Right and Wrong
Right and wrong. Yeah, I did it. I inflicted suffering on the members of the Holy Knight Order, created to defeat the Demon King. I gave them trials, made them writhe in adversity. I crushed Yuria's dominant right hand—the one she mainly used as knight captain—in the hinges of an iron gate. I locked the shieldbearer Ruen in a dark, cramped space for a whole month, conditioning her to panic in terror whenever her vision was obscured. I set fire to the flame mage Sorena's body, imprinting a trauma that crippled her spellcasting. I destroyed the saintess Rose's hearing, silencing her from God's voice. I was the "villain." But I was the Holy Kingdom's high priest. With immense power at my command, I toyed with the Holy Knight Order through cunning mockery and traps, yet I never lost my life. Yeah, just my life. Limp. He hobbled up the windy hill, staggering. Half a year after being ousted from the high priest's seat, Mass let out a hollow chuckle. No, I didn't do it. All I did was look the other way for a short while. They needed trials for growth. I rescued them as quickly as possible after they'd endured enough suffering. I didn't want to burden them with unnecessary trauma. Yet the Holy Kingdom's elites dragged me out like that. They twisted my achievements in saving them, morphing it into me being the one who inflicted all those trials. They branded me their torturer. They feared I'd seize the kingdom's highest seat by riding their power. Regrettably, their followers fabricated evidence, and the heroines felt profound betrayal toward me. Rage took root in them. Consumed by vengeance, they punched and kicked the villain I'd become. They sought me out after my fall from grace, swinging clubs at me. The wounds from repeated beatings never properly healed, scarring over instead. At least, as God's chosen high priest, they spared my life.
God's choice. He gazed up at the sky. If I hadn't been a mere "possessor," none of this would have happened in the first place.
"Is this... right?"
The story was over. It should have ended that way.
There was a work called The Heroines of the Holy Oath. It told the tale of exceptionally talented women forming the Holy Knight Order to vanquish the Demon King. Though straightforward in structure, it gained a certain popularity for rather lowbrow reasons. Namely, the holy knights endured trials tantamount to outright torture. The readers of this story loved watching the holy knights roll in the dirt. The author, aware of this, argued that to slay the Demon King, the Holy Knight Order had to overcome trials and adversity to elevate their divine power. Thus, the knights were reduced to utter wrecks in agony, but each overcame it in their own way to ultimately defeat the Demon King. The problem lay in how they gained that power: through a blatant deus ex machina. In other words, without those trials and suffering, they couldn't acquire the strength to face the Demon King.
Mass, having possessed the high priest, knew this all too well as one of the readers. That's why he could only stand by and watch their pain to the necessary extent. He did rescue them before it was too late. But he was always spotted at the scenes of their suffering, which tripped him up and left him vulnerable to the Holy Emperor's schemes. Mass was no longer the priest they trusted.
Drip. At the small cabin atop the cliff, Mass poured water into a teacup, lost in thought.
Guess there's no helping it now.
It had been half a year since he'd been holed up here. He'd lived quietly, barely breathing, just to fade from people's memories. Now it was time to start living a normal life. The Demon King must be gone by now.
Good thing I know this world better than anyone.
He'd had to help them defeat the Demon King to save the world—and himself. But now, all his time was his own. The surveillance guards who'd once come to the cabin no longer appeared. They'd confirmed he was a cripple with no will to live, so they saw no need for thorough watch.
First things first, fix this damn leg.
To begin his journey, healing his leg came first. Wandering the world on a limp was too hard.
Alright then...
His pack was ready. No one would come looking if he vanished now. He was just the weakling cast out from the pack. As he shouldered his bag and opened the cabin door, that's when it happened.
"!"
Mass spotted a long red carpet drawn on the ground. Not a real carpet, of course—it was a magic formation crafted from mana. One set by knight captain Yuria to sprint toward her target at maximum speed. Running atop it doubled her velocity.
"They found me?!"
Just as he tried to flee from the cabin, Yuria, the knight captain, came charging as if she'd anticipated it. Her long blonde hair shimmered like light as she raced forward, her fierce wall eyes narrowed. In a flash, she closed the distance to Mass.
"Wha...!"
Expecting an attack, Mass threw up both arms. But what followed wasn't a furious beating.
Whoosh!
The sword she thrust stopped right before his nose. Its sharp edge gleamed in his eyes. The belated shockwave grazed his body, sending his hair shooting up at an angle like wind-tossed reeds before settling.
"Mass."
Still holding her sword aloft, she asked him, "If I kill you now, would you hold it against me?"
So absurdly.
Not long ago, after the Demon King's death, the saintess Rose regained her power to hear God's voice. And the moment the Demon King's suppressive force vanished, she heard it.
You have committed an unforgivable sin.
The God who had "chosen" rebuked Rose. Why had she abandoned His chosen one? He had watched over their trials to grant them the strength against the Demon King, rescuing them at just the right time. His role was immense in ensuring they completed their feats without excess pain—and even without lingering aftereffects. God conveyed that Mass had shared their mental anguish through so many prayers of distribution that he'd vomited blood.
"Everyone, what I'm about to say must never be revealed to anyone."
She shared God's words with the group. Naturally, the four warriors leading the Holy Knight Order each faced their own shock.
"Mass wasn't the culprit...?"
Ruen ruffled her short green hair, twisting her lips in a grotesque snarl. Sorena stood silent, devoid of her usual chatter. "A lie," said Yuria, the only one denying it. As Mass's childhood friend, she'd felt the deepest betrayal. That betrayal had turned her into a demon. Even as the holy knight captain, she could no longer trust humans properly—and she blamed Mass for making her that way. She refused to forgive him. She beat him day after day, treating him inhumanely, deeming him an unpardonable sinner. It was the only pillar keeping her heart from crumbling.
"You must have misheard."
Rose's face turned icy at Yuria's words. "God does not deceive us."
The voice she heard was absolute. Even after regaining her hearing, the spread of the Demon King's miasma had silenced it temporarily. It started right when Mass was branded the villain. Everything had aligned perfectly to demonize him—now revealed as manipulation. But Yuria refused to accept it.
"No way."
Yuria snatched up her sword. She couldn't stand still any longer. As she stepped forward, she declared, "We didn't do wrong."
"Mass, I asked if you wouldn't hold it against me."
Yuria didn't lower her sword. She demanded an answer from him. Clutching his bag strap, Mass balled his fists.
She can't hold back from killing me anymore?
But he couldn't accept that. Because he was wronged. He'd done it all to save the world—and ultimately, his own life. Who would yield their life willingly?
"And if I wouldn't?"
This time, his response wasn't gentle. Unlike when he'd endured the beatings before, Mass declared, "You really gonna kill me?"
"Maybe."
Yuria's face held no emotion. Mass sighed at her demeanor.
I was too naive.
Time would dull their interest, he'd thought. But she'd waited for him to run, seizing this chance for revenge under the pretext of slaying a fugitive. He loosened his grip on the strap.
"Do whatever you want."
No answer mattered anyway.
"Even if I said I was wronged, you wouldn't listen."
Resigned, he spat it out. He had no confidence in persuading the madwoman before him. Among the four Holy Knight Order members, Yuria had been the most violent. Even as blood sprayed and flesh tore, her brow never twitched. She was a devil incarnate—enough to make Mass regret his choices.
"One last thing."
He ground out the words.
"I regret saving you."
His sole act of defiance.
"From the bottom of my heart."
No reply came. Yuria stared at him, sword still pointed. Mass didn't look away either. An indescribable tangle of emotions passed between them.
"...I'm."
Then, Yuria murmured.
"Wronged."
Her sword tip trembled faintly. Mass closed his eyes, thinking the moment had come. But no blade carved into him.
"So... you be wronged too."
Lifting his lids, Mass saw Yuria gritting her teeth. Blood welled from her lips as if she'd chewed her own mouth raw. Her eyes were bloodshot from the pain—but not with rage.
"Be wronged. Please."
Unable to continue, she turned away. The red carpet on the ground vanished. Leaving Mass alone, her mind echoed with his words—regret replacing the injustice.