TBR CH76

The development of the Dark Church proceeded as smoothly as expected—or rather, Edwin had preemptively resolved all potential obstacles. New churches sprang up across this long-yearning land, open to all regardless of race, age, or talent, where anyone could engage in equivalent exchange.

The god demanded no faith, set no limits on growth, and required only perfectly fair recompense. A fully self-consistent system governed this, with strongholds established across the continent. Moreover, Archbishop Edwin declared that respect and awe for the new god were paramount, for it was He who brought this new power into the world.

Tal’s footsteps echoed on the gleaming obsidian floor. The young demon stood beneath his own statue, scrutinizing it carefully. Before he could offer any judgment, the empty temple suddenly resounded with the rustling of pages.

A book with a hard black cover inexplicably materialized from the air, its pristine white pages flipping rapidly. Tal casually grabbed the black book, catching sight of the words written on it:

“The statue looks very much like you, but at first glance, it still feels a bit odd.”

“Of course,” Tal replied. His crimson eyes gleamed with a clarity and richness like fine wine—something no statue could ever capture. “The statue is merely a symbol. It resembles me but is entirely different, just as worshippers never truly understand their gods. Fortunately, people no longer bow to a mere stone.”

“I’ve heard the Light God’s power has weakened considerably,” new bold words appeared on the black book.

“Oh, that’s what he deserves,” Tal said carelessly, tapping the page with his finger. The black ink trembled slightly, and the Dark God pretended not to notice the book’s hint of grievance.

“You’re not about to lecture me on nonsense like the balance of the world’s fate, are you? I haven’t even asked—how are things going on your end?”

The black book was the embodiment of the world’s consciousness, naturally concerned with the world’s balance. In this realm, the Dark God had strength but lacked the power of followers, perfectly counterbalancing the Light God, achieving harmony between light and dark. But now, the Light’s power was clearly waning, shifting the dynamics.

However…

The black book wisely chose to stay silent on this matter.

The dynamics had changed, but not necessarily for the worse. As the Light God’s radiance dimmed, scattered glimmers began to sparkle across the continent, gradually connecting into a starlit expanse that could sway and illuminate most places. Miraculously, these new sparks of light were born from the power of darkness. As they grew, the darkness deepened in turn.

It was as if a fertile soil had been provided, where both light and dark could freely flourish.

Though all these powers were still too faint at this moment, the world’s consciousness, for reasons unknown, was certain that if this continued, the seemingly fragile balance would endure more steadfastly than ever.

The black book cleverly convinced itself to drop the issue but had no choice but to address Tal’s next question:

“In fact,” ink spilled across the page as if hurriedly scrawled in defense, “I had everything prepared, and things were indeed progressing smoothly—”

“But there was an accident?” Tal interjected.

The world’s consciousness failed to catch the mischievous glint in Tal’s crimson eyes and grew more anxious to explain itself.

“It’s not our fault! I didn’t anticipate the system would be so ruthless—it even stripped the Child of Fate of their luck prematurely! So… so we were just this close to completely eliminating it, but we fell short by that much.”

It had seemed like Noah merely had a dream, but the system seized the chance to abandon him entirely. For a system and its host to become so estranged was something even the black book hadn’t foreseen.

Noah, who prided himself on his cleverness, ended up outmaneuvered.

In hindsight, every decision he made afterward was a mistake, each struggle pulling him deeper into the abyss. Even the Light God’s priests, sent without tracking tools, came dangerously close to finding him multiple times, leaving him no moment to relax. Things wouldn’t have been so dire, but the complete loss of his fate’s luck stripped him of fortune.

“What are you afraid of?” Tal asked.

From this angle, the demon stood with his back to the statue, his identical crimson eyes and dangerously dark hair unmistakable. The world’s consciousness slowed its writing involuntarily, ink dripping at the edges of the letters, leaving water-like stains. Then, the black book gave up entirely, wiping all the words from its pages.

It wasn’t its fault, but Tal was undeniably terrifying and troublesome—

Guiltily, the black book recalled how it had confidently assured Tal that if the Dark God handled the Light God’s side, the system would flee, and its pre-set traps would resolve everything. It had worried Tal wouldn’t cooperate, but Tal executed his part flawlessly—only for the black book to fumble.

Tal sighed softly, gently tapping the page with his knuckles. For the first time, he set aside his sharp sarcasm and spoke candidly with the world’s consciousness, surprised he’d frightened it so much.

“We’re partners. Honestly, my earlier attitude wasn’t great either.”

Few could resist a demon’s sincere apology, especially under the gaze of those bright crimson eyes.

“If not for you, I might’ve had to destroy myself to stop that lucid descent. I owe you thanks. I believe you—this was just an unexpected hiccup. Overall, haven’t we still won? This partnership hasn’t been so bad. If you need my help later—”

Tal’s fingers paused, startled to feel a faint dampness on the page.

“You’re not crying, are you?”

The black book quickly stifled its near-tears, regret suddenly replaced by the satisfaction of being acknowledged—especially since Tal’s approval felt uniquely significant after everything.

It spun in the air twice, unaware that a book twirling midair was quite an amusing sight. Finally, it admitted awkwardly:

“I think you’re pretty great too. Though a fragment of the system’s divine will escaped, this world was a futile endeavor for it. It used all the fate it had gathered to fend off my attacks, barely escaping. Now, the stolen fate has been returned, and it’ll only grow weaker, making it easier to track.”

Tal’s lips curved into a smile. “Sounds promising.”

“You really are,” the world’s consciousness couldn’t help but write, “so different from the old Dark God. You still carry a god’s aura and wield a god’s power, but… you feel more alive.”

The black book sounded uncertain, but Tal understood.

A smile spread through the god’s dark-haired, crimson-eyed gaze as he looked toward the temple doors, where soft footsteps approached. Edwin’s pace was always this rhythm, etched into Tal’s heart.

The god said, “That’s because someone helped me find my true self.”

—

The Dark Church’s Archbishop had a special schedule. Per the newly established doctrines, Edwin was to accompany the god on a six-month continental tour each year, a deeply meaningful endeavor.

Now, Edwin had to fulfill his duty.

Clad in a black priestly robe, tailored to his usual restrained, ascetic style with countless buttons concealing most of his skin, Edwin returned from the church. He preferred such attire—disciplined and austere. He approached a secluded courtyard with familiarity.

The magical wards on the door offered no resistance to his presence. He turned the handle downward and stepped inside.

“Good evening.”

“Good evening,” Tal replied, his eyes sparkling like honeyed lamplight. The demon set down a device resembling a spotlight. Beside him lay a chaotic pile of similar gadgets, with a massive trunk by his leg, stuffed with various travel supplies.

Thankfully, they didn’t need to worry about luggage space—the trunk could shrink small enough to hang on a keychain. A millennium ago, Tal had longed to splurge on such a magical tool, and now it proved as convenient as he’d imagined.

“Clothes, bedding, toiletries, quills…” Edwin’s gaze drifted further. “Books, a tea set, and… is that a wine rack with ‘Cobalt Enigma’ mead?”

“There’s all kinds of liquor, actually,” Tal said, winking. “Edwin, picture this: a lonely night, surrounded by silent wilderness or a bottomless cave, rumors of werewolves or deadly curses. Don’t you want to try some exotic drinks with me? Travel and liquor go hand in hand.”

“…And barbecue?”

Next to the wine rack was a small mountain of foil-wrapped barbecue, steaming hot, preserved perfectly fresh by the magical device as if just placed inside. The intense aroma of rosemary mingled with the faint sheen of fat on the surface.

“Ah,” Tal said with a laugh, “you can have barbecue with drinks, but there’s so much here because Adelaide just stopped by to help pack. Remember? Our first stop is Dragonspine Ridge. He said he wanted to bring plenty of capital specialties back to share with his clan—and to apologize for his past behavior.”

“He hasn’t left yet?” Edwin asked, his gaze shifting slightly toward the next room. Beyond the thin door, the black dragon flinched, instinctively clutching his tail.

At the Dark God’s behest, Adelaide had dutifully served as Edwin’s training tool until his power grew beyond the point where sparring with him was useful. The black dragon clan’s elders had welcomed back the forgiven Adelaide and healed most of his wounds—their healing skills were impressive. Only his tail hadn’t fully recovered, as it had been severed in truth by the Dark God’s wrath.

Though Adelaide was earnestly reflecting on his actions, he displayed a commendable knack for remembering kindness over grudges. Vengeance wasn’t in his nature, and he still occasionally visited “his friend” Tal, politely knocking on the door. Half the time he was turned away, but he got in sometimes.

Compared to Tal, Adelaide feared Edwin more.

There was something stern and unapproachable about the Archbishop. Most of the time, he looked at him as if he were an object, and after days of being his sparring target, he’d endured real pain. So, whenever Adelaide saw him, he instinctively wanted to hide, sometimes blurting out, “Don’t kill me,” before his brain caught up.

A rare hint of exasperation flickered in Edwin’s pale gray eyes. Pretending not to notice the black dragon’s quickened breaths of fear through the door, he lowered his gaze and approached Tal. The demon had tied his glossy black hair with a ruby hairpin today, both for convenience while packing and, perhaps, to subtly captivate Edwin.

The Archbishop extended his hand, only for Tal to seize his fingertips, pulling him forward. Edwin half-willingly lost his balance.

He was enveloped by the rich scent of roses, a searing warmth, their hearts separated only by two thin layers of skin.

“You’re a bit late today—caught up with something?” Tal asked, casually brushing Edwin’s hair, soft to the touch and carrying the faint chill of the night outside. The embrace didn’t last long—they had preparations to finish for their departure tomorrow—but even a fleeting hug was sweet.

“Negotiated a deal with the Dark Elf King, Ansel,” Edwin replied.

He and the demon sat side by side on the edge of the bed, their hands inexplicably entwined due to their closeness. Tal pried open their clasped fingers, realigning them one by one just to find the most intimate grip, while Edwin patiently recounted the day’s events.

Ansel was a clever dark elf, but he suffered from the paranoia common among leaders. Edwin likened him to Prince Angelo—though a younger version.

Tal burst into laughter at the description.

People often praised the beauty of elves, and dark elves were no exception. Prince Angelo had been in his fifties when he died, but in Edwin’s eyes, the comparison held. The elven royal family always held themselves in high regard, believing their noble blood entitled them to everything—a trait Angelo shared.

“He questioned whether a human like me could serve as the Dark God’s Archbishop,” Edwin said. In truth, dark creatures had long wanted to worship Tal, but the Dark God hadn’t given them the chance back then.

“And then?” Tal prompted.

“Then I defeated him. Problem solved.”

“Wow,” Tal remarked, “sounds impressive. I think I’m liking you more and more, Edwin.”

The Archbishop pressed his lips together, a faint spark igniting in his pale gray eyes. Tal finally found a perfectly seamless way to interlock their hands, admiring it briefly before moving to let go—but Edwin held on.

“Want to say ‘me too’?” Tal teased, grinning slyly. “You’ve said that before, so you’ll have to come up with something new.”

Edwin’s pale gray eyes weren’t misty but smoldered like ash from a blazing fire. His gaze traced Tal’s gem-like eyes, the neatly tied hair, the slight curve of his lips, their clasped hands, and lower still to the demon’s lacquered boots dangling in the air, swaying lightly.

Edwin’s throat felt dry.

He held Tal’s hand like he’d caught a precious butterfly that visited his dreams nightly. Hesitating, he chose not to lift his hand higher but instead leaned down to kiss the back of the god’s hand.

It was his way of saying, “I’m liking you more and more too.”

Adelaide had long since silently slipped out the window—the black dragon wasn’t bold enough to eavesdrop. The two lingered in their affectionate moment before realizing they still had packing to do. It wasn’t a big issue; packing was just a matter of remembering what to bring, and shoving things into a massive magical space was easy—no need to choose carefully.

This device had also been useful when Edwin defected.

After all, that house held too many memories, and neither Tal nor Edwin wanted to leave anything behind with the Light Church. The wardrobe had hidden bodies—and Tal. The walls bore the demon’s completed puzzles, and there was a cabinet full of books. Not exactly moral, but those books, complete with library cards, were spirited away by the Archbishop for personal use.

It wasn’t until late that the room’s lights went out.

Oddly, even with the lights off, the human and god within didn’t rest. The sweet scent of roses permeated every corner of Edwin’s being, as if deep red blooms had blossomed across his body.

—

The simplest way to reach Dragonspine Ridge was to choose a suitable mode of transport.

The most suitable, naturally, was Adelaide, the black dragon who could carry passengers steadily with a flap of his wings.

Adelaide had no complaints about the arrangement, immersed in the joy of new tidings. The black dragon clan’s elders had returned early to their tribe and, guided by the lingering consciousness of their dragon ancestor, examined the contract binding Adelaide. Strangely, the citrine that once marked Adelaide and Noah as eternal partners shattered into dust in the great hall.

In other words, Adelaide wasn’t bound to solitude forever.

This was likely because Noah, when swearing the oath, had doubted his emotions could meet the contract’s standards and tampered with the ritual. With his death, the illusion collapsed, and the never-valid contract ceased to bind.

Adelaide nearly wept with joy at the news. Tal had to tap his head twice, lest his exuberant flying—though safe for his passengers—felt like riding a rampaging beast.

“I’m so happy, Tal!” he exclaimed.

Even after landing at the familiar ridge and folding his broad wings, Adelaide was still basking in the news, letting out a dragon’s roar. The Dark God rolled his eyes, gesturing for him to move along.

The dragon clan warmly invited them to join Adelaide at their habitat, but Tal planned to spend the night at Dragonspine Ridge—especially since a rare meteor shower was expected.

Edwin stood beneath the azure sky, the air cold as if laced with frost, yet carrying a hint of sweet sharpness. He’d never left the capital, let alone ventured this far. From the dragon’s wings, people, animals, houses, and towns sped by, shrinking to mere specks in his eyes.

At a height above all else.

In a place farther than imagination.

He stood on this land, with Tal before him. The dragon had flown home, his wings laden with a mountain of “specialties.” For a moment, the world unfurled before him, boundless between sky and earth, stretching endlessly. He stood on this land.

This land was no different from the capital’s—both could grow plants, both could be trodden underfoot. The difference lay only in subtle compositions, perhaps clear only to botanists.

Yet people are bound by these lands with their minute differences.

Humans had their lands, demons theirs. A priest had his confined plot, and a child born of human and demon blood was assigned their lifelong patch early on. They were tethered, blocked by countless obstacles, deemed incapable of breaking free. But look closely—things don’t always unfold as fate decrees.

Edwin suddenly understood why Tal was a natural wanderer. His fate, too, seemed written long ago, so he fled, traveling farther, defying destiny. This world was so beautiful, yet held no home for him.

They were kindred spirits. But Edwin had met Tal, while the young demon, swept to a cliff’s edge by fate and clinging desperately, had no one to pull him up.

Tal felt Edwin’s hand grasp his.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

The demon smiled. “When I was trapped in that bottle, I kept thinking about where I’d go to see again once I broke free. Every place I recalled helped me endure the endless time, though in the end, those moments were insignificant. But Dragonspine Ridge was one of the places that sustained me the longest.”

Tal spoke lightly of that past, while the Archbishop listened with rapt attention, his pale gray eyes fixed on him without blinking, aching with overwhelming tenderness. For any ordinary person, the place they’d most want to return to after being confined would surely be home. But for Tal, there was no such place that meant home.

“Just thinking about it,” Tal said, “made me feel free. This is that kind of magical place—it’s so remote, at the edge of the continent, yet strangely a blend of desolation and vibrancy. On one side of the ridge lies the dragons’ homeland; on the other, a small human settlement, but they warmly welcome travelers and newcomers. Standing here, you can’t see a single soul in any direction. It’s too high up.”

Tal soothingly brushed his knuckles against Edwin’s palm.

“Don’t worry,” he said, his smile as intoxicating as the finest wine, making one willing to do anything for him. “I always thought I cherished this place because I didn’t want to be found. But now I realize what I truly wanted was someone who could find me even here.”

“It’s getting dark,” Edwin said, always tongue-tied around Tal. It took him a moment to find his voice again. “I mean, I’d love to—really, I’d love to.”

They rummaged through their luggage at the mountaintop, setting up a massive tent and lighting a bonfire. The orange-yellow flames danced in their eyes. Tal skewered a piece of barbecue on a stick he’d found, heating it over the fire. Soon, the ice and snow beneath melted, revealing dark, glistening frozen soil.

Then Tal suddenly exclaimed, “Hey, Edwin, the meteors are here!”

Just as Tal had once described, the stars came like snowballs tumbling from the distant horizon. But their perch on the peak was so close to the sky’s edge that the snowy-white meteors seemed to graze the air, carving graceful parabolas low enough to touch.

All the stars’ destination was the dragons’ Starfall Lake.

At that moment, black dragons were spiraling and dancing above the lake. Tal took a careful look and chuckled. “Originally, only the dragons’ coming-of-age ceremony was held at Starfall Lake—I bet the elders arranged this performance just for us tonight. Poor Adelaide, though…”

He’d told Tal that the performance carried the significant risk of getting bonked on the head by a meteor.

But the display didn’t hold their attention for long. Soon, their focus shifted from the distant lake to each other’s eyes, close enough to touch. The god reached out, effortlessly catching a snowball-like meteor. It was icy at first, then scalding, but such harm couldn’t faze a god.

“Edwin,” Tal said cheerfully, “they say wishing on a meteor makes it carry your wish and grant it. But I don’t quite trust meteors. Make a wish on this star in my hand, and I’ll make it come true.”

Edwin hesitated, then found a loophole. “I want you to ask me to fulfill a wish of yours.”

The Archbishop wanted to grant Tal’s desires, sparing no effort, any wish at all. He’d already received more than he’d ever wished for in his lifetime—such fortune had found him and never left.

“That’s cheating,” Tal said, leaning in to press Edwin’s shoulders, his warm, damp breath grazing the side of his neck. “Right now, what do you want?”

“Then kiss me.”

Edwin didn’t even blink, swiftly making his wish.

“I’ve also heard lovers who kiss under a meteor shower stay together forever—”

The demon grinned, trailing kisses up Edwin’s pale neck, leaving his skin flushed like delicate petals.

“By the way, I don’t really believe meteors have that kind of magic either, so I’ll have to take charge of making that one come true too.”

—

Neither human nor demon believed in fate.

And because of that, they could always have their wishes granted.