Chapter 463: Proof of Existence (51)
Chapter 463: Proof of Existence (51)
The Saintess turned a vacant, dazed look toward Yuren.
Her expression was that of someone who couldn't even begin to process what she had just heard.
Thus, Yuren felt compelled to emphasize his words once more.
"I was the one who stabbed him. While Ian was off-guard, from behind… I ran him through the abdomen, so it must have been a fatal wound. Naturally, he had no choice but to lose consciousness."
"W-What…?"
The Saintess’s voice trembled along with her pale pink pupils. A shock, spreading like a ripple, surged through her entire body.
"Don't worry too much, Sister. He probably isn't dead. A high-ranking official from the Dark Cult was dispatched, and that gentleman took quite a liking to Ian, so…"
"Stop talking that bullshit!"
It was a rare, violent outburst.
The Saintess, using such coarse language for the first time in ages, struggled on the bed. Every time she moved, the restraints rattled and clashed with a loud, metallic din.
She cried out in a desperate frenzy.
"Are you insane?! You stabbed Ian? And you helped the Dark Cult to do it? W-Were you being controlled…? If so, hurry, hurry and undo these restraints… Let me take a look at you!"
"It’s no use."
His tone was excessively languid.
Yuren’s sigh-laden declaration stood in stark contrast to the woman’s voice, which was heated to the point of boiling. Within the Saintess’s eyes, as she gritted her teeth, a myriad of emotions surged like waves.
Denial, resentment, fear, bewilderment, and despair.
Yuren, silently watching these fragments of agony, spoke again.
"I was never controlled. I simply made a rational choice."
"…Are you not afraid of God?"
Heh, heh. Yuren finally couldn't hold it back and burst into laughter.
Did they say people grow to resemble those they love? Ian had asked that very same question before Yuren left.
It was truly a foolish thing to say.
Yuren pushed himself off the wall he had been leaning against, a sinister light igniting in his green eyes. His footsteps as he approached were predatory.
"The Heavenly God? Pfft, hahaha… Ah, I suppose you wouldn't have known, Sister."
It was blatant mockery.
One couldn't tell if it was directed at the Saintess or at himself.
Because of that, Yuren’s smile looked somewhat pathetic.
"How disgusting is this world? A priest who is supposed to practice God’s love treats orphans like livestock in a pen. He might throw them some feed once in a while, but what happens when the livestock tries to act as an equal to the master?"
"That’s why I stepped in—!"
"The people who built the foundation of your support back then were members of the Dark Cult."
The Saintess’s words were cut short.
Her wide-eyed stare bore witness to her shock. She tried to squeeze something out of her vocal cords, but the only sound that emerged was a fragmented, incoherent scream.
Yuren’s argument grew even more heated.
"Heh, are you surprised? But looking back, it’s only natural. To take the side of an orphan they only intended to use as a figurehead… wouldn't a fitting price be required? That is why we made a 'contract'…"
The Saintess’s lips parted and closed repeatedly. Her ragged breathing revealed the depth of the blow she had received.
It felt as though her entire existence was being negated.
She thought she had spent her whole life running toward her dreams. Though there were trials and difficulties, she believed she had overcome them by relying on the Heavenly God. She had even felt a sense of pride, thinking her own abilities were exceptional.
But what if that wasn't the case?
"Do you still not understand? The Dark Cult has already penetrated the very core of the Holy Kingdom! There is no such thing as a chance of victory for humanity!"
"I-Ian will…"
Her voice trembled, and her gaze, its momentum broken, could not look him in the eye.
Every element betrayed her internal conflict. Nevertheless, she did not hesitate to call out the name of the man she wanted to believe in, even if it was just a single thread of hope.
It could be called a final act of desperation.
Even if it was nothing more than an illusion created by a mind pushed to the brink.
"Ian… will come to save me."
Suppressing the tears that threatened to fall, the Saintess muttered those words.
Yuren could only wear a hollow smile.
The Saintess’s devotion was truly remarkable. Even in a situation with no way out, she didn't lose her faith in Ian.
Of course, Yuren wasn't about to just let that be.
"Ian, Ian… He is a remarkable friend. Honestly, I can't count how many times I’ve been impressed by him. Did you think so too? Did you think that maybe, if it’s him… he could actually take down the Dark Cult…?"
Then came a laugh, heh, heh, with clear mocking intent. But even that was brief.
Soon, a rupturing sound that seemed to tear the eardrums erupted.
"…Nonsense!"
As he shouted, gritting his teeth, Yuren’s eyes were bloodshot. He looked as if he were on the verge of madness.
He ground his teeth and declared once more.
"It’s impossible! No matter how great Ian is, he cannot save you! In the first place, there’s no way for him to know where this hideout is… and do you know the reason Ian has been able to survive until now?!"
With a sneer, Yuren reached into his coat. Before long, a blood-red gem rose above his palm.
It was an object the Saintess knew well.
Its name was 'Blood Essence,' a rare treasure said to be worth as much as two entire castles.
Thinking back, it was strange.
How could such a precious item appear so endlessly?
The Saintess’s eyes grew vacant. At that, the smile on Yuren’s lips momentarily turned bitter.
"…Fine. I will show you the proof that God does not exist."
Crack. Fissures appeared in the Blood Essence.
It was because Yuren had applied pressure with his thumb and forefinger. The grip of a skilled knight was more than enough to turn stone into dust. Furthermore, Yuren’s strength had already been enhanced by the power of the Evil God.
The Blood Essence could not withstand the pressure.
The Saintess almost bolted upright in shock. It was a sacrifice capable of healing any sick person, save for the dead. Few clergy members could stand by and watch it be scattered into powder.
But in the next moment.
The Saintess was stunned in a different sense.
—Aaaaaaaagh!
Screams began to spread. A translucent gas leaking from the cracks in the Blood Essence filled the Saintess’s vision.
As the pathetic wailing continued, the smoke gradually began to take shape.
—Aaaagh! Gaaaaagh!
—Save me, please save me…!
The Saintess could not tear her eyes away from the carnage. The mournful cries pierced her eardrums one by one.
They were the children from the orphanage.
There was no way she could be mistaken. Though she had tried to act indifferent, it was the place where her childhood memories remained. The Saintess used to secretly obtain the orphanage’s registry and read it alone.
James, the little boy who complained that his name was too common. Hadn't he said he wanted to become a knight later, achieve great deeds, and receive a new surname?
She remembered secretly ordering several wooden swords to be sent to the orphanage.
That child was now ascending to the sky, weeping tears of blood. This was exactly how a victim caught in the clutches of a demon would look.
Mary, the cute nine-year-old girl. She had heard that Mary was the darling of the orphanage because of her exceptionally lovely appearance. She recalled hearing that the girl wanted to open a flower shop later.
That flower bud had withered before it could even bloom. The girl’s cry, full of resentment, shook the Saintess’s mind.
The Saintess’s mind went blank. A shock incomparable to anything she had felt before struck her brain.
Click, clack. The Saintess’s jaw chattered, making a painful sound. The emotion dominating her eyes was fear, far beyond mere horror.
This shouldn't be happening.
Yet, the demon’s voice remained calm.
"…Are you afraid of the Heavenly God?"
It was a chillingly simple question.
Despite this, the Saintess could only clutch her head and tremble.
Step, step.
The demon began to walk again.
"Are you not afraid, Sister? You survived the politics of the Holy Kingdom thanks to the Dark Cult, and you unhesitatingly sacrificed the souls of orphans to perform your great miracles!"
"No!"
It was a scream closer to a death rattle.
The Saintess buried her head deep, repeating fragmented excuses.
"I… I didn't know… R-Really! If I had known the people helping me were lackeys of the Dark Cult, if I had only known the Blood Essence was such a horrible thing!"
"What would have changed if you had known?"
Gasp. The Saintess choked on her breath and shed a few tears.
Before she knew it, Yuren had approached her very face. His sinister green eyes boasted an ominous glow.
"Then you would have been kicked out before you could even become a figurehead, and Ian would have died long ago with a tombstone over his head… This is the truth of the world."
"N-No… No, it’s not…"
Despite her sobbing pleas, Yuren’s voice only grew louder.
"This pathetic God!"
His rough hand reached for the Saintess’s neck. Tearing away the silver rosary Ian had given her, Yuren shouted with a heart that seemed to vomit blood.
"Do you still believe in this pathetic God?! He says he loves the weak, but has he ever actually loved us even once?! If that great God exists, why doesn't he save us? Why hasn't he reached out a hand of salvation to you yet?! He even accepts a horrific object made by sacrificing the souls of orphans as an offering… Tell me, please!"
Yuren’s hands grabbed the Saintess’s shoulders and shook her. Even as her head swung back and forth like a pendulum, her mind was so blank she couldn't utter a word.
Does God exist? Tell me the reason?
The Saintess was the one who wanted to know the answer more than anyone. Even now, she was mumbling prayers with a pale face.
But God did not answer. As always.
After continuing his interrogation for a long while, Yuren finally wore a hollow smile.
"…As I thought, even you cannot prove it, Sister."
Clang, clang.
The silver rosary in Yuren’s hand rolled across the floor. Even that sharp noise could not rouse the Saintess’s shattered spirit.
"God is an illusion."
In the absence of God, the demon repeated his cunning whispers.
"Who can prove His existence? Even you can't prove it!"
With that, the demon pulled a document from his coat. The blood-red writing filling the page gave off a grotesque feeling.
It was a 'contract.'
"…Let us make a contract."
The Saintess remained silent. To say she was catatonic would be more accurate.
Yuren sighed and forcibly grabbed the Saintess’s wrist, as if he had already expected this reaction.
"Then I will give you the world. Just think of it as dreaming for a very short while… There’s no need to be so afraid. You just didn't know, but you’ve already received plenty of help from us, haven't you?"
Still, the Saintess could not readily answer.
She had to refuse, she had to push him away.
But she couldn't find any strength in her arms. It was a sense of helplessness she was experiencing for the first time in her life.
When despair fills one to the brim, even the body stops listening.
The Saintess only realized that fact today. Regardless, Yuren was forcibly moving her hand toward the contract.
As if in a final act of resistance, the woman’s finger twitched. But Yuren only gave a bitter smile.
"Give up, Sister. I told you… no one can find this place."
Just as the Saintess’s thumb was about to press its print onto the contract.
A silver bolt of lightning pierced through the world.
Yuren still had a smile on his face. He looked like someone who hadn't realized what had happened—and neither had the Saintess. However, within the frozen time, a passionate hue bloomed.
The color of blood.
Thud, roll.
Yuren’s severed arm rolled across the floor. Even then, Yuren remained frozen, his smile still fixed.
A low voice cut through the silence.
"…Hey."
It was impossible.
This couldn't be happening. He had deliberately chosen a hideout half a day’s journey away, and Yuren was the only one who knew this location.
There was no way it could have been leaked.
Nevertheless, Yuren could not stop the chills running up his spine. It was utterly nonsensical, but that only made him more certain.
Because he had watched that man’s actions from right beside him.
Had he actually come?
His smiling face moved with a mechanical creak.
And at the end of that gaze, a man with jet-black hair was breathing heavily.
"Get your hands off my Pouch of Divine Power."
It was Ian Percus.