129. Childhood Friend – Barik Monarch

Reb’s hand, gripping the Oblivion Blade, trembled uncontrollably. It was hard to take my eyes off Lena Ainar’s fallen figure.

What have I done?

– “Kill that bastard too. Right now!”

Just as Reb hesitated, confused, Leo Dexter, caught in the thorns, pushed the branches aside and jumped down, thorn pricks be damned.

“Lena! Lena!”

Leo embraced Lena tightly.

He couldn’t let go of her, flipping her over to check her state, clutching on to a threadbare hope that maybe she was still alive…

But Lena didn’t move. There was no way a person with a pierced heart could be alive.

“Le… Aaaah! You bastard!!”

Leo Dexter let out a roar.

With a ferocious, twisted face, he glared at Reb, then charged through the tangled vines on the ground.

Finally realizing what was happening, Reb raised the Oblivion Blade. He meant to slice the blood-soaked monster charging at him in half…

– Clang!

A dull and rough greatsword, lacking shine and blade support, blocked Reb’s sword.

[ Achievement: Bound Item, 0/3 ]

[ Sword – Not Destroyed ]

Whether it was surprising or not, Leo’s sword was the same as the one Reb held. That greatsword had collided with the massive Oblivion Blade without being severed.

“Die!”

Leo Dexter lunged with his sword.

He extended his right foot forward, stabbing towards Reb’s chest—an uncommon move that might risk losing his two-handed sword, something typically done in a desperate attempt to kill.

– Clang!

Reb stepped back and countered, lifting the Oblivion Blade with one hand—a very aggressive and rare move.

{Swordsmanship.3v: Bartlyu (流)}.

Both were employing the same sword technique.

As expected, Leo couldn’t withstand the immense pressure of Reb’s sword and lost his grip. But he leapt up, aiming to strangle him.

The massive figure of Leo fell over Reb, whose build appeared comparatively frail.

Leo of the village Demos.

Leo Dexter knew that he and Reb were caught up in the same bizarre twist of fate. Yet he couldn’t control the pent-up anger.

What happened, who the “Player” was, and why Leo before him had become an Apostle of the Evil God weren’t the important matters right then.

Lena’s nemesis!

He aimed to twist the neck of this little brat, who barely reached his chin…

– Punch!

Reb’s fist flew like lightning. The now smaller Oblivion Blade had somehow reduced in length and pierced Leo’s belly.

Though physically superior and equally skilled, Reb, imbued with Barbatos’s divine power, had surpassed the limits of human capacity.

Unless Leo was a Swordmaster, there was no way he could face Reb alone.

“C-crack… You bastard…”

Losing feeling in his lower body as his spine was severed, Leo collapsed to his knees. Yet, refusing to fall over completely, he clutched at Reb’s clothing and coughed up blood.

“I-I will kill you. I will definitely take my revenge…”

Injured and battered from breaking through the thorns, Leo uttered words of vengeance even as he sensed his own death approaching, and Reb, with a complicated expression, pushed the corpse aside. His eyes, which had momentarily cleared, were once again tainted with red.

Suddenly, he felt a pang of regret over ‘the mirror’.

*

“Huff… huff…”

“Cardinal Berg, it’s best you stop now.”

Priestess Ophelia urged, but Cardinal Berg didn’t cease his dance of the sword, cursing his aged body instead.

“It’s… huff… it can’t end like this. If I stop… huff… the thorns will take over here too…”

“But…”

…it was pointless.

Ophelia couldn’t finish her words. She looked around with a despairing expression.

Red and black.

The hunting party, reduced to barely two thousand, was catching their breath in a cramped circular plain. This spot was only made possible due to Cardinal Berg constantly cutting down the growing thorns, conjured by the image of Lord Lachar.

Yet, this little haven was surrounded by a tightly packed forest of thorns that appeared black, while sharp screams occasionally echoed from the woods.

We have lost.

The Apostle of the Evil God was a monster we could not contend with.

Though we had messed up the initial battle, at the time the Apostle fell from the horse, I still thought we had a chance. It didn’t take long, however, to realize how naive that notion had been.

The priests, including Ophelia, had long fallen from grace and turned into a burden. They had completely spent their divine power attempting to purify the land where the thorns were sprouting, rendering them now merely ordinary—and powerless—civilians.

The land, which momentarily regained its original color, quickly turned red again, making the efforts seem futile.

By the time we realized we couldn’t purify it, the hunting party had completely disbanded.

The knights who rushed to catch the fallen Apostle never returned. They hadn’t strayed too far from the main unit, but only a select few made it back through the dense forest—occasionally punctuated by echoing, tearing screams which were all the proof we needed that they’d perished.

It had been two days since then.

The hunting party, with tears in their eyes, decided to retreat. However, the thorny forest seemed determined not to let them go and held them captive.

The older holy knights, the prince they protected, and the priests who had lost all their power struggled to clear a path through the vines, but the forest… had no end in sight. Thankfully, the wizards managed to set fire to the woods and poured rain to carve a path, just enough to make their escape.

Complete stragglers.

Food was running low, and even with Lord Lachar’s form helping out, the sudden thorns rising up prevented anyone from getting a decent night’s sleep.

Among those remaining here, hardly anyone believed we would somehow manage to drive away the Apostle of the Evil God or survive in this forest.

It would have been much better if the Apostle would just show up. Then, we could fight fiercely, giving our all till our last breath…

But the Apostle never showed. Cold and heartless, he kept to himself, stalking those who fell behind the hunting party, and soon the woods echoed with terrible last gasps.

“God! Are we forsaken? Please save us.”

Led by the High Priest, the priests constantly raised prayers. Everyone’s pleas were not but cries for salvation and light. Meanwhile, Cardinal Michael only shook his head in despair, as if acknowledging that this was our destined fate.

“Huff… huff…”

Cardinal Berg finally ceased his sword dance. Massaging his trembling arms, he took a moment to breathe before shouting at the priests.

“Do not beg for your life from God! Our lives mean nothing to Him!”

Those words were blasphemous. Had he uttered them before this state, he would surely have been stripped of his title and subjected to severe punishment. Yet Cardinal Berg did not stop there.

“God desires us to overcome adversity ourselves! What matters to Him is the human heart! Struggle to survive! Ignite your will! If you do so, God will open the way for you!”

Berg knew the secret of divine power. He hadn’t run out of divine power after two whole days of constantly calling for ‘descend’ because he had burned his own will. Yet,

“…all this is in vain. This is the path arranged by God. I now understand why God told the Saint not to move.”

As the priests froze from Berg’s irreverent outburst, Cardinal Michael muttered lowly. His face was one of total resignation, leaving Berg lamenting helplessly.

The belief that everything was bound by the ‘shackle’ and that no matter what they did, the future was predetermined had made the priests weak and complacent.

Understanding their feelings, Berg still wanted to refute. Because, being atop the Holy Cross Church as a Cardinal…

He was a sinner.

+ + +

His real name was ‘Barik Monarch’.

Born as a bastard son to the Monarch Baron family of the Conrad Kingdom, he was indeed the son of a Baron, but he wasn’t afforded a solitary cell.

Living with lowly servants, he often had to take on hard labor when the workload was high, obviously without pay.

Such was the life of bastards. If they didn’t pay a salary, they were treated worse than the lord’s subjects, and to receive an education, his humble-begotten mother would have to plead with tears, begging the father—no, the master.

Yet some sneered, claiming he was blessed to not be starving to death. At first, young Barik thought so too.

After all, he bore the blood of the Monarchs. Surely he wouldn’t be cast out of this family. Maybe he could at least become the steward, or if luck favored him, maybe the Grand Officer position… he mused.

However, that was excessive optimism.

By the time Barik reached adulthood, he had not received the proper experiences expected of a steward.

He showed talent in swordsmanship and learned from the family knights on occasion, but that was only because the knight took pity on Barik, finding time in his schedule to teach him.

A bleak future awaited him.

Living in scorn from his family and being mocked by the lord’s subjects and servants, Barik Monarch nonetheless had one lifeline that kept his heart from despair.

‘Grinen Monarch’, his half-sister.

Only a year apart, Barik and Grinen played together often during their childhood, as the Baron likely thought it a good thing for his late-born daughter to have a friend of the same age.

Thanks to that, Grinen Monarch grew up as a noblewoman who didn’t discriminate against bastards. Knowing her father disapproved, she sometimes brought Barik food in secret.

Barik loved her. Although she was his sister, he was treated as an outsider by the Baron’s family, so they were more like friends.

Their relationship gradually evolved into something more. When they were alone, they would occasionally hold hands and give each other brief hugs.

Then, on the day the Baron took the family hunting, Grinen, who stayed behind claiming she was ill, kissed Barik. With flushed cheeks, they slipped into bed, whispering “I love you” to each other.

It was a happy moment, but it was also the beginning of catastrophe.

Thinking they had no one to catch them, the actions of two young lovers were bound to be discovered, as the events in the Baron’s small mansion would reach the ears of their father.

“You ungrateful bastard! They say blood can’t be hidden, but your behavior is no different from your mother!”

Beaten, Berg absurdly spat blood from his mouth.

You bastard, that wretch is your son! I don’t know if you are worthy to be called a father, being the one who denied your sick wife treatment to save on costs and let her die without taking her to the church.

There were countless words he wished to spit out, yet Berg chose to remain silent. He allowed the beatings and insults to rain down on him.

Ultimately, to suppress the scandal of the bastard sleeping with the noblewoman, Berg—the subject of the incident—was cast out to the church. Externally, it would be disguised as offering a child to God.

Even while riding to the monastery church, Berg was verbally abused by the knights and junior knights escorting him. A filthy bastard who defiled his own sister, they said.

Berg could not defend himself.

He knew all too well he was indulging in a forbidden love with Grinen.

Yet his growing heart had burned through him, prompting reckless actions.

‘But…’

Even while reflecting upon his sins, a surge of resentment rose deep within him.

What if I wasn’t a bastard? Would I still have been cast out, even if I was a legitimate heir?

If so, perhaps our relationship could have been accepted. While marriages between relatives often turned heads, they weren’t entirely unheard of.

Because he was a bastard, it was impossible for that kind of understanding to be afforded.

Reflecting on his transgressions, Berg escaped from the carriage carrying him to the monastery.

Determined to cut ties with his family’s despicable legacy and live out the rest of his life in repentance, he changed his name to Berg.

After years of hardship, Berg finally entered an educational institution. He had enough skill in swordsmanship to aim for the Holy Knight position instead of merely being a priest, and as he tackled theology, he slowly became a devout follower of the Lord.

However, during his time studying, his past continued to plague Berg’s mind.

‘Can someone like a sinner ever become a Holy Knight? Will I receive divine power?’

The absolute, singular God surely knew every detail of his sins.

Perhaps… he wouldn’t receive it.

He had long given up hope.

He had thought of becoming a knight if he couldn’t become a Holy Knight, yet surprisingly, he passed the test. Even receiving a notable evaluation for accommodating divine power at a remarkably high efficiency.

Berg was engulfed in confusion.

Why?

Why did God grant the glorious divine power to someone like me? I falsified even my origins and social status, and if qualifications were to be discussed, I should be the worst of apprentices…

Despite the confusion, he did manage to become a Holy Knight. Shortly afterwards, he was appointed to the Toddler region of the Belita Kingdom. It was a brief two-year posting.

He finally experienced a peaceful life for the first time, engaging in various tasks at a church in that place.

Yet that piece of tranquility shattered the moment he found an old scripture while cleaning the church library.

Caked in dust and almost disintegrated at just a touch, the ancient text recorded the secret history of the First Saint, Saint Azra.

The Toddler region, known as the birthplace of the First King and Swordmaster, Todler Akiunen, was, surprisingly enough, also the home of the notorious drunkard, Azra.

With poor drinking habits, he frequently became unruly while drunk. Even after serving as a soldier in the Akaiya Kingdom—transforming into an empire—he often returned to the prison for disobeying orders, and unceremoniously ended his service. After retiring, he instead lived as a swindler and spent multiple bouts in jail.

As age caught up to him, he returned to his hometown, living as a regular farmer, but one day, he suddenly set off on a journey.

This was when the widely known holy life of Saint Azra unfolded.

With a ‘brass chalice’ in one hand and a wooden staff in the other, he traversed the continents, defeating evil seven times. Having vanquished every evil roaming the land, he finally prayed for strength to resist evil for humanity. It became orthodox belief that God praised his feats and sent a saint to the continent.

Upon learning of Saint Azra’s past, Berg was left shocked. The reprehensible actions of his youth paled in comparison to the sins he had committed.

How could this person, after thousands of years, still be venerated as a saint…

Moreover, God was so impressed with his deeds that He granted divine power to humanity.

Berg, having undergone a significant realization, reapplied to the educational institution. He decided to forgo the Holy Knight path to ardently research based on his newfound insights.

The culmination of that research was the dissertation [Theory of the Universal Priest]. Reinterpreting ‘the Responsibility of Creatures’ to claim ‘everyone in this world can become a priest’.

However, the thesis was heavily laden with Berg’s inferiority complex regarding his status.

In this society, where social ranking defined everything, it was a thesis that couldn’t possibly gain acceptance, and yet many monks rallied in support of him. Still, Berg couldn’t withstand the pressure pouring in from all sides. He was in danger of losing not just his position, but potentially his life as a priest as well.

Ultimately, Berg acknowledged the harsh realities and published several papers supporting the social hierarchy. Withdrawing the [Theory of the Universal Priest] was the best resistance he could muster.

‘As expected… To achieve something, one needs a practical power.’

Since then, Berg consistently worked hard to become a Cardinal. He felt that reaching the pinnacle of the Holy Cross Church would allow him to execute his wishes.

That pinnacle, however, was occupied by Cardinal Michael—an unparalleled theologian of his time and a royal descendant…

When he first faced him in debate, Berg tried to endure.

Yet the subtly ingrained sense of superiority and chosen-people mentality within Cardinal Michael’s logic pierced at Berg’s insecurities.

In the end, their debate erupted into a fierce conflict and barely a newly appointed Cardinal, Berg found himself resigned to the Conrad Kingdom.

He had been cast out from the monastery church.

‘Maybe it was for the better.’

Let’s start anew.

After a long journey, he had finally returned to his homeland. He resolved to put forth his effort once more here.

Fully determined, Cardinal Berg stopped by the Monarch Baron family.

It was a bit childish, but he wanted to startle and show up the family that looked down on him.

The baron family? Berg was no longer a powerless bastard. As a Cardinal of the Holy Cross Church, he could shatter such a small family in this remote region with just a few words.

As expected, the Baron’s family rushed out to welcome the renowned Cardinal dispatched from the monastery church. Among them, many recognized Berg and stumbled over their words in shock…

In the moment of what should have been a small moment of sweet revenge, Berg found himself at a loss for words as well.

Grinen Monarch was there.

His lover, whom he had assumed had married into another household, was now looking at him with tears when he least expected it.

“Barik. I knew you were alive. I’m so glad you’ve returned.”

Berg, or rather Barik, followed her into the reception room. His well-matured sister gently calmed his bewildered self while congratulating him on becoming a Cardinal, but he could only ask how she had been living all this time.

“I’ve been just fine. Even more happily than you think. I have someone to introduce to you.”

Grinen called a handmaiden to bring in a man, and soon a tall young man with silver hair entered the reception room.

“Please meet him. He is your father.”

“…Hello. I am Gustave Monarch.”

It was a moment where a father and son, who had not even known they were alive, reunited.

Gustave showed a slightly cold expression, but Berg felt as if his heart might stop.

I have a son. So that means my sister… she never married and raised a child all this time?

He was overwhelmed with dizziness. Even as he heard stories of his half-brother Bailey Monarch finding no son and ultimately adopting Gustave as the official heir of the Monarch household, the clergyman couldn’t help but think of God.

Why, oh why, did God grant me holy divine power when I have sinned not just with my sister, but also have a son? How could this be…?

This was an outright contradiction to the conventions of the Holy Cross Church.

Then, does that mean God… disapproves of the church’s conventions?

In confusion, Berg postponed his schedule and stayed at the Monarch Baron family for several days. He wished to converse more with his sister, especially as Gustave’s wedding was just a few days away.

“Where did he get that from, he broke a plate, you see. Could you perhaps preside over the ceremony?”

The mention of breaking a plate was a roundabout way of expressing he had caused trouble before the wedding. Barik averted his gaze slightly at Grinen’s subtle accusation, promising to think it over.

On the day of the wedding, Berg ended up presiding over the ceremony.

The woman marrying Gustave was the only daughter of Count Peter of the Belita Kingdom, with flowing black hair. Though from another family, the Monarch Barons and Count Peter’s family shared a border and often had interactions.

“…We commend the birth of a couple to God.”

As he concluded the ceremony, Berg bestowed plentiful divine power upon Gustave. Feeling remorseful for the son who had grown without a father…

After the wedding, Gustave left stoically for his in-laws, and Berg set off for the capital.

Just before departing, he apologized to Grinen. He asked her to forgive him for not having shown his face even once in over a decade, but his sister responded,

“Don’t say that. I still love you. I don’t regret it.”

And those words moved the now middle-aged Barik to tears.

Leaving the Monarch Baron family, Berg felt he had changed significantly.

Whereas he had previously sought to achieve something within the boundaries of the Holy Cross Church, that was no longer the case.

‘To establish a new church. To create a new kingdom. A world with a free status, and more flexible rules will be built by my hands.’

This was the mission entrusted to me by God.

In that very moment of determination, Berg felt the divine power of the Lord embedded deeply in his heart swell to an even greater size.

+ + +

Berg’s cries ultimately fell on deaf ears. The despondent priests merely raised prayers for salvation, and Cardinal Michael only shook his head in refusal, not taking Berg’s words to heart.

After dancing the sword for a full two days, Berg was completely exhausted, unable to continue. The lettered white characters that adorning Lord Lachar’s form vanished along with his dance.

Thorns grew up like mushrooms after the rain. The hunting party had completely disbanded and scattered. The thorny forest disturbed their regrouping, but the bigger problem lay in the deliciously red fruits hanging from the trees.

Fruits that, if bitten into, would drip sweet juice. To the parched hunting party, this was akin to a devil’s temptation.

Those who partook of the fruit soon fell into madness, frothing at the mouth as they dove into the thicket of thorns, never to be seen again—one could guess what fate awaited them without having to witness it.

In the end, only Priestess Ophelia and a few young survivors from the ‘Grania Orphanage’ remained near Cardinal Berg, and cruelly, the Apostle of the Evil God finally revealed itself two days later.

Having been unable to eat for three days, Berg found himself powerless to resist.

Thus, the one who dreamed of revolution met his end in the vast thorn-infested woods, leaving no survivor from the hunting party to break free from the forest.

Only one young man emerged with a complicated expression, limping slightly as he rode a black steed towards the north.