Scribe of the Cursed Scripture (1)
Scribe of the Cursed Scripture (1)
Johan hurried out the door.
He was heading to meet his birth mother.
‘I have a mountain of questions.’
His mind was flooded with inquiries, but the priority was clear.
He had to find out about the demon she had intercourse with.
That creature must be Johan’s biological father. Depending on what kind of existence that demon was, Johan’s path ahead could change dramatically.
A wave of tension rose in him.
What he was about to hear would greatly impact his future.
Johan took a deep breath. Before he knew it, he had arrived at a corner room on the third floor of the lord’s castle.
This was a secluded spot within the castle, rarely visited by others—his birth mother was in seclusion here.
Johan knocked on the door.
At the same moment, the door slowly opened.
A small, frail woman with reddened eyes looked at him.
The moment their eyes met, Johan blanked out a little. He had so many questions to ask, but suddenly, nothing came to mind.
He stood frozen, his lips tightly sealed.
In the strange silence, his birth mother spoke first.
“……You’ve grown so much.”
Her voice was low with sadness but surprisingly clear. Though she looked as if she might cry at any moment, there was life in her expression.
She was different from before.
Her mind had returned.
The widow who had wandered in a daze was gone—only a mother worrying for her child remained.
She gently stroked Johan’s cheek.
“I’m sorry. Please forgive this useless mother of yours.”
Johan didn’t know how to respond. Having grown up in an orphanage, the concept of a mother felt unfamiliar to him. He had no manual for dealing with such a situation.
Even her affectionate gaze felt completely alien.
Johan instinctively stepped back.
Her hand, still resting on his cheek, shrank back awkwardly.
“……I was thinking only of myself again. I’m truly sorry.”
Her voice trembled with guilt.
What on earth was he supposed to say to her? He couldn’t figure it out.
All he wanted to do was escape this unfamiliar emotion and situation.
He blurted out something—anything.
“Is, is your body doing okay?”
Perhaps it was an unexpected question, because the woman looked at him with surprise. Then, she gave a very faint smile.
“My child, you don’t need to worry about this mother. I know there’s something you truly want to ask, but all I can say is that the time isn’t right yet.”
“……I only want to know who my father is.”
“There’s a prohibition upon his name. Please understand.”
A prohibition was a pact etched into the world itself—a law unspoken but absolute.
If such a ban was placed on someone, even uttering their name could mean death.
As things stood, there was no way to identify his biological father.
Disappointment clouded Johan’s expression.
The woman spoke with sorrow in her eyes.
“There’s only one thing I can tell you right now. Beware the Scribe of the Cursed Scripture. He will come to you soon and place you in a trial.”
The Scribe of the Cursed Scripture—Kaiaze. Anyone who had read the Inmalog knew of the infamous great demon.
Kaiaze was the one who had created and overseen the original version of the Cursed Scripture, recording all the sins of the world. Even Chapter 1 of the scripture stored in the Forbidden Archive was his work.
At the mention of Kaiaze, Johan couldn’t hide his shock.
“Why would Kaiaze come looking for me?”
“He’s holding onto your cursed scripture.”
“You mean to say he’s going to hand it over to me……?”
“That’s right. You are the rightful owner of Chapter 13. The moment you made contact with the original manuscript, your existence was likely revealed to the lower realms.”
In other words, Johan was now unmistakably the Thirteenth Apostle of the End.
He looked straight at his birth mother.
“How much do you actually know?”
He couldn’t bring himself to use the word ‘mother.’
“A little more than the tip of the iceberg. But this is the extent of advice I can give. Let me say it again—be careful. Kaiaze is far more vile and savage than you can imagine. If you fail to win his approval, you will suffer greatly.”
Johan already understood Kaiaze’s true nature.
He was a beast of hell, infamous for his brutality.
The moment he looked down on you, apostle or not, you became nothing more than prey.
“Can you specify when he’ll appear?”
“It could be today or tomorrow. But one thing’s certain—you don’t have much time left.”
Johan felt as if he had been struck with a hammer.
‘Today or tomorrow?’
If that great demon manifested within the lord’s castle, every plan Johan had would go up in smoke.
The kingdom, the empire, the Holy Nation—every major power of the world would fix their eyes on the Miyatro Territory.
Johan was not yet capable of handling that level of attention.
He turned quickly.
‘I have to leave the territory as soon as possible.’
Kaiaze must not appear in the Miyatro Territory—under any circumstances.
Just as he was about to leave, he turned back toward the woman.
“One last thing I want to ask…….”
But he never finished the sentence.
Her eyes had turned cloudy.
She had lost consciousness again.
“Hah.”
A bitter laugh and sigh escaped him at once.
It was frustrating—and painfully heavy in his chest.
He didn’t need these feelings before such a major ordeal, but it was hard to shake them off.
‘Focus on Kaiaze for now. Everything else comes later.’
Steeling himself, he spoke.
“I’ll come back later. Until then, take care of yourself too.”
With that, Johan left the room.
He planned to grab only the bare minimum from the Forbidden Archive and leave the territory.
***
Darkness had fallen. With a curfew in effect, the lights that had once lit the streets vanished one by one.
The Miyatro Territory was swallowed by the dark.
The only light that remained was the church, glowing faintly under the absorbed moonlight.
Shaferia looked down at the village church from her guest room in the lord’s castle.
“Saint Marziel, please grant me an answer.”
She traced the sign of the cross with her fingers.
In the past, that gesture would have summoned holy light, illuminating a pentacle in the dark—but no longer.
Her sign of the cross failed to take form.
Because it held no divine power.
A prayer without divinity could not reach the Great Saint.
‘Should I find a priest to pray on my behalf?’
Offering prayers on behalf of laypeople was one of a priest’s primary duties.
That’s why nobles always kept priests by their side.
Shaferia had been asked to do so several times before herself.
That was no longer relevant now.
She traced the sign of the cross again.
‘It must be His will. Even if I lack divine power, I must not forget my duty.’
Even the lowliest of people could love the Great Saint. They too had a place in the religious order.
And had she not received the Great Saint’s grace before? Surely this hardship was a trial for a purpose.
If she focused on her role, she would one day receive the Great Saint’s call once more.
Now was the time to focus on the task at hand.
Shaferia let out a long sigh.
She was supposed to be investigating the knight Rail, but it was too vague of a mission.
After the Cursed Scripture incident, the Church’s investigation team had left the territory, leaving her alone to dig into clues about Rail.
Naturally, she had found nothing.
Baseless speculation was all that remained.
‘Nothing’s clear.’
Every recent event surrounding her had been shrouded in mystery.
The appearance of Apostle Beris, the sudden angelic awakening, the disappearance of divine power, the reactivation of the cursed scripture, and the bizarre appearance of a Gakgwi. The Gakgwi especially deepened her confusion.
‘What was that thing?’
A demon with snowy white horns in its adolescent form. She still vividly remembered how it treated Apostle Beris like a pet.
Even a Gakgwi—just a demon—had demeaned an apostle in such a way. It was completely beyond comprehension.
And that wasn’t all.
That demon had spared her life.
It could have easily killed her, but simply left.
No demon would act like that in such a situation.
Because their goal was singular.
Human extinction. If given the chance, demons would always kill humans.
But that one was different.
‘Did it say it didn’t want to dirty its hands?’
It had spared her with that ridiculous excuse.
She had reported it to the Church, but received no meaningful response.
They simply designated it as “White Horn” and said they would proceed with investigations.
‘……White Horn.’
If she met it again, she would demand the reason herself.
While lost in such thoughts.
Suddenly, a deafening thunder rang out.
Startled, she rushed to the window.
And was struck with horror.
The night sky was tearing open.
Through the ripping darkness, a scarlet afterimage raced by.
A booming roar poured down to the earth.
Space was being slashed and clawed—screaming in agony.
Shaferia’s pupils dilated wide.
“What now……!”
Every other day, a new disaster unfolded.
This time was no different—it felt ominous.
Was the end truly beginning?
An overwhelming sense of crisis engulfed her.
Her breath quickened uncontrollably.
Intermittent roars gripped her heart.
For a brief moment, her mind blanked out.
And then—from distant places—pillars of divine power surged into the sky.
Churches, dioceses, monasteries—all places that detected the abnormal phenomenon lit their beacons.
They were calling for support.
As if responding to the call, divine powers flared across the southern regions.
Countless clergy moved into action.
Clusters of light chased the crimson afterimage streaked across the night sky.
Shaferia couldn’t remain idle.
She quickly made preparations.
Even without divine power, she would use consecration to fight.
Her conviction and resolve remained strong.
They might break, but they would not bend.
Shaferia promptly left her room.
***
Unlike gods, demons demanded concrete prices for wishes.
If one wants fertile land, the veins must flow with red blood. For a bountiful harvest, human flesh and entrails had to become fertilizer.
As long as the price was paid, the reward was guaranteed.
Rich soil, fast-growing crops, yields far beyond the norm—with the sacrifice of a few, all could be happy.
One deal with a demon was more effective than a hundred prayers.
Those who experienced it couldn’t help but worship demons.
Dafone Village, a small farming community, was one such example.
They cultivated land flowing with milk and honey through human blood and flesh.
Today was their harvest prayer day.
They had prepared peddlers and slash-and-burn farmers as sacrifices for the demon.
That was only a few hours ago.
Now, most of the villagers lay face-down on the cold ground, turned to fertilizer.
The crops would grow, but there was no one left to reap them.
“What a waste.”
Illea picked a ripe apple from a tree.
Her silver hair and pale skin were stained the same color as the fruit.
She took a bite of the apple, then rummaged through the pile of corpses.
A pitch-black book emerged.
It was a copy of the Cursed Scripture.
“Not that it means much.”
Illea took the scripture. Just as she was about to leave, a terrible roar shook the heavens and earth.
The night sky was distorting.
Between the rifted space, an overwhelming presence surged by.
After confirming its speed and trajectory, Illea drew a faint arc.