20. Placing Trust in the Priest
Amon and the children finally decided to trust the Squinty Priest. With interests aligned so clearly, it was reason enough to believe. Only after sensing that he'd earned Amon's trust did the priest let out a sigh of relief.
"Follow me. I'll guide you to your siblings."
The priest wiped his glasses and called a taxi. His own car had already gone to the Lord's side. Amon offered a brief prayer toward the priest's departed vehicle before climbing into the taxi.
Fortunately, the nuns and the children were safe. Thanks to the holy knights, they were protected securely within the cathedral.
"They won't dare storm in here easily—not even Hickzen Group."
This upright cathedral lacked the corporate-level fortifications or perfect barriers of a megacorp, but it had religion as its shield. And that shield was far sturdier than any half-baked defense system. Religion's influence might not be what it once was, but spitting in the Vatican’s face would still get you branded a heretic in a heartbeat. Sure, a company ruthless enough to attack an orphanage might not care about that—but that attack had only been possible because the orphanage was powerless. To Hickzen Group, raiding a simple orphanage was something they could cover up with minimal effort. But not here. This cathedral belonged to the archdiocese. In the hierarchy of the Goddess's faith, it ranked just below the Vatican itself—untouchable without consequences. If Hickzen ever touched this place, cover-up would be impossible; they'd be forcing a head-on clash with the Vatican. That was why the priest was certain they were safe as long as they stayed inside.
"Rest easy and recover from your travels today."
The priest handed Amon and Sonia spare bedding. The two bowed politely to him before rushing to their siblings and the nuns.
Not even blood-related, yet...
Watching them, the priest smiled warmly. After sending them off, he turned and climbed the stairs to his own room, where his nameplate hung.
[Gregory]
Entering the room, he sank onto the sofa, yawning and rubbing his face. The priest savored the silence alone. There was nothing waiting for him at home anyway, and he'd promised to protect the orphanage children—so tonight, he was on duty. He grabbed two blankets—one for his upper body, one for lower—and tossed them onto the sofa. He shed his cumbersome priestly robes and changed into casual clothes. Without bothering with his phone or web surfing, he sat at his desk reading the Bible. Hours later, he set it aside and slumped on the sofa. Rubbing his fatigue-heavy eyelids, he bent down to untie his boots. He placed them neatly aside and began massaging the soles of his feet with his fingers. Then he sniffed his fingers, grimaced, and recoiled in disgust. If anyone who knew him saw this everyday, down-to-earth side, they'd be stunned. But with no one else in the room, he felt no shame.
"Quite the relatable, everyday sight, Father."
...
He was supposed to be alone. The priest whipped around, half-expecting a ghost. But it wasn't a specter staring back—it was a very much alive person. And worse, someone who knew him.
"Fu—ck!!!!"
Whether from Amon's sudden appearance, the embarrassment of being caught in such an undignified moment by someone who knew him, or both—the priest rolled right off the sofa in a frantic expression of his shock.
Thud-crash!
"Aigoo, my poor back..."
Fortunately, nothing was hurt. His tailbone throbbed, but not enough to call it an injury. Patting his lower back, the priest hauled himself up. Instead of snapping at Amon for startling him, he plastered on a beaming smile. "What brings you here?"
Was this professionalism, or was the priest just that good-natured? Amon pondered it briefly before asking what was on his mind.
"Do you swear sometimes, Father?"
The priest's eyebrow twitched.
Of course, doctrine didn't outright forbid priests from cursing. Even saints had hurled insults like "son of Satan" or "whore's spawn" when needed—priests weren't exempt. But image mattered. A priest spreading the good word couldn't afford a foul mouth; it looked bad. Like a chef smoking—it might not affect the food, but customers would feel uneasy. Cursing was that for a priest.
His eyebrow twitching, the priest racked his brain for an excuse. None came, so he changed the subject.
"So, what brings you here?"
"Hey, answering a question with a question..."
"What. Brings. You. Here?"
Amon relented with a awkward shrug, going along with the blatant deflection.
"I wanted to discuss Hickzen Group."
At those words from Amon's mouth, the priest walked to his desk and slipped a hand underneath.
Click.
A tiny click—far too faint to notice amid conversation. Amon glanced around, but detected no change.
"You won't feel it. That's the point of the soundproof barrier. Speak freely now."
Amon looked around curiously before trusting the priest and getting to the point.
"Share what you know about Hickzen Group."
"Don't you already know from your precognition?"
"Big stuff like their goals or beliefs, sure. But not details like security systems or employee profiles."
Those aren't in the game's lore.
Swallowing the unspoken thought, Amon met the priest's eyes squarely. The priest understood the implications: security layouts, staff profiles, shift schedules. Even in the Vatican, only a select few requested such intel.
'Heresy Inquisitor...'
Or, in other words, the Vatican's shadow blade. Where holy knights punished heretics openly in the light, inquisitors operated in the dark as assassins. And now, such a request came from Amon's lips. The priest had to tread carefully.
"Are you... planning to get your hands dirty?"
Amon nodded calmly. The priest could only press his forehead in dismay.
He understood the sentiment. After the attacks on him, Sonia, and the orphanage, Amon's patience must have snapped. Especially since Amon and Sonia were destined for the Vatican someday—they couldn't protect the orphanage forever. So, turning to offense for the best defense made sense. But ideals and reality differed. In truth, Amon was still a novice who couldn't reliably kill even one of Hickzen's elite ninjas. Sneaking into their HQ? He'd end up captured and turned into a lab rat.
'Amon wouldn't be that reckless...'
That was the issue. The priest knew Amon wasn't the hot-headed type to charge in blindly. He wasn't suicidal. Instead, the Amon he knew would stay cool-headed, plotting revenge while his blood boiled. So, rather than refuse, the priest made it conditional.
"Tell me your plan. If it sounds reasonable, I'll give you everything I have."
Amon blinked in surprise at the condition, then steeled himself.
"Fine. But I need your assurance you'll cooperate with what I tell you."
The priest agreed without a second thought. But as Amon laid out the specifics, he regretted it instantly.
"How do you know that?"
Amon's plan contained information he had no business knowing. The priest couldn't confirm it himself, but it rang undeniably true.
"How do you know about erased history?"
Wrestling ghosts teaches you things whether you like it or not. One is history's contradictions. Veteran exorcists—and similar holy knights or priests—knew the Bible's records held inconsistencies. Yet they never aired them. They just labeled them "erased history" and hushed it up. The priest knew it existed but not the details. He never expected Amon to spill them. And they fit perfectly, resolving every contradiction—no way it was fake.
"Who are you...?"
The priest had to grapple seriously. Who was this man? Friend or foe? Should he be left alone? Report to the Vatican? Seeming to sense his turmoil, Amon gave a wry smile.
"Is that really the priority now? I don't know what erased history means to the Vatican, but rest assured—I have no intention of challenging papal authority."
Weighing Vatican stability against loyalty to Amon, the priest hesitated. Normally, he'd choose stability. But for some reason, he wanted to honor his bond with Amon. Amon had trusted him with secrets; reporting him would betray that. Besides, this was as good as confession. Betraying a penitent's words would strip him of his priesthood. So, he let it slide.
"Understood. A promise is a promise."
The priest stood, handing Amon a USB drive. Amon pocketed it in his coat and bowed.
"Thank you."
"Good luck."
Business done, Amon slipped out the same way he'd entered—through the window. Only then did the priest realize how he'd snuck in. Amon vanished into the night. Staring after him, the priest recalled the plan.
If feasibility's the only metric... it's entirely viable.
With Amon's abilities, it could dismantle Hickzen Group. No—only Amon could pull it off. But divorced from feasibility, the plan was utterly reckless.
Is Amon unafraid of death?
The priest couldn't help picturing it: the zealot's gaze, unshakeable faith that God would shield him from death. Only such arrogance could birth a death-defying scheme. With a wry smile, the priest spread his bedding, mulling how to keep Sonia at the cathedral as Amon had asked.
And the next day.
"Miss Sonia?"
"..."
"Miss Sonia? Care to say something?"
"...You knew?"
Under Sonia's fierce glare, the priest spilled everything without thinking.
"If you're asking if I knew... yes, I did."
"Then why didn't you stop him?!"
"Haha... well..."
He couldn't say it was necessary—not while Amon's plan was still in motion. A slip-up here could endanger him. But failing to explain the current mess would put Amon in danger another way.
Why'd he leave me to explain?!
The priest met Sonia's eyes. The light was gone; one wrong word, and she'd fetch a kitchen knife or axe. He glanced down at the phone screen she thrust at him. It showed Amon strolling arm-in-arm with a brothel madam.
Why pick on me?!
Today, too, the priest suffered.