Chapter 76

If you were to ask me what my specialties are, I could list several without even thinking too hard. After all, I’m quite the jack-of-all-trades.

Disguise, magic tricks, stealth, sleight of hand, card games… there’s so much that I do, it’s impossible to count on just fingers alone.

But if you asked me which skill is the most useful among them all, I wouldn’t hesitate for a second before picking one.

‘Pickpocketing.’

The art of slipping your hand into someone’s sleeve and snatching items with lightning speed—it’s got endless applications. You can steal the secret key to some back-alley boss’s treasure chest, swipe official documents from an empire’s emperor, or even sneakily lift Thor, the thunder god’s hammer. For the record, all of these are personal anecdotes.

Frankly speaking, pulling off some scam by quietly stealing a rosary from a dull barbarian? That’s nothing to me.

Honestly, it was almost like gambling—there’s no guarantee that anything significant would happen even if I did manage to get my hands on the rosary. But still, I believed.

When Langwang Yohan left in rage over Skaface the wolf’s death to fight against the Dragon King faction, Saintess Irolwel stayed behind, quietly waiting for her impending doom. She must’ve known; after all, humans don’t grow brains just for decoration.

So, what does a person do while they wait for their death in those short moments?

Well, it varies. A hundred people might act a hundred different ways, a thousand people might act a thousand different ways—but knowing Irolwel, who valued Yohan more than herself…

Perhaps she tried to leave something helpful behind for young Yohan. Ultimately, just before dying, she passed on the rosary to him. Based on this evidence, I took a gamble—and hit the jackpot.

“Looks like you’re not late today.”

The voice of the saint reaches me through my rosary.

Let me clarify: it’s *my* rosary. Not the silver rosary Irolwel gave to Yohan, but the black cross that belongs to me.

“Hahaha, were you waiting for me, little saint?”

“You wouldn’t dare lie about that, would you?”

“What exactly am I not supposed to deny here? The former? The latter?”

“The former.”

“And the latter?”

“I’m not a baby. Haven’t you teased me about being an old maid before?”

“Ho ho, good point. Saintess isn’t a baby. She hasn’t even been born yet, so maybe we should consider her a soul? Or perhaps an angel baby?”

I tease the saint relentlessly, but she doesn’t seem bothered. Unlike Beatrix, who builds up anger while enduring, or Aru who bites me, or Uriel who scolds me as some arrogant brat, or even Langwang who laughs heartily…

She smiles gently. Even though I can’t see her face now, I know.

“Today, what has happened?”

“Plenty of interesting stuff.”

“Could you explain?”

“Of course, but first, I have a question. I’d like your opinion.”

While listening to stories about Langwang Yohan and Saintess Irolwel, there’s always been something I’ve wondered about.

“Imagine, hypothetically, a massive enemy stands before you.”

“Yes.”

“An enemy so overwhelming that resisting itself seems meaningless. If you fight, it’s a 100% certainty you’ll die. Not only you, everyone dies.”

“Yes.”

“But then, a friend of yours dies at the hands of this enemy. Would you seek revenge?”

This is Yohan’s perspective.

How would a saint respond?

“I would not seek revenge.”

“Really? That’s unexpected.”

“But I would resist. It’s respectful to honor the memory of the deceased friend this way.”

“But you’ll die anyway. What difference will your resistance make against such a monster?”

“Have you forgotten how I ended up trapped in the Babel Tower in my previous life?”

Ah, right.

In her past life, when everyone had surrendered to the Demon King, she was the only one who raised the flag of resistance. She held off millions of the Demon King’s army for twenty whole days in a ravine. She even managed to stir the three Dukes of the Demon Realm into action—the King, Queen, and even that crazy Jack. Despite her weakening strength, she was the one who moved three absolute powers. Saintess Maria, the strongest saint in history. I forgot because I only ever see her pitiful form inside the rosary.

“Alright, let’s change perspectives a bit.”

“Yes.”

“Suppose you have friends who need mourning, but also friends who need protection. One of your friends gets so enraged by the death of another that he rushes headfirst into danger. What would you do?”

This is Saintess Iroowel’s situation.

Though the opponent may not be evil like the Demon King’s army.

“Do you remember the stance the Holy Kingdom took when I fought fiercely in the ravine?”

“…Hmm.”

“I would send my friend back. If they refuse to listen, I’d knock them unconscious if necessary. How could I not stop someone throwing themselves into burning logs?”

“But you didn’t do that.”

“That’s because he was the Holy Child. He grew up under the grace of the Lord, eating from His bounty. If he couldn’t step forward in sacrifice during crucial moments, who would look up to the Lord and respect the Holy Child?”

“But plenty of Holy Children run away, right? I’ve seen many of them. Some even begged me to save them by offering their own mothers.”

“It’s due to insufficient cultivation.”

“Ho ho, ninety-nine out of a hundred probably would. Though selling your own mother is rare, I guess.”

Is this Saintess Maria’s answer?

Got it.

“Thinking about it, Saintess, you’re far too strict with yourself. People aren’t usually like that, are they? We rationalize our own mistakes but hold others accountable strictly.”

“That’s why we have doctrines—to help dull humans reflect more accurately on their lives.”

It’s not wrong.

But if goodness is truly so idealistic…

Why does our merciful Lord turn a blind eye to the suffering of His children? Does He not want to interfere in human affairs? Is His dignity or reputation more important than the lives of His children?

Or… is He unable to intervene?

Communication time with the saint is precious. Only twenty minutes a day, so it shouldn’t be wasted frivolously.

But my mind keeps wandering.

Thoughts about an old friend I haven’t seen in nearly two hundred years. I shouldn’t be doing this.

<Oscar, the world is nothing but a playground. A boring one where fights break out every day.>

<Fighting is your thing, Canos. I prefer performing magic.>

<Canos, you suffocating guy. Why do you always wear those drab sunglasses? Take them off! Face the bright world! The glorious sunlight! The blue sky! Isn't it wonderful? It's a gift from our generous Lord!>

<...>

<Tch, silent again? Got some airs now that you're at the top of the imperial royal family? Thinking you're too cool to talk? When you were younger, you talked nonstop, but since starting the war with the continent, you've become completely mute.>

<...Because it's dark.>

<Huh?>

<Since the start of the war, my world has always been dark. It will continue to be dark. Rather than realizing the darkness with bare eyes, isn't it better to forget my condition by wearing sunglasses?>

<I am God. The God of gods, the ultimate deity. All sects in this world will soon worship none other than me, and my words will become absolute truth.>

<Your words are correct, holy saint. Every single one is true.>

<There is no need for someone who speaks the truth in my land. Thus, the reason to kill you becomes even more justified.>

The arrogant and lustful Demon King, Canos.

What is he up to right now?

Is he eating properly?

“Ugh…”

A soft groan escapes the lips of the blonde girl. A moan accompanied by red blood trickles down her chin.

The girl is bandaged. Her right shoulder, where the skin has been completely torn apart, is tightly wrapped in gauze in an attempt to staunch the bleeding.

Thud.

Soft footsteps echo into the girl’s ears. Her head slowly turns, and a pitch-black figure enters her pupils.

The figure is none other than Demon King Canos.

“Tired?”

“Are you worried about me?”

“There’s no reason I shouldn’t be.”

“…Guess I should worry about you then.”

“There are only three hundred years left.”

“Not long now.”

“Your body seems to be screaming in pain.”

“Don’t bother. I’ll handle it myself.”

“You’re too injured to speak so confidently.”

The Demon King raises his hand toward the girl. Woom- Dark magic flows from the tip of his fingers into the girl’s body. Soon, the wounds scattered across her body begin to rapidly heal.

“To think a servant of God would receive demonic energy.”

“I am the God of gods.”

“…Damn.”

“There’s no reason not to. Your next opponent will be quite tough. The Olympian gods brought a monster—a Hecatoncheire, creatures with fifty upper bodies each.”

“Tch, are you trying to cheer me up?”

“Why shouldn’t I?”

Thump.

Just moments ago, her knees were creaking, but now they’re fully healed as she rises. With steady steps, neither fast nor slow, she moves forward. In her hand, the holy sword Excalibur is gripped tightly. The heavy blade scrapes against the stone floor with a grinding sound, marking her path.

Forward, forward.

Into the pitch-black darkness ahead.

Countless battles against tens of thousands of monsters await. And more battles will continue in the future.

Toward the gods’ arena, the Colosseum.

Frey Dr. Siegfried, the indomitable warrior, marches silently onward.

—

Deep within the southern demon realm’s ducal palace.

Only one creature resides here. Until two hundred years ago, two lived here, but one was imprisoned after killing two members of the northern duke’s family, leaving only one.

“Haaaaaaam-”

One awakens from a long slumber. This is King, the nickname given to the southern duke who rules the southern demon realm.

The longest-lived demon in the demon realm, and practically ranked second only to the Demon King himself. Some speculate that most Demon Kings in history were inferior to the Southern Duke King. His status is monumental.

Such a being has awakened. An event that could tense the entire demon realm, yet King himself is merely groggy.

After all, it’s been two hundred years since his last awakening. His brain, submerged in sleep for two centuries, creaks as it starts to function.

“Mmm… Hmm…”

Tomato-red irises scan the surroundings. A green cucumber nose sniffs the air, gathering information about the passage of time.

“Two hundred years… About that much, right?”

Blink, blink.

King blinks his sleepy eyes several times. There was definitely something he wasn’t supposed to forget, but it’s difficult to recall.

“What was it… Ah.”

A sigh escapes King’s lips as a vague memory surfaces—an ‘promise’ buried deep in his foggy mind.

“Come to think of it… Some ridiculous guy named Oscar or Chaos promised to bring me a new subordinate soon… So why hasn’t he shown up yet?”

Even extending his senses beyond normal vision reveals nothing nearby. Two hundred years have passed, yet…

However, to the ancient King,

“…I’ll just go back to sleep and think about it later. It’s only been two hundred years so far…”

Swoosh.

To a creature who has lived for millions of years, two hundred years is but a fleeting moment.

Back in bed, King pulls the blanket over his head and drifts off to sleep once more. Laziness, an irresistible force, pulls even the highest-ranking demon into dreams.

As consciousness fades, King mutters faintly in his sleep.

“If he doesn’t show up in three hundred years… Maybe I’ll pay him a visit then…”

Fin

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