The Evil God of Darkness (12)

It was the early hours of dawn. The scene of the morning prayer, beginning from the moment the sun first crested the horizon, was solemn in every respect.

Nowhere was there a single soul nodding off, heavy with sleep. No one raised their voice in prayer. The assembly held its silence as though even the sound of a heavy breath would be a sin.

The only voice to be heard belonged to the one seated at the very center — the current Pope, Paolo Liberio.

"Thus has the Chief God graced us with..."

Though the word old man suited the Pope to a tee, no trace of error could be found in the way he conducted the prayer. Not in his youth. Not in his middle years. Not before his elevation to the papacy. He carried the service through with the unwavering steadiness of a golem crafted by some masterful alchemist.

"Well done, everyone. Let us conclude the morning prayer here."

The moment Liberio stepped down from the altar, the church's clergy rose to their feet. All of them were already moving busily, preparing for the day ahead at the Holy Land.

And it was no different for Kedel, the Pope's attendant. The instant the Pontiff emerged through the door behind the altar, Kedel bowed his head deeply and relieved him of the various burdens he carried.

"You chose an excellent subject for today's prayer, Priest Kedel. It allowed me to deliver a fine sermon."

"Thank you, Your Holiness."

On the surface, the words sounded like a kindly compliment, but Kedel did not take them at face value. Several years of attending the Pope had taught him well how much was hidden beneath the words that man spoke.

He went out of his way to mention the subject, so something about it must have displeased him. I'll have to review it once more.

As Kedel trailed behind the Pope, racking his brain for all he was worth, the pontiff — expressionless as ever — spoke up.

"Today's schedule was a visit to the Duchy, was it not?"

It was an abrupt question, but Kedel did not falter in the slightest. Discussing matters of business on the walk back to the office was simply one of the Pope's daily habits.

"Yes, that is correct. We are to arrive around midday, followed by a procession, prayer, a meal, and then the council talks."

"And the preparations for relief to the disaster-stricken region?"

"The advance team is already active, and reinforcements are scheduled to follow."

"Good. Please verify once more that the selection is being carried out properly."

"Yes, Your Holiness."

"Anything else to report?"

"Several things. First..."

The reports Kedel delivered on the walk were, as a rule, the pleasant kind. Talented individuals emerging from one order or another. A priest receiving a blessing. A noble promising generous support — the sort of stories one could deliver with a smile.

But from the moment the office door closed behind them and only the Pope and Kedel remained, a different sort of tale began to flow from his lips.

"Bishop Korg has committed yet another blunder."

"And who did he kill this time?"

"The third daughter of Baron Attlam's house."

"Send someone to deliver a stern warning to Bishop Korg, then let him handle it himself."

That was a conversation about someone's death.

"The experiments at Bardrog have borne fruit. They report that they have succeeded in transferring the test subjects' divinity to another."

"Oh-ho. How intriguing. Might I review the report myself?"

"I assumed you would say as much, so I brought it with me."

That was a conversation about achievements built atop the blood of children.

"There is troubling movement from the House of Viscount Poliu. It would seem they are growing ambitious."

"Those who desire more than they possess must be punished. See to it."

"Understood. I will dispatch someone at once."

That was a conversation deciding the fate of someone far away.

What was truly chilling was that the Pope's expression never once changed through any of it. Not when congratulating someone. Not when calling something good news. Not when discussing an irritating matter. Not even when speaking of a person who needed to die.

He was always expressionless ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠— as though he had been born having already lost the ability to wear one.

"That concludes today's reports."

With every matter concluded, Kedel moved to depart the office. Reports to the Pope rarely, if ever, prompted further questions.

"Priest Kedel. One question, if you would."

But today seemed to be one of those rare exceptions.

"The child who took up Ruel's Mace — how is she faring these days?"

"You mean the young lady of House Alrn. She has been making quite the name for herself at the Academy."

"And her relationship with the Saintess?"

"Excellent. I hear they consider each other close friends."

"How wonderful. Truly our masterpiece, as expected. May that bond continue to..."

Mid-sentence, the Pope abruptly fell silent. Then he rose from his seat and turned to gaze out the window.

His eyes — always so tranquil — were wavering.

Even Kedel, who had attended the Pope for years, had never seen such a thing.

He fought down the question that nearly burst from his lips — what is wrong, Your Holiness? — and simply waited for the Pope to speak.

How long did the silence last? It was not until the sunlight streaming through the window had shifted a considerable distance that the Pope finally opened his mouth.

"Priest Kedel."

"Yes, Your Holiness."

"Today's schedule... no. The Inquisitor Nian is currently staying at the Holy Land, is he not?"

"He is."

"Order him to depart for the Burrow Duchy of the Soladin Kingdom at once, and to investigate the irregularities there. It is urgent."

It was an order without premonition, without grounds, without reason — and yet Kedel bowed his head as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

Here in the Holy Land, the Pope's word was, for all intents and purposes, law itself.

The skill Weakness Detection is, at its core, a skill that reveals an opponent's vulnerabilities — but it comes with a bonus function as well.

Namely, it tells you what makes the other person squirm and panic.

When I first tested it on Frey, I'd assumed it was just a technique for supercharging my taunting, but it turns out there are other ways to use it.

When I decided to make Nakrad's life a living hell, my original plan was to beat him up — payback, one bruise at a time, for everything he'd put me through.

But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that hitting him wouldn't actually vent my fury.

It might be fun at first, but somewhere around the middle it would stop being revenge and start being manual labor.

So as I pondered the dilemma, Weakness Detection turned up something delightful for me.

Namely: what exactly would make Nakrad feel shame.

"Mmn♡ Hehehe, mmn♡"

And in that moment, it hit me.

Wouldn't true revenge be not the fleeting pain that flashes and fades, but a moment of black history that would stain his memory for the rest of his life?

Compare remembering the time Nakrad nearly killed me with remembering the time Joy and Frey caught me in a bunny girl outfit — and the latter hurts far more. Which means this is definitely the right call. With that conviction in hand, I resolved to carve an unforgettable memory into Nakrad that he would never, ever be rid of.

"There♡ This one's next♡ What do you think?♡ It's super cute, right?♡ Just♡ Hehehe♡ it'll suit you perfectly~♡"

"...Then kill me! Take my life and be done with it!"

"Weird~♡ Why is a dress-up doll so chatty?♡ Hmm, where should I tap you to fix that?♡"

"Ngh. Fine. I will... cooperate. AAAGH!"

The process wasn't exactly smooth sailing, but thanks to the tireless efforts of our dear lanky scrub here, I managed to secure Nakrad's full cooperation.

And customizing Nakrad was thoroughly enjoyable.

First, the base outfit: a dress Lucy used to wear back in the day!

I'd stuffed it into my inventory just in case, never dreaming it would come in handy like this!

It's a bit small, so there's a strained creaking sound wherever it strains, but who cares. It's not like I'll ever wear it again.

And the hairstyle: not bald, but twintails.

Hmm. Yeah. I just need to shave the middle strip!

And then... as I poured my passion into the customization, old memories came flooding back.

There was a time when I used to agonize over how to make a character look like the absolute apex of rotten-water degeneracy.

I once asked someone who did this sort of thing for advice, glimpsed the true abyss of humanity, and gave up on the spot.

The finished product, then, was a lanky scrub who desperately wanted to be a cute little girl.

I stared at that horrifying form — the kind that would make an armed robber flee the scene if he saw it late at night — and finally burst out laughing.

"PWAHAHAHA♡ You're! So! Cute!♡ Sell you to a back-alley doll shop and they'd slap some creepy urban legend on the tag!♡"

At that, Nakrad's shoulders trembled with rage — but he had no way out of this hell.

His wrists were bound by a rope Phoebe had consecrated several times over, leaving him unable to use his apostle's authority — and considerably weakened on top of that.

'Grandpa. What do you think of my aesthetic sense?'

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

<...It is horrifying.>

'PWAHAHA. Aww, Grandpa, you just don't get it. You're so old-fashioned.'

<If this is the new era, then I shall live out my days as a stubborn old fossil.>

Satisfied with Grandpa's exasperated reaction, I bobbed my head and sauntered up in front of Nakrad.

"What... what is this?"

"Still not properly trained?♡ Why is a disgusting pervert doll talking back so proudly?♡"

"...W... What is it, Lady Alrn?"

"Pfft♡ PWAHAHAHA♡ Ahh♡ You're so disgusting I could throw up♡"

Nakrad's glare was savage enough that, had eyes alone held the power to kill, he would have slaughtered me a hundred times over — but that glare only made me happier.

Somehow I feel like I'm getting closer and closer to becoming a genuine mesugaki...

But whatever! Who cares! As long as I'm having fun, that's all that matters!

Today, I'm enjoying myself to the fullest!

"Down♡ Pervert doll♡ I'm granting you the special honor of becoming the chair of this adorable, precious girl♡ How about it?♡ Happy?♡ Hm?♡"

"Y-yes. I am... happy. My lady."

"Ugh♡ So THIS is what makes a pervert happy?!♡ And this thing is supposed to be the same species as me?♡ You sure there isn't something weird mixed into your blood?♡"

Laughing as I watched Nakrad press his flushed-red face to the floor, I settled down on top of him, humming a little tune as I pulled up my quest window.

To find out why, exactly, I hadn't received my reward for completely subjugating an evil god's apostle.

The moment I casually opened the window, what spread out before me was a full-blown power struggle between the gods — one that had been raging behind my back without my knowledge.

A battle between Armadi, who was trying to help me by any means necessary, and the two evil gods, who were blocking that help and trying to kill me no matter what it took.

The instant I saw it, a hollow laugh escaped me.

Seeing how desperate Armadi had gotten made me realize just how genuinely close to death I'd come this ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠time.

And the sheer obsessiveness of the two evil gods trying to kill me was beyond absurd.

I was all set to go on calling her the pathetic Chief God, but ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠apparently I won't be able to anymore.

Window by window, I watched the brutal war they had waged against each other.

- Ding.

Oh? What's this?

Is my reward finally being distributed?

Armadi, my lady, I have very high expectations, you know.

I suffered so much this time, so I trust you'll reward me accordingly!

A reward grand enough to satisfy this rotten-water veteran of...

...Huh?

WHAT?!?!