First Light (2)
For quite some time, Cult had dedicated himself to absorbing the remnants of Elysium. They served as both the justification and the righteous pretext needed to condemn the Emperor. Moreover, they possessed deep knowledge of the faith's history—things Cult himself had yet to master. For those reasons, Cult and Eden had thus far approached them with measured caution, trying to win them over through persuasion.
Yet now, with the end in sight?
“It is our first time meeting face-to-face, isn't it, Bishop Teo?”
“You are…”
Cult had finally revealed himself to deliver an ultimatum.
“The Prophet…”
No proof was required. The holy symbol engraved within the boy's eyes told the bishop everything.
“Coming here in person must mean this is your final offer.”
“Indeed. Having survived this long, you are remarkably perceptive.”
“Cowardly is the word you are looking for.”
“How could simply desiring to live be considered cowardice?” Cult pulled up a chair in silence and sat across from Bishop Teo. “There is nothing wrong with being a coward. So please, be a coward once more.”
“…”
“This is a lifeline granted by God through my hands. Convert.”
“Coward though I may be, I will never align myself with murderous fiends who slaughter people in the streets.”
“Is that so?” Cult beamed. It was a smile as pure and radiant as an angel's. “Bishop, you are laboring under a grave misunderstanding.”
“Do not think to cloak the atrocities you have committed beneath the mantle of faith. You are nothing more than butchers.”
“Ah, that wasn't what I meant at all. When I spoke of your misunderstanding, I was referring to your faith itself.”
“…”
Cult sneered faintly and withdrew a bottle of wine from his robes. “Being yet a child whose body has not fully matured, I cannot enjoy liquor, but how about you, Bishop?”
“I must decline.”
“Afraid it might be poisoned?”
“I merely distance myself from luxury and worldly pleasures.”
“Is that so?”
Unbothered by Bishop Teo's cold refusal, Cult uncorked the bottle. “Just as you said, this wine was crafted for luxury and indulgence, yet wine in itself is an element used in the Holy Eucharist. Does its sacred purpose truly change simply because of the price tag attached to it?”
“…”
Cult gently swirled the bottle, letting the rich bouquet of the vintage drift through the air. Bishop Teo remained wary of the gesture, yet he made no move to stop him. Even if the sweet fragrance carried lethal venom, it made little difference; Teo had already anticipated his own demise the moment he laid eyes upon the Prophet.
“The ignorant and unenlightened naturally believe holy power to be inherently good. But divinity is complete and whole in and of itself, knowing no distinction between good and evil.”
“No. God lent us the power of healing and protection to bring benefit to the world. Do you truly not understand even such a simple truth?”
“Ha-ha!” Cult shook his head and overturned the bottle in his hand.
The expensive vintage soaked into the floorboards, pooling outward like a puddle of dark blood.
“It is precisely that narrow perspective. You call it the power of healing and protection? You understand nothing of Holy Power. Those are merely a tiny fragment of what divine authority seeks.”
“What nonsense are you…”
“This is the true nature of the sacred power you so foolishly believed to be good.”
Flash!
At that moment, a brilliant radiance burst from Cult's body. Bishop Teo shielded his eyes from the blinding light, yet he could not tear his gaze away from the miracle unfolding before him. The wine spilled across the floor began to gather together beneath Cult’s divine aura, drawing inward and coalescing until it reformed into a cluster of fresh, ripe grapes.
“What in the…!”
It was a dazzling luminescence unlike anything the bishop had ever witnessed in his life—the miracle of a Prophet standing closest to the authority of God.
“This is what holy power truly is.”
Cult plucked a grape from the fruit he had just manifested. Savoring it as he chewed, he flashed another innocent smile. “Healing and protection? Holy Power is simply a force that pursues Wholeness.”
“…”
“God merely lent His believers power to ensure that the foundation of the world He created would not shatter.”
There was no good or evil in it. Even what mortals deemed wicked fell squarely within the realm of the sacred, so long as it was part of what God had originally brought into being.
Reverting change.
Returning all things to their source.
That was the true essence of Holy Power.
“Bishop Teo, let me ask you one thing.” Cult quietly rose from his seat, stepped forward, and placed the freshly restored cluster of grapes into the bishop's numb, stunned hands. “Throughout your life, in everything you have seen and experienced, was the world ever perfect?”
Squelch!
Cult brought his hand down, brutally crushing the grapes. Pulpy flesh and dark juice burst between the bishop's fingers, running down his wrist to stain his trembling skin.
“If even the senseless cruelties and absurdities you turned a blind eye to were merely part of the Wholeness crafted by God…” Bishop Teo stared down at the mangled pulp resting in his palm. The sight of the crushed fruit was grotesque, almost sickening. “Could you accept that so willingly?”
Only then did Bishop Teo look up at Cult. For the first time, he saw not the Prophet who led Eden, but Cult as an individual.
“I certainly cannot.”
Cult possessed no true faith. It was because he was the Prophet that he had been the very first to doubt the divine.
Cult had watched a starving child dig into the dirt to eat soil. He had seen corrupt nobles cast aside feasts they could not even finish out of sheer vanity. He had seen those who flourished upon the sacrifices of others, and those who exploited the innocent for petty gain.
“That is why I desire true divinity.”
Cult had looked upon an imperfect world. He had realized that the standard of Wholeness spoken of by God was unimaginably narrow—a standard that held no room for the injustices Cult had witnessed.
“Someone has to tell God that He is wrong.”
And so, Cult dreamed of a utopia where no one would ever have to suffer again.
Cult had met with every single survivor of Elysium, including Bishop Teo. A few sympathized with his cause, but the vast majority denounced him as a madman, dismissing his words as nothing more than the delusional tantrums of an arrogant child.
Cult was well aware of his youth.
‘Yet is being young truly a fault?’
People failed to understand. The gaze of a child was the only perspective that refused to compromise—an untainted view that perceived the world exactly as it was.
‘Scholars preach endlessly about human purity, yet why do they dismiss a child's purity as mere immaturity?’
That stubbornness, that childish innocence, was the purest sincerity in existence.
“Young Master Cult. You have a guest.”
“Is that so?”
Brushing back his hair with a trace of fatigue, Cult made his way toward the parlor. Anyone the butler referred to as a ‘guest’ was certainly not a member of Eden. And at a juncture like this, the number of people who would dare seek him out could be counted on one hand.
“Well, I certainly didn't expect you to show up in person, Master Yohan.”
“Isn't there a saying? If you want to catch a tiger, you have to enter the tiger's den.”
“I've never heard that one before.”
“It's a local proverb from our territory. It’s only natural you wouldn't know it.”
“Ah, I see.”
Watching Yohan lean crookedly against his chair while leisurely sipping tea, Cult could only offer a wry smile. By all accounts, Yohan was someone who went out of his way to avoid dangerous places. Yet it was equally true that he had defied expectations time and again. Cult could not help but feel a prickle of genuine tension at his sudden appearance.
“Out of courtesy, shall I ask what brings you here?”
“Since you've asked so politely, I'll answer with equal courtesy.”
Clack.
Yohan set his teacup down, tilting his head sideways to fix an icy glare on Cult standing near the doorway.
“Don't do something you'll regret.”
“Sound advice. Unfortunately, it's far too late for that.” Cult had passed the point of no return the moment he chose to become the leader of Eden.
“Well, I only said it out of courtesy anyway,” Yohan replied nonchalantly.
From the beginning, Yohan believed that the only way to stop Cult was to kill him. Thus, he placed little stock in such an exchange.
“Then what is your real purpose here?”
“Why don't you try guessing?”
“Haha, that sounds entertaining, but I think I'll opt for a different approach.”
Yohan rose from his seat to face Cult directly. Though he usually shrank back in fear, he did not avoid Cult's gaze this time. In doing so, both of them realized a surprising new fact about the other: Cult was smaller than expected, and Yohan was considerably taller.
Looking up at Yohan, Cult quietly raised his hand.
“To be honest, I'm not entirely sure what you're aiming for. I haven't had the luxury of examining your schemes one by one.”
“I imagine not.”
“Just how many people have you drawn into this?”
“I'm not quite sure how many I've managed to rope in myself.”
“Ha-ha!”
Unlike those infected with a hero complex, Yohan never believed he could solve everything alone. The moment trouble arose, he immediately sought out people who could help him. Having a crystal-clear understanding of his own limitations was Yohan's greatest strength. Therefore, boldly appearing before Cult like this meant he definitely had an angle.
So, how should he counter it?
“I have no intention of underestimating you. This could be a ploy to buy time, or a trick to uncover something useful.”
Clap!
Cult clapped his hands together. In an instant, blinding Holy Power flooded the entire room.
“So I will simply eliminate you through force.”
“Isn't that a rather extreme judgment compared to your usual self?”
“To outmaneuver someone who understands me so thoroughly, I have no choice. Why don't we keep things delightfully violent and simple?”
Cult condensed his Holy Power, forging it into the shape of a radiant spear. Because Holy Power operated entirely upon the surface of reality, it forcefully repelled everything external to preserve its established form. Depending on the wielder's caliber, Holy Power could manifest as the sharpest and sturdiest spear in existence.
“How about it? Do you think you can handle this?”
“Is it really too late to talk this out?”
“Surely you aren't going to turn coward now after putting on such a grand bluff?”
“…”
Yohan stumbled backward with hesitant steps. The usual Cult would never resort to violence right out of the gate. If Yohan had banked on that predictability, his move could only be called reckless.
“Let's see what you're capable of.”
Without giving Yohan a single breath to react or room to think, Cult thrust the sacred spear directly toward him. Against a weaker opponent, one always had to eliminate variables immediately.
“Hm?”
Cult's spear cleaved empty air.
Yohan dodged the strike with an awkward, stumbling posture. His hidden trump card, Illusion Magic, had subtly warped Cult's sensory perception.
“I knew it. You did have a trick up your sleeve.” Cult offered genuine praise. He had indeed looked down on Yohan, so had Yohan shown even a shred more composure, the strike might have turned against Cult. But Yohan had squandered his chance.
And that chance…
“What a pity. I already anticipated this. You might have thought you fooled me, but…”
“What?!”
Cult had accounted for the hidden strike resting beneath an intentional failure—an attack premised entirely on missing the mark. A primary measure, and the hidden dagger meant to emerge the moment that measure failed.
Swish!
Cult spun violently on his heel, sweeping his spear upward toward the ceiling right above his head. He knew Yohan was not the kind of fool to act without a contingency plan. Cult had prepared for the worst-case scenario from the very start.
After all, Yohan had never come here alone.
“Safe Clown. Did you truly believe I wouldn't uncover your identity after being given this much time?”
“Ugh!”
Yohan's true hidden card was neither cheap tricks nor Illusion Magic; it was a lethal, presence-erasing assassin. Yohan believed he had concealed Yuna's presence flawlessly, but unfortunately, Cult was far from an easy target. He had merely feigned ignorance until the exact moment she struck.
“How about it? Do you have any other tricks prepared?”
Concealing what one knew was, after all, the most devastating weapon of all.