The Fracture in the Holy Church
The moment the black crescent moon mark appeared on Professor Beltran Ross’s arm, the conference room transformed into an entirely different place. Until just moments ago, it had been a committee meeting room—a space for interrogating students, examining evidence, and assigning responsibility. But not anymore. The instant the Black Moon’s mark was revealed, this place became a battlefield.
“Beltran Ross.” Rhea Silverrian’s voice was as cold as ice. “So you’ve been hiding the Black Moon’s mark while posing as a Holy Church professor.”
Beltran looked down at the black blood flowing from his arm. The wound Siella had carved wasn’t deep. Strictly speaking, if it had been an ordinary human arm, blood would be pouring out and he would be screaming in pain. Instead, something like black ink seeped from inside Beltran’s arm. The moment it touched the floor, it writhed like tiny insects and scattered.
“Hiding it, you say?” Beltran laughed. “Faith has always been something one keeps within.”
“You call that faith?” Siella pointed her sword at him. “To me, it looks more like a curse.”
“The young lady knight is as simple as ever. Do you truly believe everything can be solved with a swing of your blade?”
“No.” Siella’s golden eyes gleamed sharply. “But I do think cutting out your tongue would at least make you quiet.”
Aria remained silent. She was staring at Beltran—shock, anger, and betrayal all flickering across her face. As a candidate for sainthood recommended by the Holy Church, the organization was more than just an institution to her. It was the place that had raised her, taught her, and given her the title of saint candidate. A place she was supposed to believe in. Perhaps even lean on. And now, within that very Holy Church, Priest Rowen had vanished, and the mark of the Black Moon had appeared on Professor Beltran’s arm.
Aria’s fingertips trembled. I saw it. But she did not step back. After acknowledging whom she would choose within the B-7 cathedral illusion, Aria was no longer someone who simply suppressed her emotions. She asked quietly,
“Professor Beltran.”
Beltran’s gaze turned to her. His eyes were still gentle. That only made it more repulsive.
“Yes, Saint Candidate.”
“Was it you who corrupted Lord Lucas’s holy relic as well?”
Beltran did not answer. Aria’s voice dropped slightly.
“Was Priest Rowen connected to the Black Moon too?”
“Saint Candidate,” Beltran said with a smile, “you still think far too cleanly of the name ‘Holy Church.’”
Aria’s eyes wavered.
“What do you mean?”
“The Holy Church has known for a long time. This world follows a predetermined flow. The path by which a saint becomes a saint, a princess remains a princess, the protagonist awakens as the protagonist, and the villain falls as a villain should. Every path has meaning.”
Beltran’s gaze shifted to me.
“That includes your death.”
I steadied my breathing and glared at him. The pain from the black smoke still lingered around my neck.
“So my death had meaning too?”
“Of course.” Beltran answered far too easily. “Kyle Diaren’s downfall was necessary. Your fall was a device for the growth of several characters, a catalyst to restore order within the academy, and the first stepping stone for the protagonist to prove his justice.”
“You’re calling the death of one person a stepping stone.”
“If one is a villain, shouldn’t they at least fulfill that much of a role?”
The air in the conference room grew colder still. It was Rhea’s chill. She spoke quietly.
“Your words are being recorded.”
Beltran turned his head. The imperial inspector had already activated the recording stone. The magic department professor was analyzing Beltran’s mana reaction, while Professor Graham rested his hand on the table, ready to seal off Beltran’s movements. Yet Beltran showed no sign of panic. Instead, the corner of his mouth curled upward as if he had been waiting for this.
“Record it if you wish. It will become meaningless soon enough anyway.”
A black pattern bloomed beneath his feet. A circle, and within it a crescent moon, along with five severed lines. The moment I saw it, my body stiffened. It was the five connection lines I had seen in B-7—Aria’s light, Siella’s sword, Rhea’s crown, Edan’s nameless sword, and my black lion.
Beltran had drawn those connection lines in a torn state.
“Redefining connection lines,” Beltran murmured. “A positive phenomenon. It proves the story has been greatly shaken. But shaken lines can be severed again—more strongly, more painfully.”
Noel narrowed his eyes.
“So cutting the lines wasn’t your goal after all.”
Beltran looked at Noel.
“As expected of Ignis’s observer.”
“Your real goal is to redefine them. To forcibly rearrange the lines that have changed around Kyle according to what the Black Moon wants, right?”
“Half correct.”
Noel clicked his tongue.
“How annoying. Such an ambiguous answer.”
Beltran’s black pattern spread across the entire floor of the conference room. The imperial inspector shouted,
“Activate sealing magic!”
Golden barriers rose along the walls. At the same time, the magic professor layered a violet seal over them, and Professor Graham leapt over the table toward Beltran. But Beltran did not move. Only his lips did.
“First rearrangement.”
The black pattern stretched toward Edan.
“A choice for the protagonist.”
In that instant, the floor beneath Edan darkened. I shouted reflexively,
“Edan!”
Edan immediately raised his sword. His reaction was swift. But the pattern could not be cut by a blade. Black light climbed up his ankle, stretching his shadow long. From within the elongated shadow, voices echoed.
Believe in Kyle Diaren.
Doubt Kyle Diaren.
Save him.
Abandon him.
If you are the protagonist, choose.
Edan’s face hardened. He gritted his teeth.
“That line again.”
His sword tip pointed downward.
“I already gave my answer.”
The blade sliced through the black shadow. But this time, the shadow did not vanish. Instead, new patterns bloomed from the cracks.
Beltran spoke.
“A choice is not made only once, Edan Gray. A protagonist must choose in every scene.”
This time, the black line turned toward Aria.
“Second rearrangement.”
Beltran’s voice lowered.
“Guilt for the saint.”
Aria’s holy arts lit up instantly. But the black line did not attack her holy arts head-on. Instead, it burrowed into the mark left on her wrist—the lingering trace of the holy art connected to me.
Aria swallowed a breath.
“Kyle…”
I tried to move toward her, but Rhea’s chill moved first. Blue ice severed the black line.
“Do not lay a hand on the saint candidate.”
Rhea’s voice was low and cold. Beltran laughed.
“So the princess protects the saint candidate. How beautifully twisted.”
“I’m tired of hearing the word ‘twisted.’”
Rhea raised her hand. Blades of cold air materialized on the ceiling.
“The predetermined flow you speak of no longer holds any authority.”
“Since when has the crown sided with the villain?”
“You’re mistaken.” Rhea’s eyes gleamed coldly. “I stand on the side of my own judgment.”
The blades of ice rained down. Beltran’s body appeared to freeze. Yet his form melted like black ink before reshaping itself.
“You still don’t understand. I am not my true body here.”
Noel spoke at once.
“A clone. No—a partial projection using the Holy Church professor’s body as a medium.”
“Correct.” Beltran’s laughter deepened. “The human named Beltran Ross accepted his role long ago. What stands here now is merely a voice performing that role.”
“Then where is your real body?” Siella asked.
Beltran did not answer. Instead, the third line shot toward Siella.
“Proof for the knight.”
Siella’s eyes narrowed.
“Fine.”
She did not dodge. The black line lunged for her wrist, trying to pierce her with the same fear of being unable to wield a sword that she had faced in B-7. But this time, Siella did not waver. Instead, she lowered her sword. For a moment, the entire conference room seemed to freeze.
She reached out with her empty hand toward the black line.
“Do you think I’m only a knight if I hold a sword?”
The black line coiled around her wrist. But in that instant, red mana bloomed from Siella’s fist.
“I learned this in B-7.”
She grabbed the black line.
“Even without a sword, I am still myself.”
With a tearing motion, Siella ripped the black line apart with her bare hand. Black afterimages scattered through the air. Beltran’s expression twisted for the first time.
“How strange.”
Noel laughed.
“Right? This is exactly what you people hate. A character clearing a growth event in a way other than the original protagonist’s method.”
“Silence, Ignis.”
“I don’t want to.”
Noel snapped his fingers. A violet magic circle connected the ceiling and floor of the conference room simultaneously.
“I learned something too. Those who observe story structure are the ones most easily bound by it.”
“What are you—”
“I found your projection path.”
The smile vanished from Beltran’s face. Noel’s magic circle seized his shadow.
“Kyle, now!”
Why did it always fall to me to move at the very last moment? Yet my body had already reacted. I drew my sword. My side ached. My mana circuits felt as though they might tear apart. But this time, I did not move alone.
Aria’s holy arts wrapped around my wrist. Rhea’s chill steadied my blade. Siella’s sword pressure shattered Beltran’s defenses. Edan’s sword severed the black patterns on the floor. Noel’s magic circle bound the projection path.
I drove my sword not into Beltran’s chest, but into his shadow. The black lion emblem glowed faintly.
“You said the villain’s role was necessary.”
I gritted my teeth.
“Then I’ll overturn the board like a proper villain.”
The blade pierced through the shadow. Beltran’s body convulsed. Black smoke burst from his mouth. The black patterns on the conference room floor shattered into pieces.
Beltran staggered backward.
“Kyle Diaren…”
His voice had changed. It was no longer that of a middle-aged man, but a lower, more distant voice echoing from somewhere deep.
“The longer you live, the greater an error you become.”
“I’ve heard that before.”
“That error will eventually kill those around you.”
“Heard that too.”
“And yet you still intend to endure?”
I exhaled heavily. My sword tip was still trembling.
“Yes.”
I said,
“I have to graduate, after all.”
For a moment, Noel burst into laughter.
“Wow, that line? In this situation?”
Siella chuckled as well. Aria smiled with a face that looked ready to cry, while Rhea’s lips curved ever so slightly. Edan spoke quietly.
“A fine goal.”
Beltran’s face twisted.
“The next scene has already begun.”
With those words, his body crumbled into black ash. Yet before it completely vanished, he left one final message.
“On the second day, during the escort mission, the saint candidate will be forced to choose.”
Aria’s face hardened.
“Me…?”
“Everyone will see whom the saint saves first.”
Beltran’s body fully collapsed. Silence fell over the conference room. The Holy Church professor’s physical form lay on the floor. Once the Black Moon’s projection had left him, he hung limply, unconscious. The mark on his arm remained, but the black energy was fading.
Professor Graham spoke with a grim expression.
“Professor Beltran Ross will be detained immediately. The Holy Church must prepare an official explanation.”
The imperial inspector also rose from his seat.
“The imperial family will investigate this matter directly.”
The faces of the Holy Church professors had gone pale. Aria stood quietly, staring at the spot where Beltran had disappeared. I approached her.
“Lady Aria.”
She looked at me.
“The escort mission on the second day.”
“It’s likely a trap.”
“Probably.”
She slowly clasped her hands together.
“But I already said I wouldn’t run.”
I met her eyes. There was hesitation, but no desire to flee. Then Professor Graham addressed us.
“The schedule for the second day of practical training will proceed as planned.”
“Even in this situation?” I asked. The professor nodded heavily.
“Canceling it would only play into the Black Moon’s hands. However, the mission details will be changed.”
“To what?”
The professor set down a document. Written on it was the name of the second-day mission:
Escort of the Holy Church Delegation
Aria’s face stiffened. Edan drew a quiet breath, while Rhea’s gaze turned icy. Siella picked up her sword once more. I looked down at the document.
The Holy Church delegation. Aria. The Black Moon. And a choice.
The second day would be far more dangerous than the first. And this time, it would not be an illusion—it would be a stage set in reality, watched by the entire academy.