Chapter 554: Asceticism
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 554: Asceticism
"This tea isn't bad."
"Isn't it? This is spring tea from the Holy City—world-renowned."
In a desolate stretch of woods on the outskirts of Belland.
After a brief exchange of blows that had leveled nearly everything in the vicinity, the two world-renowned powerhouses realized neither could best the other. Instead of continuing, they sat opposite each other, acting as if they hadn't a care in the world.
Since fighting wouldn't yield a result, they might as well drink tea.
"Tea is good. Drinking tea is good for the mind and body—much better than all that senseless killing. We should have done this ages ago."
Archbishop Canterbury shook his head with a sigh of feigned sentiment. He brushed back his tattered sleeves and gestured toward their surroundings.
A faint, holy radiance shimmered across the fields. From the scorched, barren earth, fresh green shoots quickly poked through the soil, transforming the dull brown landscape back into a vibrant, living green.
"But, speaking of which..."
Canterbury took a leisurely sip of his tea and asked, "Where is that little girl who’s always by your side? I didn't see her this time."
The campfire flickered violently. A sudden, expansive chill caused the newly sprouted buds to wither against the ground, as if cowering in terror at the death they were forced to face so soon after birth.
The chill and killing intent lasted only a heartbeat. Indra King casually brushed the porcelain dust of his crushed teacup from his hands. He lowered his eyelids, his expression devoid of joy or sorrow.
"Why ask? Didn't your Church refuse to save her?"
"I’ll correct you again: it wasn't that we were unwilling, but that we were unable."
Archbishop Canterbury sighed. "The world always blames those with the power of salvation for these desperate situations. 'Why won't you save them? Why won't you help? What right do you have to refuse?' I’ve heard those words countless times. But even for us, the saviors who spread the Goddess’s gospel, there are things beyond our reach."
"That girl is one of those things. An unprecedented case of Atavistic Beast Blood clashing with an incredibly fragile human body. That conflict will never cease until one side utterly crushes and consumes the other. There is simply no way to make them compatible. When you last came to us, wasn't she already at death's door, tortured by the beast blood in her veins? If not for us, she would have died then."
"I paid the price. That was a fair exchange."
Indra King remained seated in his ascetic’s posture, his hollow eyes showing no emotional fluctuation.
"As for her... if you couldn't save her, I had to find someone who could."
"Someone else? Impossible. Currently, the only way to delay the beast blood in her body is—"
Canterbury suddenly froze. His mind raced as a realization struck him.
"I see... The rumors in the Lower District about a strange medicine... I see. I should have realized sooner."
Canterbury’s expression turned piteous. After offering a devout prayer to the Goddess, he asked, "Is this truly for the best?"
"What do you mean, 'for the best'?"
"Setting aside the microscopic success rate, being subjected to that... the girl must be in agony. Even if she has no sanity left under the erosion of the beast blood, that pain is very real."
Archbishop Canterbury shook his head. The thought of that bone-deep, marrow-sucking agony made even his skin crawl, let alone imagining it inflicted on a little girl.
"Pain... perhaps."
Indra King, sitting as still as a statue, finally shifted slightly. He looked down at the untouched bowl of wild vegetable soup beside him.
Even during the fierce battle just now, not a single drop of soup had spilled from the bowl.
In the reflection of the liquid, he could almost see a tender, smiling face. But as the ripples settled, all he saw was his own grim, lifeless expression.
"But life is full of pain, isn't it?"
Indra King spoke in a low voice, as if answering the Archbishop, or perhaps convincing himself. "It is like crossing a sea of sand. We do not know when we will reach the oasis of salvation, but if we die before then, even that last shred of hope vanishes. Therefore, as long as one can stay alive, no amount of pain is too much."
"As long as one can stay alive... no amount of pain is too much."
Archbishop Canterbury chuckled. He spread his magnificent but tattered sleeves and leaned back, looking up at the starless, moonless black sky. He remarked sardonically:
"Heh. That kind of selfish bullshit... sounds exactly like something a brain-damaged ascetic like you would say."
*
"The source of... the beast blood?"
Muen whispered with a hint of pity.
As the stitches on the little girl before him tore open, revealing even more limbs of powerful magical beasts, her appearance became increasingly hideous and terrifying.
Though he didn't know her origin or why she had become a test subject for the Inner Council’s research, Muen could feel the agony she must have endured just by looking at the dense scars where she had been sewn together.
Was her incessant crying because of that pain?
"In that case, stay still. I’ll... set you free!"
The sound of stacking thunder roared again. Without hesitation, Muen raised his hand and struck!
A brilliant blade energy illuminated the night. The terrifying slash tore through the hardened scales on the bear-shaped claws, nearly severing them at the root.
Blood-red threads extended once more, pulling the severed claws back together. As the girl whimpered in pain, she let out a strange roar—a cacophony of countless magical beasts blended into one.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
The rhythmic, drum-like heartbeat sounded again. A massive amount of blood essence was greedily siphoned through those red threads.
The wounds healed at a visible rate. As the absorption accelerated, the red threads—and even the girl herself—became visibly excited.
However, that excitement was short-lived. Her dinner plate was suddenly empty.
Or rather, someone had snatched it away.
The girl even stopped crying for a moment. Her twisted face turned toward Muen, displaying the raw fury of a child whose food had been stolen by a mean adult.
"I didn't want to use this if I could help it."
Muen adjusted his top hat, allowing the pitch-black flames, flickering with a holy outer glow, to leap from his sleeves. They incinerated everything they touched—flesh and blood-red threads alike.
This was the Holy Fire. This was the Black Flame.
Deep within Muen’s pupils, a Pale Crown Pitch-black Sun began to rotate, majestic and slow.
The sun cast only a sliver of its residual power into the world through Muen’s eyes, yet it seemed to make the entire world grow a shade darker.
"After all, with my current realm, it’s still far too difficult to manifest something so far beyond my level."
In Muen’s original plan, he intended to hold back some strength as a final trump card regardless of the danger. After all, his primary mission tonight was to ensure the First Prince’s safety.
But now that he had encountered this source of beast blood, whether out of mercy or cold logic, there was no reason to let her leave alive.
Thus, Muen risked exhausting his spiritual power to reveal the Black Flame.
In moments like this, Muen found himself deeply missing that Wilted Guy—the one he had cuckolded to his face. Back when he used that god’s Divine Blessing, as long as there was no risk of being caught, he could use it however he pleased. It wasn't his power, so he didn't care about the cost.
But now that he was the master of his own house, he realized how expensive the "groceries" were. Now that manifesting these terrifying authorities required his own strength, Muen finally understood what a shitty experience it was to try and drive a massive rig with a tiny motor.
Still, Muen knew the difference between a gift from others and something that belonged entirely to him.
Complaints aside, from the moment he had been schemed into obtaining this power, Muen had never stopped trying to grasp it firmly in his own hands!
Now was the time to see the results of his labor.
Muen took a deep breath. His massive spiritual power plunged into his consciousness space, and he began the grueling task of forcing that pitch-black sun... to grind forward.