Ch#217
"......Go."
At the voice on the verge of breaking, Morien whipped his head around.
Nordics was struggling to rise from his seat.
"Nordics, sir!"
Morien rushed over and supported him.
Whether he had starved for days, Nordics' body felt horrifyingly emaciated in his grasp.
Memories of the help received in childhood welled up, tears pooling uncontrollably in his eyes.
"No, how on earth......!"
Nordics quietly pushed his hands away.
Only his faded eyes shone calmly from his blood-smeared face.
"How could I not know he is testing you."
At the word "test," Morien froze.
His face drained pale as he glanced back at the purification chamber door.
The door through which the Pope had exited was firmly shut, as if it had never opened.
"Calling you here, someone connected to me, and showing you all this. In the end, it will all be a test, Morien."
"......"
"So just go. There's nothing good in associating with me now."
Morien's arm fell limply.
But he couldn't overcome his emotions and glared with wide eyes.
"Are you telling me now not to help you, sir, because I might fall out of His Holiness's favor?"
"......"
"If not for you, sir, I would have starved to death in the poorhouse! Not just me, but all the brothers and sisters there that day too!"
"......"
"We often exchange letters, and they all asked about you without fail. You vanished one day, leaving us unable even to know if you're alive...... And we had no idea you were a priest, sir!"
Tears welled in Morien's eyes.
"If I'd known you were this close, I would have come sooner. How......"
Wiping his eyes and nose, he stared at Nordics.
"I can't leave you here alone, sir. I know I shouldn't say this, but honestly......!"
The Pope's image, inflicting cruel torture on Nordics, flashed in his mind.
Nordics' pained face, expression, even his tears.
Morien's clenched fists trembled.
'Come to think of it, torture of that intensity is usually reserved for heinous murderers, isn't it?'
A suspicion he had never harbored since becoming a priest arose.
Not doubt in faith.
Just glimpsing the shadow behind the Pope's absolute sanctity, which he had taken for granted.
'Now I know why my heart felt uneasy every time I fetched holy water.'
Shaking his head to dispel the confusion, Morien faced Nordics.
"Anyway. I don't know what crime you've supposedly committed, sir, but I......!"
"Hush."
At that moment, Nordics placed one hand over his lips.
With pity in his eyes, Nordics sighed.
"I understand. You can't help it either."
"......"
"Of course. I can't demand you do what even I couldn't."
Nordics staggered to his feet.
Then said with an ashen face.
"Support me only to the east parish hall, to my chamber."
* * *
The east parish hall consisted of dozens of chambers.
The chambers were spaces for priests to reside and live, but most were currently empty.
'Why not use the north parish hall......? Most priests staying at Serkanos Cathedral live in the north parish hall.'
Recalling Morien's words at the entrance, Nordics sat on the hard bed.
Unbearable pain stabbed his solar plexus, a groan escaping involuntarily.
The sparse room held only a bed, small drawer, and side table.
Those three pieces of furniture had been all since the day he first donned priestly robes.
'If I cannot control, I eliminate.'
Luciano's final words echoed in his mind.
'Ominous buds should be pruned from the start.'
The handkerchief in Nordics' hand crumpled.
Unknowingly, he bowed his head.
"Why......"
The candle flame flickered in the cold wind seeping through the window.
"Why on earth did you return."
The holy chronicle on the side table listed reports from great and small temples across the continent.
At the top, two words reflected the light dimly.
[Necromancer King, heads to capital.]
He had hoped Astie would never reappear.
Night and day, as he left the Old Palace behind and returned to the Central Continent, he prayed and prayed again.
Nordics swallowed a groan and curled up on the hard bed.
Unbearable pain throbbed in his chest and abdomen.
A sign that the organs the Pope had ruined were regenerating.
Nordics whimpered in a barely audible voice.
"......My sin."
Beyond his blurring vision.
Memories from long ago assaulted him vividly, as if from yesterday.
The voices of his enraged brethren too.
'Omen! How could you betray us!'
'To join hands with that demon!'
'Do you know what happened to the Mother Tree, sob, her final roots torn out wretchedly! All six branches broken! Because of that utterly wicked demon!'
Back then, Omen stood on one riverbank, his brethren on the other.
Thus, the brethren were all beheaded, and only he survived.
The reason...... well.
'Priest, save, mmph, us.'
Having seen too many innocent children in pools of blood?
'Save, sa......'
Their last breaths leaking out, vanishing without a trace?
'You became an archpriest to save lives, didn't you, Omen?'
In the prison echoing with the screams of fellow priests, the Pope's smile toward Nordics was vivid.
'Think about it. Which choice now saves more lives.'
It was the devil's whisper.
But also a terribly sweet temptation.
His unconscious mind clamored endlessly.
'Omen, only fools and idiots will call you a traitor. You are merely seizing a chance to choose.'
'Will you vanish like the countless lives you've seen, or seize the opportunity to change something?'
A silent god was despair-inducing.
One could not lean on a dying god.
Nordics had witnessed everything.
Countless fellow priests quietly buried in Roxe Forest.
All the innocent children dissolving into the dew of Serkanos Cathedral.
'We will curse you! You who betrayed the greater cause, who abandoned the Mother, even in the Underworld!'
Nordics had etched the moment each of the five archpriests' heads fell.
With eyes wide, witnessing to the very end.
As if he must.
Mana stones first emerged the day the World Tree broke.
But the Pope disguised their appearance as the archpriests' fault and beheaded them all.
Nordics alone survived, though his death was publicly announced that day.
'How does it feel to be among the dead, Omen.'
Forcing him to his knees, the Pope laughed brighter and more radiantly than ever.
'You are no longer an archpriest. You will become my branch itself. I heard you still possess 'those eyes.'
'Those eyes' meant the spirit eyes.
In other words, the archpriests' eyes.
They were essential for archpriests serving the World Tree.
Through spirit eyes, they could see and sense the World Tree's condition and behold the thousands, tens of thousands of spirits under it.
Small gods dwelling in places, objects, emotions, or relationships.
Communicating and speaking with them was the greatest glory for those with spirit eyes.
Of course, Pope Luciano was once one who had lost his spirit eyes.
Before becoming a demon, he had been merely one faithful high priest among many.
However.
'In the final moment, it seemed to rebel against me. The spirit eyes vanished completely.'
Corrupting the World Tree and absorbing its power cost the Pope his spirit eyes.
He gained the mightiest power, but could no longer read the World Tree or its subordinate spirits.
'One rotten nest corrupts all eggs within. I have no lingering attachment to those that will eventually rampage into mana stones. However.'
"......"
'That black dragon must be found. The World Tree would surely plot something audacious through that vile thing.'
A dry tear trickled down Nordics' eye corner.
As all recollections severed, he saw his own back from months ago, reporting before the Pope.
'Your Holiness, its aura has been detected in Briowood Forest.'
How much he regretted that moment later.
Every time the child came running and hugged him, calling 'Grandpa!'
Every time laughter echoed through the cozy base.
"Now, I may never see you again......"
Nordics slowly curled up.
And for a long time, he let out soundless groans.