TBR CH53

The god knew very clearly that he was not Tal.

That pomegranate-red-eyed little demon had died a thousand years ago, alone, without companions, and never rescued.

But sometimes, Edwin made him feel as if he had not forgotten.

Tal had existed in the world, had once existed, and now, he still did in a sense.

The torrents of time acted directly on the soul rather than on the body. He did not consider himself someone who liked reminiscing about the past, so he could only attribute it to the hidden side effects of manipulating time.

In moments like this, the god could not help but think of his past self.

No matter what, Edwin was now standing at the door, like a statue, not even his pupils shifting slightly. Tal knew that he feared everything he was about to see. And yet, he still held expectations. He longed for guilt, for remorse, for compensation…

He longed for love.

Because people said that familial love was supposed to be natural, but he had never received it.

The sunlight slanted across the garden of the house in front of them, while Edwin stood under the doorway, shrouded in shadow. A thousand years ago, on a certain day, there had been such beautiful sunlight as well—

Under the sunlight, the pomegranate-eyed demon had slyly and nimbly evaded the guards’ sight, breaking into the most heavily guarded royal city. The closer he got to the location agreed upon with that lady, the more his heart ached with an indescribable sourness. Back then, he had clenched his hands tightly, his palms sweating, not even daring to make a sound with his footsteps.

He had lingered at the alleyway, afraid to step into the trap of fate, yet ultimately, he had fallen deep into it.

That was… many years ago.

The god could no longer remember too clearly, for he had spent an incalculable time within the bottle. Now, he only had an impression of the outcome, and the outcome had been the worst of all the possibilities he had envisioned—though the demon had long suspected it.

But at that time, he had been truly, truly, truly heartbroken.

Through the demon’s translucent, pale red pupils, the god gazed intently at the bishop’s expression, from his tense jaw to his damp, dark curls, as if studying a particularly intriguing riddle.

The bishop was feigning composure, scrutinizing the ordinary residential house before him with the same wary expression he would use for the most dangerous, evil creatures. His expression was so extreme it almost made one suspect that this was the lair of some terrifying monster, requiring the strongest light magic to suppress.

But, of course, it looked nothing of the sort. In fact, faint sounds of children’s laughter could be heard from the garden.

Edwin’s hand clenched unconsciously, as if trying to grasp something. But there was nothing in his palm. He faced his past alone. Whether deliberately or not, he did not ask Tal for help.

When he pushed open the door, his fingers did not tremble, moving like the most precise instrument. The hem of his coat swayed slightly with the motion. He no longer pressed his lips together; a slight gap remained between them, though he still appeared impenetrable. From his eyes, it was evident—he had built the strongest defenses to protect himself, determined not to be shaken by any emotions.

The god cast a sighing gaze upon the bishop.

He was braver than he had imagined—at least, braver than he himself had been back then.

So… offering a little help could be understandable.

Tal silently moved forward from behind the bishop, his black leather boots tapping lightly against the ground, his soft hair brushing past Edwin’s cheek, until the demon stood directly in front of the bishop, blocking the entrance.

Edwin’s pupils shrank slightly. Yet the demon before him merely seemed to be playing cute, reaching out his hand toward him:

“Edwin,” he said, “don’t forget me.”

After only a second’s hesitation, Edwin took the hand the demon offered.

Tal’s body temperature was comfortably warm. The bishop sighed soundlessly, his grip tightening uncontrollably.

This was his…

This was, in truth, the first thing he had ever possessed, something that would never leave him—his tameable demon.

The demon wiggled his arm. “You’re hurting me.”

Edwin instinctively loosened his grasp on Tal’s fingers, his own hand momentarily stiff and uncertain of how to adjust his strength to something appropriate.

But Tal curled his fingers, one by one, around the bishop’s left hand.

“This is fine. Let’s go.”

*

What kind of man was Edwin’s father?

As a young child, he had woken up countless times from the depths of dreams. Like all children his age, he had longed for affection from his parents, and like all abandoned children, he had imagined what they looked like.

But Edwin knew that “filthy blood” flowed through his veins.

The nuns and priests had told him—aside from his succubus mother, his father must have been a vile, shameless, utterly degenerate man. A human who had consorted with a demon, left behind offspring, and then dumped the burden onto the monastery.

…And yet, even so, that would have been fine.

Once, a child in the monastery had been taken home by his father. The man was burly, his beard yellowed, looking like a drunken, unkempt wretch. But when father and child embraced, a pair of young gray eyes in the crowd had stared at the scene with greedy, envious longing.

What did an embrace feel like?

The young Edwin yearned for it, clutching tightly the medal he had been awarded by the nuns for his excellence. The sharp edge of the medal cut into his skin, but he did not care.

He would trade a hundred medals for it.

Even if his father was a thousand times worse than the drunken man before him, it would not matter—he could be better than all the other children. He had always been the best.

So take him home.

—But Edwin had long since discarded such foolish wishes.

At some point, his only desire had become to climb higher. That ambition had reforged his once-soft bones and heart, casting his flesh anew. It had rid him of meaningless emotions, allowing him to find fulfillment in wealth and power.

The meaning of his life was not to seek that empty, illusory thing called love.

This had made him strong, ambitious, poised to strike. He was a self-aware fool. Even if he had started with nothing, he would pluck the golden apple at the very top.

His father’s image grew ever blurrier. Occasionally, he would think—that man must have been selfish, foolish, a coward unwilling to take responsibility.

Until today.

For the first time, he saw the man.

Inside the courtyard was a small garden, though most of it was planted with vegetables. This was how commoners lived.

In the garden, two boys were chasing each other, playing. Their faces were carefree, their gazes pure. Their clothes were old but clean.

The older boy was probably around ten or so. In their tussle, he accidentally used too much force, causing the younger boy to stumble and fall, letting out a playful scream before bursting into tears. He scrambled up and ran to the middle-aged man watching them with gentle eyes, clutching at his sleeve, sobbing as he tattled on his brother’s misdeeds.

The middle-aged man bent down and effortlessly picked up the child, checking his body and gently soothing him by whispering in his ear. Then, he called the older boy over. The boy who had caused the trouble was somewhat reluctant, but his father’s firm gaze gave him courage.

So, he muttered under his breath and stepped forward, speaking softly:

“I’m sorry, Dad, I didn’t mean to.”

The younger boy quickly stopped crying, showing a victorious expression, but when his father gave him a mildly reproachful glance, he also understood what he needed to do.

His father set him down, and he bounced toward his brother like a cheerful little deer, giving him a quick hug as a sign of forgiveness.

Then, they both clung to their father, pleading for him to put aside his work and play with them a little longer.

The man helplessly pulled both boys into his embrace, smiling as he comforted them, as if he were holding the most precious treasures in the world.

Such a happy, perfect family.

Until the man finally felt the weight of an intense gaze. He turned his head and saw the young man in a black robe, his face pale, his gray eyes dark like fog, staring at them without blinking.

His entire presence was completely different from that of commoners—he had the aura of someone who had long dwelled in high places, noble and distinguished.

He was undoubtedly very dangerous.

The man’s face turned deathly pale as if he had suddenly realized something. He immediately shielded his two children behind him, his expression both humble and fearful as he addressed Edwin as “my lord,” inquiring about his purpose and begging him not to harm his wife and children.

Tal thought Edwin’s hands felt even colder than before.

The bishop offered a gentle smile, the kind that was entirely official, devoid of any personal emotion. His deep gray pupils shifted slightly, not even resembling human eyes:

“A pleasure to meet you,” Edwin said. “I believe we need to have a conversation.”

“Please…” The man could barely form coherent sentences. “Please don’t harm my children. You can do whatever you want to me. I… I will offer you anything, as long as they remain safe.”

What a great, loving father.

The two boys, still shielded behind their father, had yet to grasp the situation. They trembled and whimpered softly, clinging tightly to his sleeve. To them, he was the one who shielded them from storms, a figure capable of blocking all misfortune. And right now, they still believed in that.

A woman rushed out of the house. She was like an open book—one glance was enough to tell that she was the kind who would devoutly attend Sunday prayers and treat all her neighbors with kindness.

At this moment, however, the mother looked on in horror, covering her mouth to stifle a scream.

Her gaze was desperate—if given the chance, she would have traded places with her children without hesitation, shoving them into the safety and warmth of their home like frightened chicks.

Such sincere, selfless love.

Tal felt as though this entire scene had been orchestrated by fate, as if it were a tragic family drama designed to play out before Edwin’s eyes. Each act was rich in emotion, perfectly displaying a harmonious family.

If only the head of this household weren’t the same man who had abandoned Edwin twenty years ago, perhaps it would all seem more genuine.

Not that the emotions themselves were inauthentic—there was no doubt about the man’s determination to protect his wife and children.

But that determination only made the situation more ironic, as if all of Edwin’s years of suffering and loneliness were nothing more than a joke, melting like butter in the warmth of a happy family, as if they had never happened.

“I…”

Edwin hesitated. He wasn’t trembling in the slightest; he looked more unshakable than ever. Only his voice had deepened, like velvet scraping against marble, making a faint, raspy sound.

And his fingers tightened once more.

But this time, Tal said nothing. He simply let Edwin grip his hand tighter and tighter, his nails pressing hard against the back of his hand. Fortunately, the bishop took good care of them, so they didn’t break the skin.

The bishop’s smile didn’t fade in the slightest.

“I only need to speak with you,” he said to the man. “And until our conversation is over, I promise no one will be harmed.”

It still sounded just as terrifying.

But a father’s duty ultimately pushed the man forward. He reached out to gently ruffle his children’s hair, then turned to face Edwin with the demeanor of a man ready to meet his fate. At the same time, he watched Tal warily from the corner of his eye.

The demon blinked at him, pretending to be harmless.

“If you don’t mind, please come inside to talk.”

The man spoke in a weary voice as he opened the door. The house’s furnishings and decor made it clear—this was a simple yet happy home, not the kind that welcomed those who sought to destroy its peace.

But wasn’t that laughable?

Even though he was the one in control of the entire situation, Edwin still felt ridiculous, utterly absurd.

The man’s eyes were also gray—gray like dust, something so insignificant it wasn’t even worth mentioning.

He was surprisingly direct, even catching Edwin off guard:

“I know why you’ve come,”

Even as he spoke, his tone remained respectful. “My lord, I… I am very sorry. But whatever you ask of me, I will do it. I only beg you—please don’t harm my children, don’t harm Sarah. Just… please, I beg you, don’t tell them the truth. I will remain silent forever.”

“You knew…”

Edwin murmured. The realization made him feel dizzy. “You knew all along.”

He refused to look at the man, his gaze hesitating as it drifted around the room. This was a warm, happy home, filled with the small traces of daily life. It was clear they had lived here for decades.

At the same time, the head of this household had always known about him.

His own flesh and blood had grown up just a street away in the monastery—completely ignored.

“You don’t have to acknowledge me,” the man said cautiously, sensing Edwin’s change in mood.

“My lord, please believe me. I would never do anything to hinder you. I am a sinner who has made terrible mistakes. For all these years, I have lived with deep regret. I simply lacked the courage to face—”

“Enough.”

Edwin spoke calmly.

He had not come here to listen to a man’s tedious confession, especially not from someone who watched him so warily—like an ant staring at a colossal being that could crush it at any moment.

His gaze finally found a stable resting place.

It was the only pair of eyes in the room that he could tolerate—bright, garnet-like, and beautiful. They belonged to a demon.

Seeing that Edwin intended to stand up, the other man was clearly gripped by panic, unable to utter a single word, only murmuring, “God… ah.” And at that moment, the spokesperson of the God of Light, the high-ranking Archbishop of the Church of Light, placed his hand on his scepter.

If the man had been completely ignorant, perhaps there would have been a chance to spare his life. But his so-called father knew everything perfectly well. Edwin knew he had to eliminate all traces—just like that gray-haired man from the past, who had served as a warning.

Patricide was a grave sin.

But that man was not his family—just someone who had abandoned him.

Even now, in the murky reflection of the man’s gray pupils, he saw not a son but a monster. He feared him, revered him, kept his distance, regarded him as something other, something inhuman—shunning him, yet kneeling in worship.

Enough. Edwin tried to extract a single clear thought from the chaos in his mind. He felt an exhaustion that seeped from his very soul. Blood ties, after all, still had an effect on him. There were moments when his mind went blank, when he wanted to stop thinking altogether.

Let it all end now.

And then…

Suddenly, the door burst open, as if a gust of wind had swept in. The little boy who had been crying moments ago after being shoved by his older brother rushed into the room. His young, innocent eyes glared at Edwin in fury as he stood in front of his father, stammering:

“Bad—bad man! You can’t hurt my dad! My dad is a good person!”

For a moment, the man’s eyes widened. His reaction was shockingly swift—he reached out and yanked his child behind him. As if his mere body could serve as a shield, as if flesh and blood alone could block the Holy Light that Edwin wielded. He did not understand that the Light was omnipresent, seeping into every crevice.

Edwin closed his eyes for a brief moment.

The man pleaded, “Your Grace, I have never revealed anything. Please, spare my child.”

Even the thought of it exhausted him.

Among all those present, only Tal could see how fragile Edwin’s mind had become, teetering on the edge of collapse. The others still believed him to be invincible, ruthless, and unyielding.

The father and son clung to each other as if the world were about to end—an inseparable bond, the greatness of paternal love.

But there was a child who had never had a father. He stared at the scene before him with gray eyes, unable to comprehend it.

Twenty years of slow, slicing pain finally arrived as expected, pressing down on Edwin once more.

Those children, he thought bitterly. They were born into the world without having to do anything, and they received an unquestionable, irrefutable love.

But he had run for twenty years, and still, nothing in his hands could be firmly held.

“Edwin,”

Tal’s voice was gentle, as if afraid to disturb his dream. “Be gentle.”

The demon simply sat behind him, watching everything unfold.

Edwin seemed utterly composed, but only Tal, whose fingers were tightly grasped in his, could sense his uncontrollable trembling. And if his body grew any colder, something would surely go wrong.

The father and son shrank under Edwin’s silence, wondering how the archbishop would decide their fate.

Tal felt as though his hand was being squeezed past the point of endurance.

“Be gentle,”

The demon murmured, reaching out to touch the archbishop’s hair. He was drenched in sweat, but it was cold. Edwin looked at him as if waking from a dream. The archbishop had been staring at him all this time—anyone else, he found unbearable to face.

Right. Edwin thought.

He could have something.

He had to grasp his fate tightly, like a precious gift.

Tal.

The demon’s soft strands of hair fell around him, his eyes bright, allowing himself to be held as he tried to offer comfort.

This was his.

A sudden, inexplicable feeling tightened around Edwin’s heartstrings, followed by a firm and undeniable thought.

He looked at Tal as if he had just received his first Christmas gift.

And this Christmas gift had not fallen from the sky—it was something he had pursued for years, something he had obtained through his own efforts.

No one could take it from him.

Not even Tal himself.

Not even the gods.

Even gods could not peer into the human heart, so Tarksius could not fully understand Edwin’s sudden, unfathomable change in expression. He only sensed that Edwin had finally shed a part of the heavy burden he had carried for so long.

The archbishop turned back to the father and son before him, placing his hand on his scepter.

The scepter shone with a dazzling, brilliant light. Edwin wielded the power of Light with absolute mastery.

Under the pure white Holy Light, nothing could remain hidden.

The middle-aged man held his child tightly, tears falling as he pressed a kiss to his forehead.

Yet when their vision slowly adjusted from the overwhelming brightness, everything returned to its original state.

He was still alive.

He immediately checked his child. The boy’s wide, innocent eyes gazed up at him, his small heart still beating—slow, steady, and unfazed.

“Thank you… thank you…”

Edwin looked at the man groveling at his feet.

His biological father.

This was the end.

“I have placed a binding spell on you,”

The archbishop’s voice was calm and unquestionable. “If you ever try to reveal what you know, the child in your arms will die. Today, no one visited your home. You know nothing.”

It was a risky spell.

Edwin himself was not entirely sure what he was thinking. Erasing all witnesses would have been the safest course of action. But perhaps this was enough. Just as the man had erased him from his life, the archbishop could gradually erase his bloodline from his regrets.

The sin of patricide was one to bear for a lifetime, and Edwin had no intention of granting this man such an honor.

Perhaps he had hesitated, after all.

He could not bring himself to destroy another’s life the way his own had been ruined.

At the very last moment, his father lifted his head, looking up at the child he had abandoned over twenty years ago—now a man he could only look up to, someone who wielded a power he would never be able to touch.

Finally, he felt a flicker of hesitation—but mostly, it was self-reassurance.

The man murmured:

“You… you’re doing well, aren’t you? I am so sorry I abandoned you back then, but now… now you’re famous, outstanding. This was the right choice—”

He suddenly fell silent.

These words were not for Edwin.

They were for himself.

He desperately tried to cast off his guilt, convincing himself that his abandonment had been justified—that twenty years of neglect had been perfectly acceptable.

The archbishop left without hesitation, without a second of reluctance.

Tal obediently rose at the pull of his arm, and in the agonizing silence, the man did not even dare to ask who it was that held the archbishop’s hand.

He had seen the demon’s glowing red eyes.

And he was terrified.

It was a fruitless journey.

All the way back to the church, Edwin did not say a word.

He looked unwell.

The demon thought—he should have stopped that man from speaking those last words sooner.

“You’re doing well, aren’t you?”

Too self-righteous. Too justified.

Edwin was reduced to a symbol, a mere achievement, his existence summarized by the archbishop’s title—everything else ignored.

The man who abandoned him had found his excuse, lightly admitting his mistake, then marveling at the beautiful flower that had grown from it.

If it had been up to Tal, that man would already be dead.

Even if he wasn’t a bad person, even if he had two children to raise, even if everything seemed perfectly happy, the one who shattered this happiness was destined to be steeped in sin, misunderstood. The Dark God didn’t care about such things.

A god only cared about his current subject of observation.

From the moment Edwin returned, he forced himself to sit at his desk. His back was straight, seemingly unshakable, his emotions undisturbed. He took out a parchment and began recording important information—complex magic arrays, obscure clues, things that could easily fill his mind.

Until the quill suddenly tilted, and a large blot of ink stained the scroll.

The bishop froze, watching as the ink continued to seep from the pen’s shaft. He had gripped it too tightly, snapping the tip.

The carefully maintained illusion was suddenly shattered. He lowered his head and stared at the mess.

The young demon had silently approached from behind, his black boots making no sound. Tal reached out to touch Edwin’s eyes. The bishop flinched but did not pull away.

His exposed neck revealed a weary curve. His forehead was burning like a branding iron, while the rest of his body was damp and cold. The fever had broken through his defenses. He was exhausted.

“You…”

The demon’s hand moved down slowly, and Edwin neither stopped him nor made a sound. He was like a sculpture at his desk.

Slender fingers covered his eyes, feeling them gently before silently withdrawing.

“Edwin, have you… been crying?”

He didn’t think his situation was miserable enough to warrant tears, but Tal was right.

The bishop touched his eyes in confusion, then quickly withdrew his hand as if burned.

Wet. His gray eyes were veiled in mist, like the haze over a bay.

“I…”

He murmured, and the demon took his fingers, gently prying them open to reveal the tears hidden within.

“Crying isn’t good for the human body.”

Was he too fragile? Edwin wondered. Yet, deep inside, he longed for warmth—something he had never sought before, something he thought he didn’t need. But now, just a little warmth, and he would surely melt like softened butter.

The roses Tal had picked were still on the bedside table, exuding a rich fragrance.

At this moment, in an ordinary household, someone would have been there with him, asking if he was sick, if he needed treatment.

How laughable—he could wield holy magic himself.

“Tal,”

The bishop spread his hands. The sky outside had darkened, and the newly risen moon flickered in the quiet night. Of course, he wasn’t truly alone—this place was never without people—but no idle passersby would approach the White Tower at night. Even the doves had been taken away by their caretakers.

At this moment, before him stood a demon.

A demon he had summoned, who had answered his call. His crimson eyes were like those of a famished beast, watching him hungrily.

At least, for this one moment, something belonged to him—something beyond wealth and status.

“Tal, Tal,”

Edwin wasn’t even sure what he was saying. “Stay within my sight. Do not leave.”

“Is this a deal?”

Demons were an infuriating race—calculating, exacting payment for everything they provided.

Tal was especially so.

“Yes.”

He was tired, like a candle burning too quickly, flickering in the wind. The bishop sat quietly at the desk.

The young demon seemed to lean toward him in the dim shadows.

Tal had beautiful hands. Now, those hands rested against Edwin’s forehead. Even the demon was surprised by the heat emanating from him.

“You’re sick,”

He sounded almost puzzled. “Shouldn’t you call… what do you humans say—a doctor?”

The bishop gazed at him quietly, his pupils deep and still like windless sails, gray and indifferent:

“I’m just a little tired, that’s all.”

Yes, this was just the latest exhaustion in his long climb upward. Even if it confused him more than anything before, he only needed to rest—and not for long.

He was tired, that was all. He just needed a little…

He couldn’t quite grasp it.

“You need a hug,”

The demon seemed to sense an opportunity, his hand trailing from Edwin’s forehead to his hair, ready to strike another soul-bound bargain.

A hug—how strange.

He recalled the ordinary family he had seen during the day—the two boys laughing and playing, then, after a quarrel, throwing themselves into their father’s arms before solemnly embracing each other again to restore peace.

Just thinking about it made the base of his little finger begin to burn, and soon, the warmth spread through his entire body.

Hugs carried warmth.

He was sick. He needed warmth. That was entirely reasonable.

Just like the warmth from Tal’s hand as he stroked his hair. The demon simply, gently, and patiently ran his fingers through Edwin’s brown hair. Hair, of course, could not block anything, yet there was an odd tenderness to it, a warmth that drifted from the strands all the way to his eyes.

He couldn’t help but turn his head. The bishop was still dressed in his robes, their intricate patterns making him appear holy and luminous.

“Tell me the price.”

He was prepared for the demon to name it—perhaps something costly. Even if it was a small piece of his soul, he could accept it, Edwin thought. If sacrificing a single fragment from the countless shards could keep him from falling apart, then so be it.

However, Tal was the shrewdest merchant in the world.

When the young demon leaned forward and embraced him, the bishop had no time to react, caught off guard as he was pulled into an intimate gesture, held by something alive. He heard the demon’s vivid heartbeat and felt the comforting warmth radiating from him.

There wasn’t even much direct skin contact, yet the bishop still felt a strange trembling in his heart.

He had never experienced such simple, uncomplicated, all-encompassing physical contact before. It was as if every emotion he carried could be dissolved in the arms holding him. He felt he could fall forward without hesitation, knowing he wouldn’t collapse into the wind of dawn.

Something could be released in a hug. Because he knew that even if he gave up all strength, someone would still catch him, carefully gathering him as something precious to be kept safe.

Tal’s voice sounded close to his ear, like a rose. The bishop’s gaze wandered around the room before landing on the bouquet by the bedside, and for some inexplicable reason, he made a comparison:

“This one’s free,” the demon said, his voice sweet, as if laced with honey.

“A complimentary gift, just for you.”

How could this be?

Though he was supposedly the lucky recipient of a promotional offer, the bishop had already foreseen his own ruin.

Tal was a clever businessman. He knew just how easy it was to become addicted to what he sold.

A hug was entirely different from desire—it seemed to have a purer core. It meant offering yourself, withholding nothing from another person.

Edwin felt his slow-beating heart melting in the embrace. He didn’t know why his heart was racing, only that it trembled with unfamiliar emotions. Clumsily, he reached out to return the hug, his fingers resting against the demon’s waist—a touch so intoxicating, it felt like selling his soul.

Now, he was someone who had been embraced.

Would this ruin him with desires he should not have?

The bishop wondered. He feared he would continue to squander what little he had left, returning again and again to demand more from the demon.

Perhaps he was destined to fall into the flames of Hell. He thought this sorrowfully, then tightened his hold, pressing his head against the demon’s neck, breathing in the rich, sweet fragrance of roses clinging to him.

But even if he had to trade his soul for this embrace, it was astonishingly worth it.

Edwin had no intention of stopping, so neither did the demon. He only felt the bishop’s thick, dark curls nestling against his neck. The human he had set his sights on had once again pulled himself back from the brink of breaking. Tal indulged him greatly.

Gods did as they pleased.

And if a god wished to spend a night soothing a human soul, so be it.