Chapter 45

“At that time, will Louis be buried with me too?”

045

The Most Precious (Part 2)

My body sways. My head spins in circles. Reflexively, I tightened my grip.

With a ringing tinnitus, my vision slowly returns to normal. My senses are blurry, so there’s no pain. Only the sensation of something warm flowing down is clear.

Did I fall? No, not yet. I didn’t even have time to wipe the blood flowing from my head. Even as I froze for a moment, the Inquisition Judge continued stepping forward at her own pace.

I thought she was slow enough that I could catch up.

Even though I said I wouldn’t expect anything anymore, I fell into vain hope, thinking I might be able to finish this.

“Wooaaah!”

In my untainted vision, I saw a boy jumping excitedly ahead. The boy’s hands were empty but covered in dirt, as if he had been holding something moments ago, and slightly red.

The boy proudly showed off his success to the people around him with a pure, innocent face. I could see his parents smiling warmly and patting his head.

Nowhere was there concern for the injured, or even hatred for me. To them, I wasn’t even human. Just a target to hit, a toy to play with, an easy prey to vent their anger. Even those who pitied me remained silent, not stepping forward.

Yet, I had to be grateful for their mercy. Because I was a damned heretic. Because there was at least one more person who didn’t join in this madness.

Whoosh, thud.

Most of the things thrown missed. But some definitely hit my body.

It wasn’t just stones; anything could be fatal. With every step I took, every time I lifted my cane with one leg, my body easily lost balance and swayed.

Sweat and filth mixed and flowed down my clothes. Rotten fruit juice splashed into my eyes, bringing intense pain and itchiness. But I wasn’t even allowed to rub my eyes. If I let go of the cane with even one hand, I’d collapse to the ground in a pitiful state.

Clank, clank.

“Ah.”

A sigh that couldn’t even be a groan escaped like a whistle. The Inquisition Judge walked at her own pace, regardless of my swaying. The steps I thought weren’t that fast were steadily pulling away.

People threw all sorts of things in their frenzy, but they refrained from touching the Inquisition Judge. After all, she was a high-ranking official from the Religious Order, and no one dared to offend her.

Of course, some misaimed objects occasionally flew toward the Inquisition Judge, but the armor protecting her was sturdy enough. Stones bounced off, and filth couldn’t stain the noble silver.

In contrast, I was naked. Well, strictly speaking, I was still wearing my priest’s robe.

“Die! Die!”

“Mom, what did that man do wrong?”

“Hmm… If you don’t want to end up like that, you have to live well. Listen to your mom.”

What remained untainted was the Reformatory’s function, not the blessing of the priest’s robe. The robe, covered in filth on the outside and blood on the inside, quickly became dirty despite its luxurious material.

The white sleeves turned black with mud, and the thorny cross engraved on the chest was obscured by rotten food thrown by someone.

I moved my body half out of my mind. The wound on my temple still hadn’t stopped bleeding, and my overworked arms and legs were signaling their limits.

“Ugh… ugh…”

My body, fed only on gruel, was emaciated, and the heavy metal objects were too much for my weakened body to handle. Not just one, but two.

The cane at least allowed me to lean on it sometimes, but the holy relic attached to my leg was nothing but a useless burden. The metal chunk, mismatched with the amputation and leg length, disrupted my balance just by being there.

With every leap, I swayed; with every lift of the cane, I faltered. Covered in filth, I could no longer see ahead. All my senses were blurred.

“Sin…ner…”

“One who fled from the past…”

Tears, blood, sweat, and filth mixed and flowed down my head. My hands were too busy gripping the cane to wipe my eyes.

My vision, smeared with filth, was blurry, and the sticky mixture seeped into my ears, nose, and mouth. It felt like walking underwater, the air pushing me away. Sounds were muffled, and my sense of smell and taste were completely numb, unable to even cry out in pain.

How much longer is the road? Opening my eyes wide only let more sediment flow in, hurting more. In the hazy world, I couldn’t distinguish anything. I reached out my hand for the cane-

Thud.

“Ah.”

Forgetting depth perception, I slammed my forehead into the upright holy relic. The blood that had momentarily stopped flowed again, and as my head spun in pain, my grip loosened.

Even in my dazed state, I fumbled to grab the cane. But while the cane remained untainted, the human body wasn’t so noble. My hand, like the rest of my body, was sticky and slippery.

My limp fingers grasped at thin air, and I collapsed, head hitting the cane.

“Ah…? Ah…!”

Was this scream from my mouth, or the crowd’s cheer at seeing me fall?

I had to get up, I had to. I frantically groped around while lying down. But it was just a thought. My hand, like the rest of my body, was slow and dull.

Ting. A stone flew by, hitting the holy relic. Even though it was just a metal chunk, not my body, I screamed in phantom pain.

Something warm poured over my head. My hand was beaten with a stick-like object and bounced. A sensation of bugs crawling all over me, a large stomach swallowing me whole, a slow melting in lava—it all overwhelmed me.

Now, even recognizing myself was too much. Where was my head? My body? My legs? My hands? Was I scratching myself in extreme itchiness, or was I still struggling to grab the cane and get up?

Overwhelmed by sensations, I soon got my answer.

Thud.

“Ugh… ugh…”

Even as I flailed on the ground, the Inquisition Judge continued her steady, repetitive steps. When the distance reached its limit, the chain tightened.

A cold, emotionless sensation tightened around my body, pulling me. For an ordinary person, it would be impossible to pull someone else just by walking, but every Inquisition Judge was a superhuman who had consumed the Holy Body.

But dragging a chained, fallen opponent required no special method. Just dragging them along the ground, like transporting a corpse for wolves to feed on.

Scrape, scrape, scrape.

Even the cleanest road in the city was just a pile of dirt. My body, dragged along, was scraped by the gravel, and uneven stones left wounds.

Reflexively, I grabbed something passing by. Supported by that unyielding straight line, I barely managed to lift my head.

In other words, the rest of my body—elbows, stomach, knees—still touched the ground. As the Inquisition Judge pulled the chain and walked.

“Owaaaah!”

Like a grater, the hard ground slowly peeled away the fragile human flesh. In the middle of the filth and garbage-covered road, a path paved with blood and flesh formed.

The procession of atonement. Originally, it wasn’t one but many prisoners marching together. Guards on horses pulled the chains together, causing one to fall, and the connected chains rippled like waves, collapsing the entire formation.

The fallen panicked, grabbing the legs of those still standing, bringing them down. Only a few were pardoned. Only those strong enough not to fall when others did, and kind enough to help others up while walking.

But I wasn’t strong or kind enough to be pardoned. People outside the road threw things, but there was no one I could rely on.

The person I could rely on the most was the one pulling the chain ahead.

“Uwaaaah!”

A scream I couldn’t hold back erupted. Tiny stone fragments created countless small wounds. Reckless and barbaric movements deepened them, and the countless bleeding holes all over my body had long surpassed mere scratches.

Extreme pain. Even when the holy relic, a hard metal chunk, scraped the ground, I screamed until my throat was hoarse.

It wouldn’t be strange if I died like this. It felt like the guide of death was pulling me to hell by a leash. In the slow-motion flashbacks, there was unbearable phantom pain, unbearable illusions.

Before I knew it, I was in the middle of Yefrinse. The buildings were all collapsed or burned, and the poisoned river flowed not transparently but in a muddy purple. The well was filled with blood, and drawing water brought up a human head.

I was dragged along, my body limp like a corpse. My hell. In the burned house, the poisoned river, the blood-filled well, grotesque faces of the dead emerged one by one.

The people of my village, my friends. They all cursed me in unison. I could no longer distinguish between the hallucinations I created and the voices of the people.

=Come here, Louis. I’ll show you something fun.=

The hunter who often visited our house instead of my father said. Caught in a trap that was never set, his legs were severed, and half his head was eaten by wolves. He grinned cheerfully.

=You seem to be in a lot of pain. Need some help?=

The herbalist, who acted as the village’s healer, smeared poisonous herbs on my head. His rotting, swollen hands brushed against me, and I screamed every time. Something slimy kept flowing down.

=Brother, brother! Look at me. Aren’t I amazing?=

The little girl who used to follow me around before Anne appeared stood among the people. Her skin was completely peeled off, revealing her red nakedness, and she knocked off her mother’s head beside her.

Thud. All illusions. The villagers no longer existed in this world, and I had never seen their final moments. What poured over my head wasn’t poison but filth, and what hit me wasn’t a severed head but a stone. Maybe the child threw it.

But even knowing that, I couldn’t escape the illusions.

It was impossible after all. For someone like me. How could I walk that long road with one leg missing? Taking the first few steps was already a miracle, and after stumbling once, I was just dragged along.

Would I go to that hell when I died? Like the villagers who remained in their death state, would I become a corpse with my face and front half torn off, living forever in death?

As my eyes closed.

“Get up.”

For the first time, a voice that wasn’t an illusion reached my ears.

I struggled to open my eyes. The illusions were gone, but nothing had changed. The world seen through filth-covered eyes was still hazy, and the world heard through juice-clogged ears was still muffled.

I had lost too much blood, endured too much pain, and my head was spinning. The people’s shouts were jumbled and mixed, making it impossible to distinguish even one.

So the voice I heard must have been an illusion. In this state, hearing such a clear voice was impossible.

“Get up.”

Yet, the voice was there.

Low and quiet—inaudible to anyone else but crystal clear to me.

I reached out. My trembling hand moved precisely and grabbed something. No, it was more accurate to say that it grabbed me. Fingers intertwined, like a key and lock fitting together.

Still, I couldn’t see, hear, or feel. But guided by something, I “held on.”

“Get up.”

Got it.

My body was lifted. Lifted up. Though I couldn’t see, I must have looked like a bloodied figure now. The front covered in blood, the back smeared with filth. Where did this strength come from?

With one hand gripping the cane, I vigorously wiped my face with the other. The filthy world cleared, and a clean world appeared.

One hand holding the chain, the other holding my hand.

Under the silver helmet, the cool, emotionless gray-blue eyes couldn’t hide the warmth of concern.

Anne—the Inquisition Judge—let go of my hand. She turned and started walking again.

I also continued walking. In rhythm with your steps, lifting the cane, planting it, lifting my body, stepping with one leg, balancing, and starting over.

The sound of footsteps echoed. My heart beat in the same rhythm. Our breaths matched.

I stopped and looked back. Now I had the strength to do that. The road, covered in blood and filth. It was long. Immeasurably long, endlessly stretching.

I turned my head forward again.

The journey through the entire city. The dauntingly distant road was no longer far. Rather, it was short and close. Like the length of the chain connecting you and me.

The sun set beyond the horizon, casting a gentle light, and the humble slave cart shone brilliantly against the twilight like the gates of glory.

“The sinner has completed the path of atonement!”

The last step, I let go of the cane and collapsed. My outstretched hand barely touched one of the cart’s wheels, and before I could bury my face in the dirt, a no-longer-cold hand caught me.

Anne, who had already removed her gloves and helmet, was there. Her unruly platinum hair, dyed by the sunset, fluttered like a golden river. Star-like tears fell drop by drop.

But Anne was smiling brighter than ever. So bright that even the setting sun behind her seemed to lose its light. I was no longer a heretic, and you were no longer an Inquisition Judge. Now, no mission or discipline could bind us.

“O King, behold! Ailim, look upon us!”

You hugged me tightly. Despite being covered in filth, you didn’t care. The blood, filth, and pus on me transferred to you, but you showed no intention of letting go.

Rather than maintaining purity alone, you wished to sink into the mud together.

“With your mercy and love, embrace the redeemed!”