Chapter 555

Chapter 177 – Grayscale Part Two

The glow of dawn was tinted in the flames, and the dead smoke spread over the scorched earth. The old man who emerged from the ruins staggered with each step, looking as if he were about to die. The faint golden light surrounding him flickered incessantly, its hue dimming as if it would vanish at any moment.

He seemed to know that he wouldn’t live much longer.

That night, from the moment the battle outside the town broke out, everything that followed shook the foundations of everything he had believed in for many years. That heretic, originally possessing only the power of inferno, suddenly transformed into a terrifying monster. This monster resembled the abyss he had once faced, but it lacked the chaotic power.

As one of the oldest bishops in the Holy Church, ever since his youth when he received the baptism of holy water, he had embraced all teachings and spent centuries researching the history of heretics and their conflict with the church. In this area, he considered himself well-versed. As the overseer of preaching in Silgaya, he had countless disciples. He was among the few in the entire church who could match his understanding of heretics and abyssal monsters.

He spent nearly his entire life poring over almost all relevant documents in the Great Library of the holy city. Long ago, the old man clearly understood that heretics were merely a small faction of clergy members within the Holy Church, led by Lethley in the year 864 AD, who had been deceived by demons. They split from his lineage after being manipulated by the great sin goddess.

What they called the “deception” by demons was actually someone tricking the great sin goddess, stealing the divine spark of the inferno given to humans, and then using miracles and rituals to transform the stolen divine spark into a wicked, poisonous liquid—dubbed “demon’s blood”—similar to, yet far more malevolent than, “holy water.”

To be honest, that thing wasn’t inherently an evil force at first.

It was also a divine miracle bestowed by the gods. The church still possesses relics left by the goddess, capable of unleashing intense inferno and eradicating enemies.

Initially, it was just a matter of opposing beliefs. The stolen divine spark allowed Lethley’s faction to maintain the power of sin’s fire during the century-long faith war, even after losing the baptism of holy water. It resisted the church’s repeated attacks.

Although there are no clear records in literature, the old bishop knew that in the beginning, both sides in the Truth Gate’s countless disputes aimed to avoid harming civilians. Despite the impossibility of guaranteeing such outcomes in war, the old man found vague references in a long-lost manual, hinting that the leader of the Truth Gate in those times had the motto: “When chaos ensues, do not harm the people.”

Whether true or false, the upper echelons of the Truth Gate at that time, according to the old bishop, still had some rationality.

Later on, the Truth Gate ultimately succumbed to the vast army of the church. But to survive, some began resorting to desperate measures. Gradually, they became real villains, using despicable methods to deceive and coerce impoverished, hard-to-govern mountain villages, forcing them to join the Truth Gate and expand their ranks to continue resisting the church. Yet, it proved futile, and they could only retreat to the eastern continent, barely surviving while still harboring ambitions. To gather strength for counterattacks, they committed increasingly outrageous acts.

Over time, the blood used for their rituals truly turned into “demon’s blood.”

They became true villains.

Indeed, these past events cannot be discussed with anyone now. Understanding this history was driven by personal obsession and should never be casually shared. Even many of the details known by the old bishop were never recorded in the church.

His true understanding of heretics came from piecing together fragments from long-forgotten, rarely circulating historical accounts, combined with “official history,” reconstructing the truth through his own interpretation. The old bishop spent most of his life doing this, and what he learned was merely a glimpse, a fraction of the whole, not comprehensive.

But he believed this was the “truth” of history.

Even in this deliberately hidden and buried “truth,” the old man could only clarify that heretics stole the power of inferno and developed a baptism method similar to that of the church, through drinking “divine water,” receiving divine blessings—even if it was stolen. Since the divine beings no longer intervened in worldly affairs thousands of years ago, the great existence did not reclaim the granted powers. The Truth Gate could continue using them, spreading chaos with burning blood.

The fire seed was said to be hidden in the eastern continent, near the Amikir Mountains, on the edge of the sandy valley. Twenty-one years ago, the church’s army launched an eastern campaign to eradicate the remnants of the heretics. Sir Lane cut down the great demon with his sword, but his ultimate goal was to embark on another quest to find the lost fire seed, which he failed to locate.

Consequently, for several years afterward, Sir Lane remained in hiding in the eastern continent, searching for clues about the fire seed. Recently, the old bishop heard rumors that the location of the fire seed might have been discovered. Several papal knights had secretly arrived at the port in the eastern continent before the heretics attacked Silgaya, including the silver flash, Carlos Gonzales, Sir Lane’s most proud and trusted disciple.

Though these matters were mere speculation, the old bishop roughly understood that the “fire seed” was some kind of “source” of divine power given to humans, related to holy water and the “medium” and “mediator” of divine relics. Concerning the Truth Gate and the church,

In that sealed history, the great events that took place remain unclear to this day, long beyond the point of further investigation.

Regardless, in the long-formed and entrenched views of the old bishop, the heretics obtained the power of infernal flames by stealing the “spark,” and they have continued to wield this power. The great deities in the fantasy realm, after entrusting the management of the world to their chosen humans, no longer wished to look upon it again. Because of this, even though the power of the goddess of sin had been misused by the heretics for centuries, it was never reclaimed or re-granted to the spark.

—But the gods will never grant them new power.

This is impossible.

Centuries have passed, and the heretics can only ever use the power of infernal flames. Even if they devised many mad methods to utilize the properties of blood to make the infernal flames burn more fiercely, it remains infernal flames.

The great beings do not wish to interfere with earthly matters any longer; their blessings are already sufficient. Human society has thrived as a result, though there are disputes. But in the eyes of the gods, these are like tiny ants using their fragile jaws to peck at each other—a trivial matter. How could they possibly favor one side over another, allowing an angel to descend again to pave the way for humanity, and to appear on the side of the heretics?

Yes, the old bishop knew the moment he saw that monster that it was an angel.

He was very confident in his knowledge, having mastered sacred history and apocryphal texts. He had read countless rare historical documents and studied numerous ancient scrolls, murals, and fragments about the wars during the era of divine presence. In a time when most believers imagined angels as giants with wings, only scholars like the old bishop, who dedicated themselves to uncovering the truth, understood that this was just one form of an angel.

Angels also have another form: monsters capable of wielding divine powers, similar to the heretics.

If the abyss were to wield powers not of chaos but of divine forces like the flames of sin, he would consider it another form of an angel—but it wasn’t. It was merely a mindless, evil, chaotic devil representing destruction.

He had believed this almost unshakeably.

Yet on this night, which he considered the last of his life, he witnessed two things that overturned his understanding.

A heretic transformed into an angel.

And…

The pontiff knight transformed into a figure from the abyss.

“This… This is impossible…”

At this moment, what he saw negated everything he had learned throughout his life. Not long ago, he stood on a hill in the south of the town, buffeted by raging cold winds, watching the distant figures locked in combat. A seventeen-year-old pontiff knight faced six undead creatures, using astonishing talent and affinity to tear them apart instantly. He had admired a young girl for the first time then, but now, that heroic girl had transformed into the abyss, enveloped by death smoke, confronting the demon transformed into an angel right before his eyes.

It seemed as if heaven and earth had suddenly turned upside down.

The girl and the angel, or rather, two vicious demons, turned their gaze toward him after he subconsciously fired his gun. Their crimson eyes glared menacingly. He heard something speak in a voice like the angel’s, but he couldn’t make out the words. His ears seemed half-deafened. Through his blood-soaked vision, red and black intertwined, swirling with evil power.

“Ah, poor old man…”

The demon’s sigh reached the old bishop’s ears as a buzzing noise.

“Such brainwashed monkeys, devoid of value even in death—how many of you are there? Too many to count…”

In a daze, the old bishop saw the floating “angel” suddenly swing its blood-red arm.

“Tsk tsk, how pitiful.”

In the next moment, fire engulfed his sight, swallowing the calm, indifferent face of the girl hidden in the death smoke, and consuming the old bishop’s body.

Boom!

The excruciating pain lasted only a moment, followed by endless numbness, a lack of sensation.

“Ahhhhhhhhhh!”

The old bishop writhed and screamed in the flames. Soon, he couldn’t hear his own voice. His eyes were seared blind, his ears deafened, all senses obliterated by the intense heat. He felt his bones melting. In that terrifying darkness, the old bishop’s last thoughts were still of these incomprehensible facts that shattered his understanding.

He didn’t know why…

He only felt that an invisible vortex, some great deception, had ensnared everyone like him, even more ignorant, until their deaths.

The truth…

must reach the Church… the pontiff himself… at least the knights stationed in Woodward Forest, and the faithful… at least let them see this truth…

at least…

it must be conveyed to those few scholars, like him, who deeply understand the historical truth…

The screams became hoarse, then just a wheezing breath. The light shield shattered, and the old bishop fell amidst the infernal flames. At the last moment, he raised his trembling, charred right hand, resembling dried bones, his index finger illuminating the final golden glow. Then, that glow suddenly rose, piercing the night sky.

Bang—

Like a dazzling fireworks display, the golden light exploded above the town.