being lay frozen in their depths. He had looked like this even in the days when the Archbishops were merely young acolytes, and would likely remain so forever.
— How have you all been?
The Archbishops remained silent, unable to answer the greeting. For twelve long years, during the Pope’s absence, they had dreamed ceaselessly of his return. Because his coming meant that the day of their cherished wish was drawing near.
But... to greet him with joy, or even dare to speak, one had to have fulfilled their duties well. Over the past year, the Archbishops had completely failed in governing Luthien. And that was why they did not dare open their mouths, meekly awaiting their fate.
Even Masiu Beltirein, who had been the pillar supporting the others all this time, was no exception. Like a man staring directly into a blinding sun, he squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his forehead to the floor.
The Archbishop of Abundance, Silen Preva, who had sown terror and chaos in the Border City, behaved no differently. Not a trace of his former arrogance remained—he merely bowed obsequiously.
The Archbishop of Justice, Bellesa Lucan, known among her peers for her temper, and the Archbishop of Protection, Molta Brach, who ruled Pendrox like an absolute monarch and inspired fear, were no exceptions either. Only the Archbishop of Healing, whose successes in Badland were notable, dared to furtively watch the Pope’s expression.
— Hm-m...
However, as if the disasters did not concern him at all, the Pope suddenly rose from his seat.
— Follow me.
Only after the Pope stepped outside did the Archbishops rise as one.
“......”
Exchanging uneasy glances, they followed behind him, their backs deeply bent.
Shurr—
The Pope’s footsteps echoed through the corridors of the Papal Palace. Despite returning after twelve long years, there was not a trace of nostalgia in his gait. He walked like a pilgrim crossing чужие lands.
“......”
It was strangely empty. No guards, no servants. Amid this peculiar silence, the Archbishops gradually realized their destination—and one by one, their expressions darkened.
— This place...
In the deepest part of the Papal Palace existed a space even Archbishops could not enter without the Pope’s permission.
Srrr—
The heavy stone gates opened on their own, and the Pope entered first.
Shurr—
A narrow, long passage stretched ahead. It twisted several times, stairs descending deep below, then suddenly rising upward.
The walls were densely covered with faded frescoes of unimaginable age. The deeper they went, the more the air thickened with the scent of antiquity.
Stone and dust, a faint trace of blood. And...
Their destination came into view. An ancient altar. A vast, worn altar, its stone blackened by the blood of countless sacrifices. It seemed too primitive for such a pure and sacred palace, yet the Archbishops merely stood silently before it, lowering their heads with faces filled with solemn reverence.
If Gunther had been here, he would have seen the following system message:
[You have reached the location: Altar of Origin]
In the age when human history on the continent had only just begun. In an era when neither kingdoms nor churches existed. This was where the first offering to the Seven Evil Gods had been made. The place where the beings of this world first came into their gaze.
— I want to show you something, — the Pope spoke quietly before the altar.
— As a token of appreciation for your loyal service to great Luthien and his seven brothers in my absence... — a faint smile played on his lips again. — I will let you know that I, too, have not returned empty-handed.
...Was that sarcasm? The Archbishops could not discern his intent and broke into cold sweat. The Pope, paying them no mind, casually raised his hand.
Tap.
A quiet sound. No spell, no sacred chant. Yet at that very moment, a transparent veil slowly unfolded in the air.
Pshhh—
Soon the veil tore open with a crack, and through the rupture seeped a bluish-black darkness. It was as if the surface of the world had been peeled back like skin, revealing the Abyss beneath. And... what lay beyond it.
At first, it seemed empty. Just a black space without light, land, or sky. But when they looked more closely...
— Ah! — the Archbishops gasped.
— Th-that...
Something floated in the darkness.
There were countless of them. No end in sight. Dimly glowing blue clusters. Entities with blurred human outlines.
Some knelt. Some stretched out their arms as if tearing at the void. Others trembled, curled into themselves. Masiu Beltirein was the first to speak, his voice trembling:
— ...These are souls.
The moment those words left his lips, the dam broke. The other Archbishops began speaking over one another. Shock was etched across their faces.
— You succeeded, Your Holiness!..
— All the collected souls are now there... Ha-ha, congratulations! This is the greatest blessing for all of us!
— The table... the table is set. Oh, our Lords!
Sounds of joy, excitement, and blatant flattery filled the space. The heavy atmosphere from moments before instantly shifted into triumph.
...And it was justified. Because what lay there was an immeasurable number of “souls.”
A normal soul, within the cycle of reincarnation, endlessly experiences life. War, love, betrayal, faith, despair, illness. All of this transforms into Karma, and Karma increases the density of the soul. Like wine maturing, the soul grows richer and heavier. Thus are born heroes, saints, and gods.
But for those sacrificed in Luthien’s rituals or slain by its power, a different fate awaited.
Woooo—
A soul wailed, a strange mark etched into its forehead.
“Seal.”
Those marked with the Seal have a high probability of falling out of the cycle of reincarnation. Thus, the Pope had only one task. To become the shepherd who would lead these wandering souls directly to the “table.” ...That was why Luthien hunted so fanatically for valuable “sacrifices.”
Tears streaming down his face, Masiu Beltirein continued:
— Soon our Lords will descend in the flesh and partake of this blessed harvest...
However, the Archbishops who should have immediately echoed him remained silent. A strange unease suddenly gripped him. He turned his head... and met the Pope’s gaze.
That same gentle smile. In that instant, Masiu reflexively touched his forehead.
— You, who have not yet fully freed yourselves from your shackles, would not understand, — the Pope continued casually.
— How meager this table is compared to the previous iteration... How insignificant this banquet is, which should have been a grand finale.
He had barely finished speaking when a scream tore from Masiu’s throat.
— A-a-a-a-a-a!
Masiu was the Archbishop of Repose, a man who had endured fire and water. He could calmly recite prayers even as his flesh was seared with hot iron, but against the pain that now overwhelmed him, he was powerless.
— Khh-a-a-a-a!
...Screams came from the side as well.
Silen Preva writhed on the floor. His entire body convulsed as he clawed frantically at his forehead. The moment Masiu’s gaze fell upon the burned “Seal,” he understood his fate.
“......”
Masiu devoutly closed his eyes. His lips moved silently one last time. A prayer.
Silen, however, behaved differently.
— N-no! Y-Your Holiness! Please! One more chance!..
He struggled in agony to the very end, scratching at the floor. His nails scraped against stone, leaving bloody trails.
However.
The Pope’s gaze did not linger on the subordinates who had served him faithfully for decades.
Tap.
Only a gesture followed. Devoid of pity, confusion, or mercy. The moment the Pope raised a finger, the bodies of Masiu and Silen went limp like puppets with their strings cut.
But the screams did not stop.
— ...A-a-a-a-a-a!
— A-a-a-a-a-a!
This time, Masiu screamed as well. The rupture in the void widened.
Within the black Abyss where souls floated, two new ones appeared. Watching their convulsions, the remaining Archbishops trembled and lowered their heads deeply. Looking at them, the Pope quietly murmured a prayer:
— The world of light is the true dwelling, the place where Luthien and his brothers reside. Only those who have accumulated great merit are worthy of being reborn there, while the lazy and the faithless will once more fall into shadow.
The Archbishops hurriedly began to echo his words.
...There exists a truth in this world known only to the highest ranks of the cult.
Luthien and his six brothers. Because of the word “brothers,” it seems from the outside that the Seven Evil Gods are equal beings.
But that is not the case. Between them yawns an immense gulf. A gulf so vast that even when the Pope sacrifices the apostles of two other gods on his own, no divine punishment follows.
Woooo—
The crack containing the souls let out a low hum. The black Abyss stirred as if alive. Like a beast that had swallowed great prey and now breathed in satisfaction.
Woooo—
At the same time, two streams of power bloomed around the Pope.
One was a blood-red energy. The other a murky, decaying golden energy.
This was the price for sacrificing two Archbishops—Masiu and Silen.
The Pope stared at them and muttered:
— And what am I supposed to do with this...
A quiet conversation with himself.
But soon, his usual gentle smile returned. As if a sudden thought had pleased him.
— Yes, — he said softly. — To those who caused the deaths of such devoted servants...
Between his fingers, the red and golden streams slowly intertwined.
— It would only be fair to take revenge.
The Pope’s gaze turned into the distance. Toward the sea, hundreds of kilometers away from the holy capital of Agnor. Toward the sea where Luthien’s greatest enemy sailed.
***
Splash—
Waves struck the hull. Gunther Sirhe stood leaning against the railing, silently watching the sea for a while.
His face showed deep thought. Naturally, his mind was occupied with the contents of the notebook he had received yesterday from the Great Admiral. But no matter how much he analyzed it, nothing came to mind right now.
“......”
He glanced briefly at Mikhela Iska, sitting nearby. She seemed just as confused—the girl was studying the notebook with a deeply puzzled expression.
“Something’s there... but I can’t grasp it...”
And just as Gunther let out a short breath—
Ding!
[Alphonse of Red Street yawns boredly]
[He asks when you will finally reach the dwelling of the Sea Dragon]
Gunther immediately straightened and stared into the empty space before him.
“Where the hell have you been all this time?”
[Alphonse of Red Street shrugs]
After the final battle with Verion and Archbishop Ardel, the trio of gods had suddenly disappeared. Without a single message. They had only now reappeared, several days later.
[The Drug-Addicted Saint waves at you cheerfully]
[The King of Ninety-Nine Defeats asks you to wait a little longer]
[Under the King’s leadership, they are preparing something using the Karma you offered]
[Alphonse of Red Street smirks and tells you to get ready for a surprise]
Gunther narrowed his eyes slightly at the messages.
He remembered the notifications that had poured in one after another when he had sacrificed 5,000 Karma.
From the removal of the restrictions binding the King, to the changes in the personal scenario “Old Is Always Better.” But the only thing he could physically feel at the moment... was his own strength.
He had obtained the King-Slayer Sword, and his mastery and skill levels related to the King had surged tremendously. Northern Swordsmanship had instantly risen to Level 5. These were massive changes. He could now stand against those on the verge of the 5th hierarchy.
However, there were no visible changes related to the trio of gods themselves. If the King’s shackles had been broken, it shouldn’t end with a simple stat increase.
Somewhere... something far greater had to shift. That was what Gunther secretly hoped for.
“Pendrox is dangerous. And the fanatics of Luthien will soon launch a full-scale war.”
...The trio of gods had never disappointed him when they told him to “wait for a surprise.” They would surely bring something truly useful.
“They’d better.”
Gunther leaned against the railing again and looked over the deck. Most of his companions had come outside. The long voyage seemed to have bored them.
But... something felt off. There was a strange, unfamiliar atmosphere between them.
— Oh no, save the king, I’m going to die of seasickness.
— As far as I know, no one has ever died from seasickness.
— Then I’ll be the first!
— So where should we bury you, in the Border City or in Valloren?
On the surface, they were joking. But tension clearly lingered beneath it.
Everyone understood. The moment the Sea Dragon opened the blocked sea route, all the forces they had been gathering would begin to move.
Valloren’s army would march on Pendrox by land, while Nereus would strike from the sea. In the midst of that chaos, Gunther’s group would have to infiltrate deep into enemy territory and seize Pendrox.
In essence, it would be the first invasion of Luthien’s homeland. A long-cherished ambition of Night Raven—and a feat no one had accomplished for centuries.
— So I will definitely...
— I’ll definitely save you.
— Just wait.
The image of a boy surfaced in his mind. A ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) boy who had willingly stepped into Luthien’s jaws for the sake of his friends.
“Dominic...”
And at the very moment Gunther clenched his teeth, hardening his resolve—
Ding!
[Quest selected for hierarchy advancement]
[Complete the following quest to receive promotion]
A brief silence. Then came the message:
— Gunther Sirhe, return to your homeland and survive until you uncover the “Truth.”
Estimated difficulty: ★★★★★★
“......?”
Gunther’s pupils trembled ever so slightly.
