Those Who Wait for Help (1)

Flesh. And black veins sprouting like tentacles. Yet, the child's expression did not seem painful. The face that had been distorted by phantom pain from the severed limb looked incredibly peaceful now. Just like that of a sleeping person.

"How... did you do this?" Bishop Andre asked, hiding his bewilderment.

"The 'Teacher' healed him. He said it would grow new flesh on my boy's arm and ease his pain. And he said... that this child is the very proof of the end times..." the woman said, placing her hand on the child's shoulder.

Isis couldn't even hear the woman's words. All she could see was the child's horrifyingly mutated form, and the face of a mother rejoicing simply because she no longer had to watch her child writhe in agony.

"Go on, head inside first," the woman said, patting the child's back. The boy turned and walked back into the house. Isis's eyes followed his retreating figure until he disappeared.

What did I just see? What on earth did the Doomsday Cult do to that child? ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠What is about to happen? Have others been subjected to this besides him? Isis's head spun. As she swayed, Aryen quickly caught her by the shoulder.

Bishop Andre glanced at Isis before turning back to the woman. His eyes were entirely devoid of emotion.

"Please, come inside. I'd like to offer you some tea."

"No, thank you. We must return quickly to draft our report," the bishop excused himself smoothly. The woman didn't seem to think twice about his refusal.

"Does the 'Teacher' appear in the village often?" Bishop Andre asked. The woman shook her head.

"No. He only appears in the village at midnight, when it is time for his sermon. We have no idea where he stays normally. It was during one of those sermons that he healed my son's mind and body at the same time. Though, he did show himself in the village once during the day before..."

The bishop frowned. He doesn't show himself during the day. He can only be seen at night. If so, was the only way to make contact with him to sneak into that brewery at night? Wiping out everyone inside the brewery would be the cleanest option, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠but that would inevitably cause friction with the Kairos Kingdom.

"Is attending the midnight sermon the only way to meet the 'Teacher'?"

The woman nodded with a gentle smile. "Yes. Has the Ministry Officer also taken an interest in the Teacher's teachings?"

Bishop Andre offered a smile that carried a faint, bloody edge. "I find it highly intriguing. If the opportunity arises, I would certainly love to attend at least once."

The woman beamed, clearly pleased by his response. "Oh, in that case... please come to the brewery at the edge of our village at midnight. They said newcomers are always welcome, and they'll be even happier if you're from outside the village. I only wish my husband would join me like this... but he refuses to go, stubborn to the end."

With that, she suddenly grabbed the bishop's hand. "With so many people showing interest, surely my husband will understand eventually, right?"

The bishop looked straight into her eyes and nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

Crash! Suddenly, the sound of someone running echoed through the alley. A rainwater bucket standing nearby was knocked over, spilling pitch-black water onto the ground. The woman's husband—the man the bishop had first encountered—was marching toward them, his face twisted in a mixture of rage and terror.

"You! How many times have I told you not to bring guests to our—!" The man stopped dead in his tracks as he saw the open door. The color drained from his face, leaving it a deathly, ashen gray.

"I showed them our son. The Saintess helped us before, after all. She deserved to see how he's recovered," she said in an incredibly innocent voice.

The man trembled violently before suddenly slapping his wife across the face. Smack! The woman's frail body was no match for the strength of a grown man. She stumbled backward, collided with the doorframe, and collapsed to the ground.

Yet, she didn't even cup her struck cheek. She simply stared up at him, her swelling face completely devoid of expression. The man, his face contorted like a demon's, stepped toward his fallen wife.

"I told you. No matter what. Not that."

"They understood. They even said they were interested in the Teacher's words. Now, you're the only one who needs to understand. Our son is healed, so why do you keep denying it?"

"You crazy bitch." The man stumbled backward. Clutching his head, he fell to his knees and let out a raw, weeping roar of frustration. Thud. Thud. He slammed his fists against the ground until his knuckles tore and bled. The woman merely watched him as if he were some wild animal.

"Calm down," the bishop said, pulling the man to his feet. Stumbling as he rose, the man grabbed the bishop's collar with his bloodied hands. The stench of an unwashed body wafted over them. Dragging the bishop along, the man stumbled deeper into the alleyway.

"You saw it, didn't you?" the man whispered, casting a paranoid glance around. The bishop nodded slowly. The man's arms trembled as he stared into the bishop's eyes.

"Please help us. You said you were a Ministry Officer. This village is going mad. It all started when that 'Teacher' fellow arrived. One by one, the villagers are falling for his tricks and listening to his bizarre teachings." The man poured his heart out in a breathless rush, then gasped for air.

"I can't take it anymore. I can't stay sane living here. My wife won't even listen when I tell her we need to leave." He looked around once more.

"I don't know where his ears might be listening. Every single villager has become his eyes and ears now. So..." The man collapsed to the ground, letting out a sound that was half-laugh, half-sob. He looked up again, his eyes darting between the bishop and the Saintess who followed behind.

"Please help us. I beg of you, save us." Isis stared into the man's eyes. They were the eyes of someone lost in the deepest abyss of despair. What must it feel like to be the sole keeper of sanity while everyone around you slowly loses their minds?

"Saintess. Please, denounce their words. Put an end to this madness." Tell us that the world hasn't ended yet. The man spoke in a voice thick with grief.

"...What on earth was that?" one of the inquisitors asked. Bishop Andre looked around at the gathered crowd in the church. Every single person who had returned from investigating the village wore the same pale, horrified expression. The bishop recalled the shape of the flesh that had covered the child's body.

"A fragment of a Calamity," the bishop replied curtly. He pulled a cigar from his breast pocket, lit it using a divine tool, and took a deep drag.

"Likely the third ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Calamity... the Kraken. There are past records of the Evil God's worshipers feeding people the flesh of the Serpent to create monsters." A thin stream of smoke escaped the bishop's lips. Even Aryen, who usually maintained an expressionless face, had his features twisted in disgust.

"Why would they do such a thing?"

"Some do it out of sheer curiosity, while others do it with the genuine hope of resurrecting a Calamity," the bishop explained, taking another long drag. The tobacco burned black.

"And what happens to the person who receives the transplant?"

"What do you expect? They either turn into mindless monsters stripped of their reason, or they rot away into a lump of flesh and die. It's always one of the two." The bishop exhaled smoke as he stared down the path leading to the village.

"What are the chances of the Calamity actually resurrecting?"

"Virtually zero. The cultists probably know that too. But they are the kind of people who wouldn't hesitate to grind thousands of lives into dust for a chance that rounds down to zero."

Aryen frowned. "Is their true goal really the resurrection of the Calamity, then?"

"Probably not. No one knows their true objective. Perhaps only their leader does." Bishop Andre pulled out a portable ashtray and stubbed out his cigar.

"Well, then, our tasks are becoming clear one by one. We must infiltrate their heretical sermon to get closer to the Doomsday Cult, capture this 'Teacher' figure, weed out the cultists, and..."

"Kill the child who received the transplant. And find and kill anyone else who has undergone the same procedure," Aryen said coldly. The bishop gave Aryen a disapproving look, but he did not deny the words.

"Yes. It would be best to dispose of the child before he mutters into something monstrous. It would be convenient for us if he simply dissolved into flesh on his own, but seeing as he has survived this long, it is far more likely he will turn into a demonic beast."

Bishop Andre and Aryen locked eyes. Aryen gripped the hilt of his sword with a bitter smile. "Is there any reason to delay? Shouldn't we handle this as quickly as possible?"

"It would be best to execute it when we capture the 'Teacher.' The group hiding here seems to be quite substantial, so we must make thorough preparations." The bishop drew a dagger from his robes. Isis watched as the bishop stabbed the dagger into a wooden chair, as if the chair were the child's head. The blade sank smoothly into the wood.

Please help us. I beg of you, save us. The man's desperate plea seemed to echo in her ears. Isis looked at the bishop and Aryen as they discussed the child's "disposition." By disposition, they meant how they would kill him.

By agreeing to those words back then, she had already thrown away a chance to save them once. Because she had been afraid. Because she hadn't yet understood the weight of saving another life. And Isis had witnessed the consequences of that choice closer than anyone else. She remembered the chaotic screams for help, the people dying before she even had time to heal them. The vanished cities, the shattered villages. What kind of expression would that man make if his child died?

Tell us that the world hasn't ended yet. Before she knew it, Isis spoke.

"No."

Aryen and Bishop Andre turned to look at her at the same time. Isis spoke again, clearly, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠putting weight behind every single word.

"You must not kill the child."

Bishop Andre frowned at her words. "What do you mean by that, Isis?"

"Exactly what I said. I am saying we should not kill him."

The bishop shook his head. "Isis, did I not just tell you? There is no way to restore the child. Now that he is corrupted to this extent, only two paths remain for him." To dissolve into flesh, or to become a monster.

"Dying by our hands would be far less painful for him," Aryen added.

Isis shook her head. She could accept neither of those options. This was not an atonement; it was a punishment handed down to her.

"I will heal him."

Bishop Andre and Aryen's expressions hardened. "...Healing is impossible. It is a waste of time, Isis. You cannot afford to waste your mana in a place like this."

Isis stubbornly shook her head. "We can at least give him a chance. Just once. If it fails, then you can do as you wish, Bishop."

"...When and how do you plan to heal him, Isis?"

"I will go to the brewery at the time they gather and heal him there."

This time, Aryen shook his head. "That is too dangerous. I explicitly told you to refrain from moving at night, Isis. I understand your sympathy for them, but there are things that sympathy alone cannot overcome."

"Even if your magic could perform a miracle and heal him, the probability is practically nonexistent."

"I don't care what anyone says. I am going."

Aryen scowled at her response. "You are taking on too much risk for an invisible possibility, Isis. You must remember that our objective is to root out the heretics here..."

"Rooting out the heretics to save the people, you mean."

"This is just childish stubbornness."

Isis grimaced. But no one seemed to agree with her. Bishop Andre stood with Aryen in opposition, and the other inquisitors avoided her gaze, looking deeply uncomfortable.

If things continued like this, the child would die before she could even attempt to heal him. And if that happened, they would remain forever unsaved, stagnant like dirty water.

"Please..." Tears welled in Isis's eyes. If only she could have just one chance.

"I agree with Isis."

A voice suddenly broke the silence. Aryen furrowed his brow and looked up at the speaker. "...You."

The Hero. Elroy was raising his hand.

"Even if it's infinitely close to zero, there's still a chance to save him. Why should we ignore that?"