Chapter 96
Translator: Vine
Chapter: 96
Chapter Title: The Cycle's Rite
Countless cults exist in the world.
After the fall of the temples and the collapse of the ancient empire, the number of religious followers dwindled.
However, dwindled did not mean disappeared.
Some humans cannot live on their own.
They want someone to lean on, an absolute being to define the direction of their lives.
For some, that absolute being is found close by, in a father or a village chief, or further away, in a lord or an emperor.
But the vast majority of the powerless and weak desired a transcendent being that did not exist in reality.
Even if they knew that god had fallen.
That is why cults thrive.
They become a pillar of support in a weary life, or people join simply for the benefits of being a cultist, or perhaps they genuinely believe in the faith.
There are various reasons, and each comes with its own circumstances.
Among these numerous cults was one called the ‘Cycle Cult.’
The doctrine of the Cycle Cult is simple.
The world repeats a cycle of birth and destruction, which they call the ‘Cycle.’
According to them, the world was destroyed after the Great Collapse.
The current world is a time before a new world is born, and for that new world to emerge, the present one must be completely annihilated.
Therefore, those who contribute to the destruction can be reborn in the new world—a rather unhinged doctrine.
Given their radical ideology, it wouldn't have been strange if they were immediately branded and eradicated.
In fact, they are strictly forbidden as a heresy in most countries.
However, due to their occasional usefulness, they were sometimes tolerated in certain regions.
For example, in some conflict zones, their activities are overlooked. This is because the Cycle Cult rejects everything that does not belong to this world.
Necromancers, liches, demon contractors, demons, the Demon Lord, the demon races, outer gods… and so on.
Their reasoning was that no foreign matter should be mixed into the newly born world.
Surprisingly, they also rarely inflicted direct harm on civilians.
This is because the Cycle Cult believes in guiding the world toward a natural destruction rather than an artificial one.
They reasoned that instigating a war by sowing discord among a few powerful figures was more natural than directly killing ten or a hundred civilians.
Thus, conflict was never-ending wherever they were present, and a diverse range of races was engrossed in their doctrine.
‘Before my regression, they would have remained intact if they hadn't attacked the academy.’
Immediately after their failed attack on the academy, the Beast King personally struck their headquarters, and they began to crumble slowly.
In the end, they were absorbed by the woman at Julius's side, the Heretic Saint Abelin, and became a part of his forces.
What Allen was doing was no different from what Abelin had done.
So, what was an Apostle?
The role of an Apostle varied with each religion, but in the Cycle Cult, it was singular.
‘One who directly proves the fact that the world will be destroyed.’
In other words, a being who could prove to them that the world would end in the future.
This was also why Allen could act the part of an Apostle.
‘A regressor… It makes me feel like a true apostle of prophecy.’
Had an apostle actually appeared around this time?
It didn't matter. As long as Allen occupied that position, no one else would be chosen as the Apostle.
Just as he finished organizing his thoughts, a voice called out to him.
“Prospective Apostle. We have arrived.”
When he came to his senses, a massive rock filled his vision.
A place reachable after a few hours' travel from the academy. The desolate, ochre-colored cliff looked angular, as if eroded by the wind over a long time.
The rock, rising solitary from the desert sand, must have served as a landmark.
“Is this the place?”
“Yes, Prospective Apostle.”
The day after becoming Gaion’s disciple, Allen, without any delay, met with another priest of the Cycle Cult through Lauren, the student council secretary to whom he had previously sent a letter, and was guided here.
They moved as swiftly as possible, as if they had been waiting for Allen’s arrival.
Throughout their journey, the priest, seemingly under orders, never asked even the most trivial questions and consistently maintained his distance.
“We will now enter. One of the Prophets has been waiting for you for several days.”
Rumble—
The priest, whose name was Milan, approached the rock first and pressed something on its surface. With a small vibration, the wall opened, revealing a passage.
‘The secret base of the Cycle Cult…’
Allen walked forward confidently, showing no sign of surprise, as if it were nothing.
He was the prospective apostle who would receive his proof here.
Even if the proof had nothing to do with his demeanor, it was better than showing a naive face.
As if to prove his thoughts, the priest Milan, who was guiding him, felt a flicker of anticipation at Allen’s unchanging attitude, even though he had not yet been proven.
The passage was dark, but not so much that he couldn't see ahead.
At the end of the passage, there was no grand hall, nor were there any magnificent murals.
A modest room.
Only a small chamber, carved out of the rock, was there.
It seemed they didn't even have the means to install a wooden door, as a thick cloth separated the inside from the outside.
“You may go in. This is as far as I go.”
As Allen pushed aside the thick cloth and entered, something he had never imagined greeted him.
Allen stopped in his tracks and quickly looked back. But the thick cloth he had just come through was gone.
A complete darkness without a single gap.
The space he had thought would be made of rough stone walls was gone. He turned his head forward again.
“…Where am I?”
There, a yawning abyss swallowed him whole.
* * *
The Cycle's Rite was a secret ritual within the Cycle Cult.
Loss?Cycle?Advent.
Because of loss, we yearn.
Because of the cycle, we wait.
In the end, we believe in the advent.
The Cycle's Rite was classified as a minor rite among many, but its importance was no less than that of a major rite.
It was a ritual that had to be presided over by one of the Prophets, and only those with the rank of High Priest or higher were permitted to observe.
The number of those presiding over and observing Allen’s ritual now did not exceed five.
The presider of the ritual, the Third Prophet, the Rotted Root, opened his mouth.
“Kee-heh, hek! A-po-stle! Pro-gress!”
The characteristic green skin and short stature of a goblin.
A monster that would be hunted outside, dressed in a luxurious robe, was quite a ridiculous sight, but no one present laughed at him.
The Archbishop, dispatched to assist the Third Prophet, spoke from beside him.
“He is asking how the rite for the Apostle’s proof is proceeding.”
“False! Kek! True! Kee-heh-hek!”
“He says that if it is false, the price will be paid with death, and if he possesses true qualifications, it should be announced to the other brethren.”
The Archbishop translated his words calmly, without batting an eye. The monocle on his eye glinted.
The Third Prophet, the Rotted Root, nodded his head repeatedly as if confirming his words.
A High Priest, who had been watching the scene with a peculiar gaze, assessed the progress of the ritual and replied.
“Currently… the prospective apostle who entered the Primordial Void has completed the basic proof.”
“Is it true? Or is it false?”
“Fortunately, it is true.”
At his words, everyone present let out a sigh of relief.
“Then, currently…”
“Now that we know a definite destruction of the future is scheduled, we are confirming the details.”
“See! Me! Ka-haak! Question!”
The Archbishop, nodding at his words, asked the High Priest.
“He is cautiously asking if it is possible to view the rite.”
The High Priest glanced at the Archbishop with a slightly hesitant expression, then shook his head as if it were nothing and activated a device with his hand.
The wall directly in front of them turned transparent, revealing Allen.
He sat on the floor in the midst of a world stained completely black, his expression serene, not having lost his composure.
The eyes of the observers glinted with a strange light at the sight.
“Now, let us hear what you are most curious about.”
As soon as the Rotted Root nodded, a whispering voice echoed from within the black space.
The sound seemed to come from afar, yet also as if spoken right next to one’s ear. It sounded like a woman, a man, a child, and at times, like the dying gasp of a wizened old man.
“When will the end for the sake of the beginning occur?”
Allen replied slowly with calm eyes.
“It will happen within 10 years at the latest.”
The voice asked again.
“Can you not know the exact time?”
“Depending on numerous variables, it could be tomorrow or a week from now. But it will happen for certain.”
The observing High Priests felt a sense of conviction at that answer.
Had he stated a precise date, they would not have believed him. His vague yet seemingly concrete answer reassured them.
It meant that their efforts so far had not been in vain.
“By whom will the end come?”
“The Demon Lord.”
At those words, the High Priests gasped. Destruction by an external invasion, not by their own conflicts?
“And… at that time, a white, a black, and an ashen light will fill the world.”
“White, black, and also ashen…”
Was it an allusion to something? A nearby High Priest was seen hastily writing down the conversation.
“Now, I will ask one last thing. What is the greatest variable in that destruction?”
“The greatest variable is…”
Allen controlled his somewhat surging emotions and enunciated each word clearly.
“The usurper of the world, an evil spirit from another realm, and the demon who toys with the world.”
An otherworldly being wearing his brother’s shell.
“The Possessor.”
* * *
The Cycle's Rite had ended.
Allen was able to leave the room after the final question. Pushing aside the thick cloth that had reappeared at some point, he found Milan standing outside in the same posture as when he had first entered.
Upon seeing Allen, he immediately bowed his head.
“Greetings, Apostle! The Prophet is currently waiting for you, so I will guide you immediately.”
Allen nodded silently.
Next to the room Allen had entered, another room, which he hadn't seen before, had appeared.
Allen pushed aside the thick cloth and entered the room.
This time, Priest Milan did not enter.
Swoosh—
After entering the room and turning his head, he saw that, unlike the first room, this one was not plunged into darkness.
“Wor-worry. Kehek. You!”
When he turned his head, a goblin in a brown, elegant robe was shouting.
Allen bowed his head without being disrespectful.
“I greet the Third Prophet, the Rotted Root.”
“Kehehehe!”
“He says he is also pleased to meet you.”
“And you are…”
As Allen raised his head, a young man wearing a monocle bowed gracefully.
“I am Archbishop Hamel, assigned to assist the Prophet.”
“A pleasure to meet you.”
“My role is to convey the Prophet’s words, so I would appreciate it if you paid me no mind.”
Allen nodded at his sharp demeanor.
“I will keep that in mind.”
The Third Prophet, the Rotted Root, waited until their conversation was over before speaking.
“De-destruction! Prophecy! Apostle! More! Reward! Talk! Ke-hat!”
“The Prophet asks if you know anything more about the prophecy you just mentioned. Also, he asks if there is anything you desire.”
Allen calculated for a moment, then shook his head.
“I apologize, but I do not know any more than that. If anything new comes to mind, I will relay it to you immediately.”
They didn't seem to suspect he knew more, as they quickly moved on to another question.
“No refuse! Me! Proph-! Ke, heh, ka-haak! Cycle!”
“He says you should not hesitate to speak of a reward, for he is generous. He congratulates you on receiving the blessing of the Cycle.”
Allen paid no mind to the somewhat bizarre sight.
He had researched the Prophet's appearance beforehand, so he wasn't surprised. However, as for the reward…
“Oh, Rotted Root. Is it possible for you to mend one whose very foundation has been twisted by an external evil?”
The very reason he had sought contact with the Cycle Cult was right before his eyes.
“Kehek?”
“He asks why you are asking, as it is of course possible.”
The Third Prophet, the Rotted Root.
He was the only goblin in the world to have awakened the blood of the fairies, and the one who realized that goblins were beings who had fallen from being fairies in the distant past.
That was why his name was the Rotted Root.
Because he was twisted and corrupted from his very foundation.
Thus, paradoxically, he gained the ability to restore that which was twisted back to its original state.
“In that case, please heal my friend. She was bitten by a creature of the night when she was young and was barely cured. But as a price, the constitution of her body was completely twisted.”
Despite inheriting the blood of the Beast King, her body was frail.
And though she inherited the blood of both humans and beastkin, she had no aptitude for either.
Such were the circumstances of Iliana’s body.
“Please, cure her.”
“More!”
“He asks if that is sufficient.”
“Yes, that is sufficient.”
Allen nodded and took a step back. It wasn't that there was nothing more to gain, but it was not good to be greedy.
He still needed to be prudent, as he had not yet firmly established his position.
At least, not until he had fully assimilated them.
“Tomorrow! Kyak! Door!”
“He asks if you would like to meet at the entrance here tomorrow.”
“I will do so.”
Throughout the conversation, the Archbishop had not shown a single personal emotion.
However, when Allen showed no greed, the tension in the corners of his eyes eased slightly, revealing a look of satisfaction.
“Then, I will be on my way. I am eager to deliver this news.”
They nodded. Allen, still maintaining his polite demeanor, bowed and exited the passage.
Thud—
The stone door closed, creating a scene that looked perfectly seamless unless one looked closely.
On his way back to the city, Allen slowly sank into thought.
He was thinking about what had happened in the first room.
‘A room that compels concepts…’
Shortly after entering the room, Allen had felt some kind of power binding him.
The power did not harm him, but it was compelling him under certain conditions.
He felt its influence most strongly when he tried to speak a lie.
The moment Allen tried to give a false answer to a question, he felt a force compelling him to stop.
But the emotion Allen felt at that moment was not panic or anything of the sort.
‘…I think I can break free from this.’
Allen felt that while he couldn't completely break free from the compelling force, he could at least deflect it as much as possible.
He didn't know why, but he used it to his fullest advantage.
He exaggerated the fact that the destruction would occur within ten years and fabricated the story that the Demon Lord would destroy the world.
The world of white, black, and ash was merely a quote from a passage he had found in the ruins.
And his final answer, the bait to draw the Cycle Cult into his plans.
‘The Possessor.’
Having planted that seed, they would be too preoccupied to pay attention to his other activities for a while.
They would be divided on whether to stop the Demon Lord or to stand by and watch the destruction, and they would be busy interpreting the vague words Allen had spoken.
Even if the position of an Apostle was special within the Cycle Cult, it wasn't without its dangers, so it was better to distract them from the start.
‘Now, I’ll slowly plant the evidence, and when Julius’s true identity is fully revealed to the Cycle Cult…’
The ‘real’ plan would begin.
Creak—
Allen adjusted the worn stirrup and returned to the city.
Creak— Creak—
The stirrup continued to squeak all the way back to the city.