The Cult Leader Enters Florence
"The seven freshman representatives, please come up to the stage. A holy sacrament will now be performed."
The voice over the microphone filled the auditorium. The seven freshmen waiting at the edge of the stage climbed up and lined up in a row. Though there were only seven, their overwhelming presence made the stage feel packed.
"We will now proceed with the holy sacrament led by Archbishop Kim Chang-won, chairman of Florence Academy. Students, please remain silent."
The request for silence was merely a formality. There was no need for it anyway—the students fell utterly quiet the moment the sacrament began, as if on cue.
Florence Academy. Commonly known simply as Florence. A school that trained clerics to exterminate the demons ravaging the world, Satanists, and other heretics. Among countless clerical academies, it boasted the highest prestige. As a gathering place for the nation's elite, every student faithfully adhered to Romanica Church rites.
Plink.
Like a water drop falling into a still lake, a clear chime rang out. With the sound, a pure white beam of flawless light poured from the archbishop's hand. The light soon enveloped the bodies of the seven freshman representatives.
Humility, Charity, Kindness, Patience, Chastity, Temperance, Diligence. The seven freshmen, selected in accordance with the Seven Virtues.
The sacrament to bestow blessings upon them had just begun.
Watching them solemnly receive the light of blessing, most ordinary students like me thought the same thing.
If only I could have been up there with them.
Those bearing the Holy Marks of the Seven Virtues were qualified to become high-ranking clerics. High-ranking clerics wielded wealth, honor, and power beyond compare to ordinary ones. That was why every student at Florence dreamed of becoming one.
The gazes of envy, admiration, and jealousy directed at the seven freshmen stemmed from this very reason.
And I wanted to become a high-ranking cleric too. So badly that I'd gladly cut off my right arm and offer it to the Papal Court if it meant I could.
Some sought honor. Others money. Still others power. Everyone had their reasons, but mine was a little different.
*
"How much do you all know about the Holy War?"
After the sacrament ended, an impromptu lecture began for the assembled students. At the instructor's sudden question, they just stared blankly into space without responding. A few seconds of silence passed through the auditorium.
The instructor gave an awkward smile at the students' tepid reaction.
"As proud students of Florence, of course you know. The Holy War refers to the conflict seven years ago between the Voodoo Cult and the Romanica Church."
Snap! The instructor flicked her fingers, and the beam projector screen changed. A timeline summarizing the Holy War's progression appeared.
She waved the laser pointer as she continued.
"The Holy War began with protests by Voodoo Cultists. What started as a rally demanding an end to discrimination against them escalated into armed terrorism. The Papal Court dispatched Holy Knights to suppress them, but..."
The rest was predictable. One Holy Knight sent to the scene was killed. Undeterred, the Voodoo Cultists continued their attacks. With no choice, the Papal Court mobilized the papal army and inquisitors for a full suppression.
Thus, the Holy War erupted.
"...The ensuing Holy War caused countless casualties. All because of the Voodoo Cult's cult leader and prophet. They wielded the power of so-called 'Loa'."
The instructor's voice rose higher.
"The power of these 'Loa' demons was strong enough to be called a plague of devils. The cult leader and prophet used it to drive countless people to ruin. But Romanica resisted them to the end."
Her face flushed red. Sweating profusely, she ranted on about the Voodoo Cult's evils and atrocities.
By then, I'd fallen asleep. It was a story I'd heard countless times—no point listening anymore. Plus, I hadn't slept well the night before, so I figured I'd catch up now.
When I briefly opened my eyes again, the instructor who'd been lecturing enthusiastically on stage was now down below.
To be precise, she stood right in front of me, smiling brightly as she stared me down.
"Student, what's your name?"
She held the mic to my mouth. Every eye in the auditorium was on me. My stomach churned a bit. Clearing my parched throat, I finally spoke.
"Do Seon-woo."
"Yes, Do Seon-woo! You were sleeping so soundly—could you explain the outcome of the Holy War?"
She beamed. Giggles leaked from the students.
Damn, I should've just toughed it out even if I was tired. Sleep's not worth this...
A fleeting regret passed.
"After countless sacrifices, Romanica emerged victorious. The second Voodoo Cult leader and prophet were executed. The Voodoo Cult was officially branded a cult, and the Papal Court continues searching for the third cult leader, who's still hiding somewhere. Right?"
Fortunately, I could answer. The instructor looked surprised, and a murmur of admiration swept the snickering students.
"Do Seon-woo got it exactly right! Guess there was a reason you were dozing off!"
She said it with a mocking edge, then returned to the stage.
"The third Voodoo Cult leader, hiding somewhere. He's still plotting evil schemes from the shadows. Thus, the Papal Court..."
She droned on with trivia about the third leader this, the Papal Court that. Soon, the lecture ended. Yawning, the students rose and filed out of the auditorium.
With the "Lecture on Proper Historical Awareness of the Holy War" concluded, the entrance ceremony was over.
*
On the alleyway home. A burst trash bag lay under a utility pole, red graffiti covered the walls. A bleak sight that soured the mood no matter where you looked.
I trudged along, taking in the familiar desolation. This was the only way home.
As the clear sky turned red with sunset, I spotted a man slumped under the trash-strewn pole. A tin can sat in front of him. The usual legless old beggar in the same spot.
Without a word, I pulled a ten-thousand-won bill from my wallet and dropped it in.
"Th-thank you so much..."
The old man bowed low, forehead nearly touching the ground. I waved it off and hurried away.
[You're really blowing money like it's nothing.]
Two burly men approached from afar, both wearing white uniforms emblazoned with yellow crosses. Local Holy Knights, by the look of them.
Spotting me, they quickened their pace.
"Kid, you come through here often?"
The bigger, rougher-looking one addressed me.
"Uh, yeah."
"Yeah? Ever see anyone posting flyers like this?"
He pulled a sheet from his pocket. Rainbow gradient background, illegible creepy font. Slogans like "Join the Voodoo Cult, Get a Free Tablet PC." Voodoo propaganda flyer.
"No, no idea."
"Huh. What about ones like this before?"
"First time today. Voodoo Cult still around?"
I put on an innocent face. The knight smiled kindly.
"Pretty much gone these days. But with flyers like this, it's hard to say completely."
"Ah."
I nodded lightly. He narrowed his eyes, staring intently.
"Florence student?"
"Yes. Freshman this year."
"Nice. Might see you around, haha. Work hard."
"Thank you!"
I bowed politely. He waved back with that same kindly smile.
Once they were out of sight, I wiped the cold sweat from my temple with a handkerchief.
[Perfect acting, every time. Blood can't lie, huh.]
I ignored the voice in my head. But the more I did, the louder it got.
[How long you gonna keep ignoring me?]
[That lecture was full of holes. Romanica's propaganda skills are enviable. Got a lot to say about it.]
"..."
I walked on silently. Soon, I reached home.
Endless, pitch-black stairs that sent chills down my spine just looking at them. Down these lay our house.
I descended slowly through the darkness, rummaging in my bag.
[Four things the instructor said that weren't true.]
"Yeah, I know."
Found it. I pulled out a mask and dusted it off. A faded skull mask, reeking of bone.
[One. Loa aren't petty ghosts. We're the noble spirits of the Voodoo Cult.]
I donned the mask, checking the fit.
[Two. The cult leader and prophet never killed anyone.]
[Three.]
"The Voodoo Cult leader died, but the prophet survived. She's imprisoned in the Papal Court's underground prison."
I finished for him. Then I shed my uniform into the bag and changed into prepared clothes. Down the stairs again.
After a long descent through the dark, the end appeared. A door, light leaking through the cracks.
[And four.]
I opened it and stepped through.
"Waaaaaaaaah—!!"
A roar like screams erupted. All directed at me.
"Our Voodoo Cult leader has finished his schedule and arrives for worship!"
I took the mic from the priest. Ahem.
[The third Voodoo Cult leader isn't plotting evil or as bad as they say. More like a softie who gives alms to every beggar he sees.]
I gripped the mic.
"Believers, have you been well? It's your cult leader."
"Waaaaaaaaah—!!!"
The cheers shook the earth.
[But he's also the madman who's both Voodoo Cult leader and a Florence freshman.]
The voice in my head cut off.
Its owner was Legba, a Loa. Sometimes called gods, spirits of the Voodoo Cult with godlike powers.
My father was the second cult leader. My mother, the prophet who commanded Loa.
But Father was gone, and Mother was locked away.
"Let us begin today's Voodoo Cult worship."
I am the third Voodoo Cult leader—and the Loa prophet.
The head of those branded heretics in this world.
(To be continued in the next chapter)