Chapter 98

A creature, resembling a blend of a crow and a human, opened its metallic beak wide.

Cawwww-!

A high psychic wave shook the inside of the cave, and the glowing moss on the walls turned black in an instant, crumbling down with hardened mud.

“Ah.”

The black saint Matheos easily gauged the weight carried by that psychic wave.

Perhaps because of its bird-like appearance, that creature’s psychic wave was unusually strong.

Even he, the saint, found it somewhat grating on the ears; ordinary people would have been completely overwhelmed, feeling as if they were covered in feathers the moment they heard the sound.

However, both he and Valencianus were not at a level to be swayed by such psychic waves.

In fact, Valencianus also maintained his steady stride as he ran forward.

His back, clad in a white uniform, exuded an air of both arrogance and pity.

Thus, Matheos’ frown was not due to the psychic wave.

He briefly recalled Dismas, an old friend.

It was jarring and shocking to see a creature that he had always faced as a monster now exhibit its human form.

He had been compelled to think of reasons.

Why?

Why on earth?

The clergy of the God of Radiance had a duty to evangelize.

They relentlessly sought out tribes in jungles or remote areas, demanding conversions with an intensity that bordered on harassment, often accompanied by holy knights to forcefully convert them.

In fact, such times were more frequent.

When the desperate thought of seeking help crossed the minds of those in need, the cruel and cunning old ones would come, extending their grasp, with the only thing that could hold them back being the divine power of priests raised through the systematic education of the God of Radiance.

Was it the sword or the scripture?

The reason the God of Radiance could spread throughout the continent was that they were the most useful, the least harmful, and the strongest.

This further deepened Matheos’ doubts.

It was understandable that someone who had lived all their life in the shadows of the city, in filthy and damp alleys, would know nothing of or reject the grace of light.

Of course, he could not condone such actions; he thought it was unfortunate, but he could understand how that might be.

But this was a monastery.

A place lacking in material wants, the safest from worldly powers, overflowing with people performing the miracles of light.

Why, then, would someone who already knew how dangerous the old ones were choose to become corrupted?

He could not understand or accept it.

The ideas he had believed to be safe, the common sense he had held to be true, had begun to fracture.

So, even though Valencianus displayed lethal intent multiple times, Matheos pretended not to see it.

Matheos thought that because he had turned a blind eye, he was now faced with this.

Valencianus’ back remained unwavering.

Pausing about twenty steps away from a transformed young nun, he began to chant a spell.

Tragically, the transformed young nun still bore a physique closely resembling that of her pre-transformation self.

Aside from her nun’s robe, which had tears here and there, it was almost the same as before, the rosary with a cross still dangling from her chest like a necklace.

She must have heard that one should not wear it like that.

Unexpectedly, Matheos thought.

The transformed young nun lunged at Valencianus.

Her sleeves swept through the air drastically, and black feathers flew like daggers.

Thud!

The impact was such that it sunk deep into the cave walls.

As the transformed young nun shot forth feathers, she propelled herself forward with the movement of an assassin.

In the darkness, her red gaze traced an unpredictable path as she charged towards Valencianus, leaping off the cave walls and ceiling.

Valencianus, who had been chanting, sighed softly, regarding the transformed young nun with a gaze filled with arrogant zeal and pity.

Kwaaah-!

In the next moment, flames burst forth from the tips of Valencianus’ left hand.

It seemed poised to fill the entire passage with a diameter of three meters.

There was no escaping it, whether on the ceiling or crawling on the floor.

“Cawkaah?”

The transformed young nun, buried in the high-pressure flames, struggled helplessly, collapsing into the inferno.

Valencianus unleashed flames that threatened to deplete the oxygen within the cave.

“Your Excellency, I believe that’s enough.”

Matheos approached, unable to withstand it any longer.

The corpse was already reduced to ash, leaving no trace even of bones.

“I apologize.”

Valencianus bowed his head unusually deeply, and Matheos was taken aback.

“Yes?”

“I have someone I know who has corroded… No, indeed. Just that.”

Valencianus trailed off.

The fact that he was clothed influenced his humanity more than his face did.

Matheos was not the only one to recall the form of what had once been alive.

“…I thought you were a cruel bandit devoid of blood or tears.”

Matheos exclaimed in fresh shock.

“I am a bandit. It is true that I live as I please, and that I react destructively to anything that displeases me—both are correct.”

Valencianus did not deny it.

He simply swept back his white hair, his inhuman golden eyes trembling more than anything else.

With emotions beyond rage.

Matheos scanned the room where thirty lay sprawled.

Now he, too, could make up his mind.

The anger towards those who had made incomprehensible choices trembled the black saint.

‘Please do not let me forget this anger.’

He prayed thus.

That child could not have been the instigator.

He yearned to burn those who had first served the old ones.

“It is already too late to save them. I shall grant rest to those in this room. And…”

“And?”

“I will hold the abbot responsible. Whether he knew or not, he is a great sinner.”

Valencianus smiled like a puppet.

His pale face held color only in his yellow eyes.

He heard the voice of the black saint.

“You have made a wise decision.”

* * *

It was a quiet night, though not particularly holy.

Ten creatures that seemed a mixture of crows and humans gathered behind the cathedral.

Among them were those who had once been priests, candidates for holy knights, nuns, and monks.

They all served the light, and all had fallen into shadow for the same reason.

With red eyes gleaming, they clicked their steel beaks, fiddling with their blade-like feathers and claws.

Some were armed with the long swords or sickles they had wielded before their corruption.

“We’re a step too late.”

“Yeah. We were a step too late.”

“The flowers we were nurturing inside have died.”

“Yeah. The flowers we were nurturing inside have died.”

“It’s still okay.”

“Yeah, it’s still okay.”

“There are many injured people to the east.”

“Yeah. There are many injured people to the east.”

One creature hesitated for a moment before speaking.

“We can start over.”

All the creatures hesitated before responding.

“We can start over.”

Just then, a thundering shout shattered the stillness of the night.

“Start over? Enough with the same old words! Unblemished corpses return to Hell, and you shall burn forever!”

Kiiiiiiyyyyiiik!

The roar of a wyvern followed, echoing like thunder.

The fierce wind generated by the mighty wings shook the ten creatures.

The black saint Matheos rose slowly, perched on the back of the wyvern, floating up over the cliff.

His male visage, resembling a marble sculpture, twisted in anger like flames, and his hair and eyes, blacker than the night sky, shone brightly, glowing with divine power.

The saint’s black robes fluttered as he descended from the wyvern, stepping onto the ground.

The grand sound of “Ra-” resonated like an echo, the translucent barrier of divine power crashing down upon the ten creatures.

Like a boy battered by waves, the creatures tumbled across the ground.

But the saint’s rage was nothing to be compared to mere waves.

“Cawww!”

“Kkiiiiaaaak!”

“Graah!”

The screams of the crows broke the night’s silence once more.

The undying flames of purification burned brightly, fueled by the very essence of the ancients.

Even though the creatures thrashed on the ground and flailed their feathered arms, the purifying flames did not falter.

Some creatures even used their swords to behead themselves.

Matheos did not give them a single sympathetic glance.

“Your Excellency Valencianus.”

His voice was as cold as ice, capable of freezing even the frozen.

“Yes, Saint.”

Valencianus, having retreated the wyvern, answered respectfully.

Matheos coldly surveyed the black buildings constructed along the slope.

“The revelation was correct. Indeed. I am a pathetic saint for only just realizing this. Henceforth, I shall not demand proof in front of His will. This power is itself His proof. What more could I possibly need to investigate?”

In this world, there are heresies but no cults; one does not believe in God but instead knows Him.

The emissary revealed a stigmata glowing like the sunrise behind the hair that covered his forehead as he followed Valencianus.

“May the embodiment of Radiance light up this night through me. May You not allow my righteous anger to be subdued. May I not understand why that child had to be corrupted.”

The black saint Matheos took steps toward the cathedral.

Before the back door of the cathedral stood a shadow blocking the entrance.

Valencianus, surrounding his sword with flames, spoke.

“Saint, please go up immediately.”

“I will burn them all to ashes…”

“With feathers, there might be wings, and they may fly away given time.”

“!”

“I have no idea why that young nun had to end up like that, so please take my anger upon yourself.”

* * *

Unlike the side door, there was no cross affixed to the back door of the cathedral.

There are various legends and folktales surrounding the reason, but the most commonly cited logic interprets a phrase from the scripture: ‘The one who casts a shadow.’

Since it’s impossible for any person to live completely honestly, feeling constantly monitored wherever the gaze of the Lord reaches is inevitable, and thus a slight shadow was cast to ease that burden.

“But your shadow is too dark, Sister Telera.”

Valencianus illuminated Sister Telera with the sword wrapped in flames.

A shadow was cast over her face beneath the nun’s veil.

Telera did not shake her head.

She merely stained her once-bright and inquisitive brown eyes with black.

“Even if I ask you to understand, it would be of no use.”

“I can understand. Yet, I must kill you. You are a monster who intends to devour the entire world, and I am the brother of a man who holds half of it.”

From Telera’s body, black feathers and black mist began to spread in a spherical form as if it were a barrier.

Knowing this was a method to buy time for her transformation, Valencianus charged forward and thrust his sword.

The fourth level of Imperial swordsmanship, “Jariita.”

Accepting colossal burdens to accelerate, a superior variation of “Ilcheong.”

Mana resonated within Valencianus’ body, and his muscles exploded with power.

The sensation of his shoulders and biceps filling from within.

As he wielded the mana blade and the flame-encircled sword, shards of glass shattered, and the black barrier split apart.

However, it was already after Telera had completed her transformation.

Even bent at the waist, her height was nearly 4 meters, wrapped in a white exoskeleton and black feathers, with long arms that almost touched the ground, capable of crushing Valencianus, and a pair of half-decayed black-feathered wings.

Lastly, her beak protruded like steel from her nose and mouth.

What made her even more terrifying was the fact that, overall, her structure and shoulder breadth remained similar to that of a human.

“The world.”

It was the fact that she still wore a black nun’s robe and veil.

Valencianus smiled bitterly while wielding his sword.

Ducking and rolling on the ground to avoid the tremendous arc of her swooping claws.

* * *

Matheos headed toward the abbot’s room.

Occasionally, he faced off against the transformed nuns or monks who tried to block him, but they couldn’t reach him, their black feathers igniting in flames.

As he fiercely swung the door open, he saw Abbot Hans.

A man with a kind yet firm demeanor.

He was seated at the same round table where they had faced each other that morning.

“This…!”

Matheos erupted with rage, fueled by an indescribable sense of betrayal, unlocking his divine power.

“Do you have nothing to say to me?”

The response was what he had anticipated.

“I had no choice.”

Which made him even more furious.

“Is there not a code that we must adhere to, regardless of others?”

“We had to end the war!”

It took him a moment to comprehend the meaning behind that statement.

“What does the corruption have to do with the territorial war?”

“It was because of the count’s son.”

Another door opened, and a man entered.

He clearly bore the signs of corruption, with his handsome face marred by the taint of the old ones and arms that had suffered deformation.

He was the young lord of the Antares Count family.