Chapter 125
Chapter 125
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 125
Chapter Title: Final Chapter (2)
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Somewhere in the Holy Kingdom. Right in the middle of a small, modest house that wasn't too conspicuous, yet not too hidden either.
A transformed and reinforced holy magic array—teleportation magic circle—rose from the floor amid the light, and the Saintess emerged from within it.
"Aaahhh!!"
She clutched her left shoulder, still burning with agonizing pain and damage, and let out a scream laced with pain, rage, frustration, and injustice.
And in the darkness, a man who had been sitting with his eyes quietly closed suddenly snapped his eyes open and began vomiting blood in an instant.
An enormous amount of blood poured from all seven orifices.
The blood vessels in both eyes burst completely, and blood fountained from the tear glands like a spring.
Blood cascaded from both nostrils like waterfalls.
From both ears, it erupted like a volcano exploding.
And finally, from his mouth, an immense volume of blood surged out as if he were retching.
All the blood was black. Not fresh, warm crimson blood, but cold, blackened blood—the collateral blood he had bound through blood clot arts and puppets, now expelled from his body as everything was destroyed.
"Keurgh!"
Normally, he would have first checked and assessed the Saintess's condition, but the puppeteer was in just as dire a state as she was.
Blood was essentially life force itself. For all humans, but especially for him, who wielded blood arts, its loss carried even greater weight.
His flesh withered away in an instant, his face turning gaunt and pale. He rushed to the underground storeroom hidden in the house, flung the door open violently, and threw himself inside.
Innate Ability: Blood Clot Arts—Vampiric Monster Tree
Inside were countless corpses. For some reason, they remained in a fresh state even in death, and as if prepared precisely for this moment, roots extending from the puppeteer's body pierced all the corpses at once, beginning to drain every drop of their blood.
"Huuuuuhaaaaa~~"
How much time passed?
By the time the Saintess's screams faded and silence once again settled over the small house, the puppeteer finally rose to his feet.
Just then, light streaming through the window illuminated the storeroom, revealing his form in full. The sickly, frail appearance from moments ago was gone.
His face was still pale, but it brimmed with vitality. His blood-red hair flowed beautifully, and his dignified figure standing amid this scene of slaughter and blood was like a pictorial masterpiece.
"Ha... hahahaha!"
The man—no, the true master of the puppets who had been so carefully concealed, the Fourth-Order Apostle Bloodkin Puppeteer Berthas—began to laugh as if delighted.
But anyone seeing that laugh would know. It was meant to express joy, but it was really a mad cackle filled only with rage.
As Berthas flicked his hand, the shriveled, twisted corpses crumbled into handfuls of blood mist and were absorbed into him. Ruthless, sucking them dry down to the marrow.
Fully restored, Berthas walked toward the center of the storeroom.
There lay a single item, placed reverently and sacredly. One of the two divine relics bestowed upon him by his great god.
The holy relic he had received to impersonate Cardinal Aoira—the Holy Grail. And the grimoire of the demon beast serving his god—Reverse Heaven.
It was his divine relic containing Gamigin's authority to command the dead. At the same time, it served as the core sacrifice for this descent ritual.
Yes, Shin Juha's guess had been spot on. Even if most of the descent magic array was ruined, the descent was assured from the start.
This was a god paying an immense price, even sacrificing his own relic. That single relic alone made the descent possible.
As a pureblood vampire, Berthas closed his eyes and savored the blood-scented air filling the storeroom, gently caressing the relic.
The plan had gone awry. His perfect plan had crumbled, and the grand scheme prepared over so long had been twisted. But it was fine.
"As long as the god descends..."
The fate of this damned kingdom and its damned humans was already sealed.
It was then. In the exact center of the grimoire, the closed eye of the relic snapped open.
"Ah... my god! Forgive me. There has been a setback in the plan."
The eye gazed at Berthas. The one directly observing the mortal realm through the relic was, naturally, its true owner, Gamigin.
The eye stared at Berthas. It clearly conveyed irritation and anger.
Berthas hurriedly explained.
"But it's fine! Just pruning a few branches won't topple the tree. The pillars and roots of the grand scheme remain intact. There will be no failure in welcoming our great god. Please quell your wrath."
Only then did the eye roll up and down as if in acknowledgment, glanced once more at its apostle, and closed again.
Ah... Berthas prostrated himself before the grimoire for a long while, offering worship and sorting his thoughts.
Gazing at the dawn breaking outside the window, he rose from his seat.
"I have to see it through to the end."
The end of the grand scheme he had prepared for so long would be decided today. Berthas moved. He exited the storeroom, quietly closed and sealed the door, then extended his hand toward the Saintess, who was thrashing about in agony, trying to heal her unhealed wounds with his authority.
Blood droplets rose from his body and clung to her entire form, causing her to convulse and seize.
At the same time, the authorities embedded in her body shattered. Time had passed, and separated from their host Longinus, they had weakened before being crushed by overwhelming force.
Simultaneously, Berthas's blood not only restored the Saintess but enhanced her.
"Move quickly. The end has come. This accursed place will vanish completely into the Abyss today."
So fulfill your role as a pawn. Your end will soon be decided by the god.
Swallowing the rest, Berthas sat back in his usual chair and transferred his consciousness to Cardinal Aoira's body.
The puppet, having slept soundly through the eventful night, quietly opened its eyes.
D-DAY. The day that would decide the end of this long, exhausting battle had dawned.
The fourth day of the Holy Spirit Festival. The true festival—that is, the ritual—began early in the morning amid throngs of people.
From the crack of dawn, the Pope appeared before the grand cathedral in impeccably pristine white robes. He offered the sacrifices on the altar to the myriad gods watching over the Holy Kingdom, praying for blessings upon this land.
As if responding to his ritual, the gods showered divine graces across the entire Holy Kingdom.
It might seem trivial on a grand scale, but considering it blessed so many people equally, it was an impressive show of power.
Well, the true meaning of this blessing was a message that the thrones were watching over the Holy Kingdom, so everyone's joy was natural.
The festival's highlight. From numerous temples within the Holy Kingdom to individual homes, people offered sincere sacrifices once more to their patron gods and prayed.
Hoping that until the next festival, the world they lived in, the land they dwelled on, their families, and themselves would shine safely and radiantly.
The scene of these pious, beautiful hopes spreading like a contagion, drawing down gods' blessings everywhere in the Holy Kingdom... it was like beholding a magnificent painting.
Probably, the system had loosened the blessing restrictions for followers that day, making such widespread graces possible.
I watched the sight, then looked up at the sky.
Clear. Incredibly clear and pure.
I envied those unaware of what darkness might end this radiant, holy day—and honestly, I felt a twinge of fear.
Demon King. Strictly speaking, Azazel wasn't a Demon King. There was no seat for her among the 72 thrones, and she herself had introduced as a fallen angel, not a Demon King.
Belial had also explained that Azazel wasn't a Demon King but the leader of some group of fallen angels. A faction somewhere in the middle, neither of the Seven Deadly Sins nor the Demon Gods.
Whatever it was, the fact that Azazel was as strong as a Demon King remained unchanged. Though only a fragment, the terror and dread I felt first encountering her was beyond imagination.
Back then, half-mad in my desperation to escape death, I hadn't fully internalized that fear. But after slaying her and later meeting Solomon's clone—a mythic being—that terror resurfaced like trauma.
I raised my empty left hand and stared at it. It trembled. Fear welled up. I wanted to run right now.
The first thought that came was, as always, one.
Can I win?
Misfortune had awakened. It shed its shell to reveal its true form, but in doing so, it shed its own constraints and grew even stronger.
The Demon King's descent was already a foregone conclusion. How it would play out if Misfortune manifested here was a real headache.
'Always assume the worst and move accordingly, only to endure the worst outcomes.'
What a drag. I chuckled wryly at the thought.
Yet I hadn't been defeated. Since regressing, I'd always advanced, ascended, grown. Even if knocked down, I never bent; even if wounded, I never yielded to pain.
This time would be the same. Fear? Terror? Overwhelming? It didn't matter.
I already had two victories under my belt. The third would be easier than the first two.
Wuuuung!!
As if resonating with my resolve, Longinus in my right hand thrummed to life.
Atop a building with a clear view of the Colosseum—where I suspected the Demon King would descend—I began my preparations.
Time flew by swiftly.
And at the end of that time...
Finally, the monster I suspected would serve as one axis of the sacrifice was summoned. It was a massive dragon subspecies.
Not bearing the full dragon name—a half-breed—but one capable of growing into a world-ending calamity.
Still young, yet immensely powerful. But the Pope was even more so. His miracle descended radiantly upon the land.
Countless prepared holy knights borrowed that blessing's power, drawing forth their strength to slaughter the monster.
'Similar to Self-Strengthening.'
Forcing future potential into the present body—that was Self-Strengthening. The Pope's time-manipulating power was akin to it.
The monster was slain in exactly 4 hours and 42 minutes. Everyone celebrated averting a future calamity, and myriad gods adorned the sky with beautiful blessings.
And... at last, preparations for evil's descent upon this land were complete.
"Ah... great god. O demon who devours death, rules death, and achieves perfection through death. Reveal your form!"
⟨ Descent of Darkness ⟩
At the brightest, most radiant moment, the deepest darkness descends.
I rose, gripping Longinus tightly in my right hand.
Activation rate: 12%. The result of nonstop activation for nearly 20 hours. One solid hit should be enough.
Alright. Let's see the end of this damnable battle.