TBR CH52

Edwin had been researching related materials these past few days.

It was only natural that he would take notice of that period in the history of the Radiant Church.

Over the long years, humanity had not always been at a disadvantage. With the shelter of the gods, even the weak and powerless could gain the strength to contend with great forces.

However, in the golden age before the Light Cataclysm, the power of the Church had reached an almost unbelievable level.

After sending clerics to besiege the Time Dragon Fia and obtaining its dragon bones, the Radiant Church went on to slaughter the Seven Pillar Demon Gods, the most powerful entities of that time. For a while, they were unrivaled in glory.

The Church declared to the world that this was a divine blessing. But what exact methods they had used remained a closely guarded secret.

Until the Light Cataclysm descended, reducing most of the evidence to ashes.

According to eyewitness accounts, the Church collapsed from within. Its grand structures twisted under forces beyond human comprehension and crumbled into dust. Pure black magic swirled above the once-holy domes, a gloom so deep that even the sacred light could not dispel it.

The bishop closed the last page of the book.

None of this was as useful as he had hoped, and that period of history was nearly untraceable. When people despaired, believing the gods had abandoned them, the Radiant God arrived at last, fashionably late, and finally intervened. Bathed in divine glory, humanity rebuilt the Church and spent considerable time rekindling their faith.

Had even the gods feared to confront that power?

The bishop keenly sensed this possibility. But it was a matter too far in the past. He had hoped to find at least a vague mention of forbidden magic or secret arts, yet even those records did not exist. Every official text was strangely evasive when it came to that history.

“I found something—”

For some reason, Tal was also very interested in this period of history and had eagerly joined the search for information.

The demon’s voice was light, sweet, and even playfully teasing. This tone hardly suggested that he had uncovered some great secret.

“Look, Edwin,”

He called his name with a familiar warmth.

“Unveiling the Light Cataclysm: The Epic Love Story of the Saintess and the Demon King. What do you think of the title?”

Edwin’s hand, reaching for the next book, paused for a moment. He felt a bit helpless, but he knew this was just Tal’s nature. And since he already harbored the unspoken desire to “tame a demon,” he couldn’t help but be indulgent.

“I doubt it will be useful, but if you like it, you can read it.”

That was as good as saying he wasn’t interested.

Tal regretfully withdrew his hand and looked at the accompanying illustration on the page.

This book was clearly the product of an outsider’s overactive imagination. It told the tale of a saintess and an abyssal demon king who fell in love at first sight, a love so deep they were willing to die for each other.

In the story, the villain who tore them apart was the Church. Because of this forbidden romance, the Church executed the saintess, and in his rage, the Demon King brought forth the calamity.

A well-crafted tale, but almost entirely divorced from reality.

Still, Tal thought, at least the illustrations in this book looked more lifelike than those in The Clerical Register.

He lowered his head and chuckled. For a brief moment, his pupils turned a deep crimson.

Sensing something, Edwin glanced at him, but everything appeared normal. The demon’s hair was soft, the kind that invited fingers to ruffle it. His pomegranate-red eyes sparkled brightly.

Reading what sounded like a third-rate love story, he looked surprisingly well-behaved.

Edwin’s fingers twitched slightly.

Since that… absurd night, the bishop had never stopped searching for a way to suppress his bloodline transformation. Yet, even without the royal incense that had triggered it then, he had still come dangerously close to losing control several times.

Only when he was truly unable to bear it—when the world around him blurred under a thin, shimmering mist—would Edwin reluctantly reach out to the demon, haltingly expressing his need for help.

Tal could help him, like water to a parched throat, and he remained hidden away in his chambers, unseen by outsiders.

Travelers crossing a desert always guard their water source jealously.

In those chaotic moments, under the inverted rhythm of day and night, Edwin would always wake alone in the soft bed.

The sheets still carried Tal’s scent and the lingering warmth of his body. The demon would be sitting nearby, idly occupying himself with something, and the moment he noticed Edwin’s eyes opening, he would smile.

Edwin’s skin still tingled with the ghost of touches that had once burned across it in broad, feverish strokes.

But this was a transaction. Tal followed the rules of their exchange with disciplined precision, offering neither unnecessary kisses nor embraces.

Perhaps that was why they never felt awkward about what had transpired.

Yet Edwin resisted thinking about how sometimes, everything around him seemed emptier than before, or how he pretended he did not miss the warmth of contact. Outside the traces of Tal’s heat, the rest of the bed was always freezing.

It was just… a normal reaction, a contrast of sensation.

“Hey, Bishop,”

Tal suddenly asked, seemingly amused by something he had read,

“Do you think the gods really care about human faith?”

Edwin missed the second Divine Descent ceremony for the Holy Son because he was still at the center of public scrutiny.

Fortunately, his reputation had already been proven to have been unfairly tarnished, so he would be able to participate in the next ceremony.

The Dark God, however, missed the event because he was with Edwin at the time and had no interest in Noah’s affairs.

At first, nothing about this situation seemed particularly noteworthy.

Even setting aside Taksius, not even the Black Book had realized that the Holy Son had dared to attempt adding another fish to the Dark God’s pond.

In the end, it was actually Tal who vaguely guessed the course of events.

The Child of Fate knew that the Dark God was within the Church—except for that first day? Yet he did not meet him. This? indicated that, for the time being, the strategist had shifted his target, attempting to seize fortune in another way.

Only the God of Light.

Exchanging extreme risk for extreme reward, Noah was a bold gambler.

His first bet had evidently already brought him returns.

The second descent of the God of Light brought some small… changes to the Church.

It could not be said that the ritual was not a successful descent of the divine.

Behind layers of pure white veils, bright and radiant holy light spread out. The Holy Son sat on a golden cushion strewn with petals, receiving the grace of the divine, while the priests on the periphery remained silent, holding candles that exuded the scent of herbs, faintly touched by the divine glory.

It was said that when the veil fell, His Holiness the Holy Son had a crown of lilies bestowed by the divine resting on his head. His lips were rosy, his garments disheveled, and a faint joy flickered in his eyes.

He was unbearably beautiful. It was only natural that the divine favored him.

From birth, the Holy Son bore the mark of the divine. This? was a form of inheritance—whenever the previous Holy Son passed away, the divine blessing would appear on the next chosen child. But? many Holy Sons spent their entire lives without ever receiving the gaze of the divine.

The divine did not easily cast their eyes upon humanity.

This? was why the special treatment Noah received was regarded as an immense honor.

Edwin flipped through the documents handed to him by the official in charge, listening? as he prattled on about how extraordinary the Holy Son was and how he would lead the Church of Light back to its former glory. Suddenly, he asked?:

“But? it is said that the divine has withdrawn their favor from one among us?”

“Uh…”

A rare expression of embarrassment and hesitation crossed the official’s face. He was clearly reluctant to bring this up when things were going well?, especially since this? was indeed within his area of responsibility.

“Who could have expected that someone? who appeared so devout would turn out to be a companion of the devil?—Former Cleric Bart. The divine perceived his irreverence, delivered divine punishment, and purified our ranks. May his soul find its way back.”

In the end, he answered this? question rather deftly.

Edwin had an impression of Bart.

Cleric Bart had served in the Church of Light for most of his life. He was already old now, and everyone? treated him with a certain degree of respect.

A divine descent placed demands on the spirit and endurance of the clergy. He had not needed to participate in this ritual, but? the cleric had demonstrated the rigid devotion of a pious believer, insisting on proving that he could still fulfill his duties as a priest, old bones and all.

After all, to approach the god one worshipped was the highest honor of a believer.

And yet, this? man?—as he held the incense and cast his gaze toward the divine behind the veil—found that the incense in his hand inexplicably extinguished.

The candles used by the clergy were also sacred objects, requiring the power of Light to function. They would not go out due? to mere wind or rain.

Moreover, this? was a place overflowing with divine grace. Bart opened his mouth in shock and fear, but not a sound came? out.

His ability to wield the power of Light had been stripped away.

Before the eyes of all, the old man? stood there, holding a snuffed-out candle, looking as if he were standing in the midst of a torrential downpour, his expression filled with an almost tearful sorrow.

A brilliant white light flashed, thundering down to strip him of his voice. It was not until he reached up? involuntarily to clutch his throat that Bart realized the divine had taken away his voice as well.

Ah, he tried to attribute it to faith with devout acceptance. This? was, after all, a grace bestowed by the divine—if the divine took it away, it was only right.

He began to reflect on his sins. In his cautious and conscientious life, had there been any moment when he was not devout enough? Any time he had unwittingly offended the divine…?

Until the veil fell.

The Holy Son, favored beyond measure, emerged before the people with a smile as gentle as the spring breeze.

The divine gave no explanation. In everyone’s? eyes, this? old man? had become a pitifully ridiculous figure—one abandoned by the God of Light.

Only the old cleric saw that deep mockery in the eyes of the young, beautiful Holy Son. He was looking at him, unmistakably, declaring his absolute triumph.

From this moment on, a man? forsaken by the divine, robbed of his voice, could never reveal anything, nor pose any threat again.

Faith truly? was a ridiculous thing.

Edwin concealed the profound mockery in his dark gray eyes. He did not believe that Cleric Bart was a faithless traitor.

In fact, ever since Edwin had arrived at the church in the capital, Cleric Bart had never been fond of him.

He was too young. His origins were too humble. The old man? could pick out countless reasons to be critical—after all, in his view, only a perfect person? could be worthy of serving as the bishop of the divine.

And yet? Edwin had to admit that, in some ways, he admired people? like Bart. At times, he even suspected that Bart had seen through his own lack of true devotion.

What a pity.

He loved his god, but? his god did not love him.

Without even needing a reason, the divine could strip a devout man? of all his honors—could even take away the very meaning of his life. What a terrifying punishment.

And when the divine passed a death sentence, there was no need for evidence.

“Even gods cannot truly see into the human? heart.”

After the official? left, the bishop sat alone in his room. And the devil tore through the illusion.

Tal appeared as if out of nowhere, having heard everything?, and so followed Edwin’s thoughts and began speaking recklessly.

The red-eyed demon stood with his hands? pressed against the other side of the table, leaning in as he spoke. His pomegranate-red eyes glittered, staring at the bishop without blinking from a slightly elevated angle.

Sometimes, Tal did not seem like an ignorant low-ranking demon—like now.

He looked like something more enigmatic, more dangerous, someone who knew many secrets buried in the dust of history.

Still?, the demon’s topic was one he found quite interesting…

“Are gods not omnipotent?”

Edwin murmured, “Humans? are such fragile creatures. And the heart?—that is the easiest part of them? to break.”

“Bishop,”

The demon tilted his head slightly. Edwin rarely paid attention to his horns, or his soft black hair?, but at this angle, they? seemed strangely sharp, though still beautiful—or perhaps even… adorable:

“If the gods could do it, you’d be dead already.”

“Have you heard?—In ancient times, gods tested their believers’ devotion by stripping them of everything, trampling them into the dust to test their hearts?—but? those believers were fortunate, because the gods did not care for humans?. No matter how madly and devoutly they loved the divine, most of the time, the gods were even too stingy to examine their believers’ hearts?.”

No one? openly discussed such matters. Within the Church of Light, this? was the ultimate taboo.

“This? is the secret of the gods, Edwin,”

Tal lowered his voice, his pupils dark and deep,

“Even the gods cannot see through the human? heart.”

Edwin wanted to say something but, for a moment, was at a loss for words.

He ultimately restrained his hands, gathering them together into a shape? A curve that folded inward.

Tal observed the bishop’s reaction—perhaps with a touch of amusement—as such a secret was laid bare by the Dark God. Although humans had speculated about the divine many times before, speaking with such certainty—perhaps demons were the first to do so.

“Gods do not wish to see through the hearts of humanity.”

Edwin spoke slowly. He was still unaccustomed to being gazed down upon by a demon. Against the backlight, Tal’s eyes appeared as the color of dried blood, speaking lightly of divine matters.

If Edwin hadn’t known with certainty that the markings on his soul belonged to a low-ranking demon, he might have mistaken the other for some powerful existence.

“Gods do not care for humans, do not accept humans, do not truly love any human, is that right?”

The word “love” slid gently and slowly off the bishop’s tongue. Tal smiled, then swiftly sat back down, returning to the image of a harmless little demon.

“Of course,” he said.

Even the Holy Son, Noah, had not understood—Gods found it difficult to truly love humanity. Even under the influence of an aura that charmed all, attempting to win the favor of a god would prove far more difficult than one might imagine.

Did he think everything would always go smoothly?

Too many people loved the divine, too many sacrificed everything for them—so many that even the gods grew weary of it.

But simply because they were gods, it was considered natural to love them, so…

“So, I do not understand those who love gods at all costs.”

The bishop analyzed himself, his tone nearly cold.

“To abandon everything for something that will never respond—that is foolish.”

“Hey, Edwin.”

The demon sitting across from him called out. A bouquet of roses separated them. Tal had a way of keeping the roses fresh indefinitely. Sometimes, Edwin suspected he secretly replaced them, but he could never find proof.

This conversation had strayed too far.

For the first time in his long life, the bishop encountered this question. At this moment, he did not yet know he would one day change his answer.

“What is it that you truly desire?”

The question was so precise that Edwin hesitated, uncertain if he should give his usual response. But Tal should know—what he desired had always remained the same.

He wanted supreme power and glory, ambitious and yearning to grasp everything.

For this, he was even willing to sacrifice his soul.

Tal neither confirmed nor denied this. The demon’s smile carried a sharp trace of mockery, though it was devoid of malice. He merely gathered the roses in the bottle and, through the gaps of the thorns, asked Edwin:

“And what do you want from me? Don’t say ‘nothing,’ Edwin. You can find something to exploit in anything—I already know that well.”

Edwin suddenly felt a strange burning sensation in some corner of his heart.

He involuntarily recalled a thought that had surfaced a few days ago: I want to tame a demon.

But alas.

That desire was not yet strong enough to be spoken aloud.

“A mutually beneficial arrangement… Just help me with some tasks until the contract ends.”

A very official response.

Tal shrugged. “As you wish.”

Tal didn’t mind spending too much time on Edwin.

The Dark God’s existence was eternal, and time held little meaning for Tarksius—it slipped away endlessly, like sand through his fingers.

But only as Tal, walking once more through the silent, solemn marble halls of the church in the guise of a low-ranking demon, did he once again feel the weight of time.

A demon moved soundlessly through the shadows of the brightest places, just as he had a thousand years ago.

Tal was even more familiar with the church’s structure than Edwin. As he gazed at the sunlit buildings, the memories that surfaced were of something far older—sacred temples.

And those temples, destroyed by his own hands, had perished with their wailing echoes.

If he traced further back, Tal could not recall the time clearly, for time had no meaning inside that bottle. Time inside the bottle flowed differently than in the outside world—even if a hundred years passed within, perhaps only a single morning prayer had been completed outside.

Inside the bottle was an endless, blinding light, so bright it almost burned. There was nothing else.

The only distinct existence one could see was a small shadow beneath their feet.

Of course, other things were occasionally thrown into the bottle. Tal referred to them as “things” because they all eventually became lifeless bones, devoured by the relentless divine radiance.

If he took one step further—well, it was simple. Tal had first killed them, that was all.

A demon sat curled up inside the bottle, watching as the great skeleton of a demon king before him was slowly consumed by the piercing light.

They had once been so terrifying, so arrogant—tails as vast as mountain ranges, vertical pupils like twisted lightning—each of them had believed they could defy time, defy the monstrous entity that the church had nurtured within the bottle.

But in the end, they all perished.

Tal was a special demon, one whom the church had hunted for years.

The prison was made just for him.

The black-haired, red-eyed demon lowered his head to look at his own hands. He envied all the skeletons that had been swallowed by this place.

At least they did not have to endure the hopeless wait, their expectations ground down by endless eternity, struggling against enemies stronger than themselves—success, even if achieved, was meaningless.

…Hopeless.

No, not entirely.

Before he had been captured, the demon had fled through the church, making the most meaningless of struggles.

But he was always young and proud, refusing to believe his fate was unchangeable. He had fled across the continent for hundreds of years, never realizing he would eventually be forced to stop.

Even at the very end, he had managed to hide within the church for an entire morning.

And in those final moments, when he heard the footsteps of the temple knights, he hurriedly bit his finger, scrawling a summoning array on a page and slipping it into a book in the library.

If someone found that book, they could summon the demon.

Tal had thought lightly and childishly—perhaps he wouldn’t have to wait long before he saw the sky again, no matter what the church tried to do to him. He was too young to realize that time weighed heavier than he had imagined.

An abandoned demon awaited the day he would be saved.

Yet the flow of time inside and outside the bottle was different.

If a hundred years passed inside while only a morning went by outside—

Then when centuries passed outside, how many lifetimes had the demon endured within?

“I just want to live freely.”

If one had asked him back then what he desired, this would have been his answer.

It sounded so casual. But Tal thought that, in truth, his past self had been exactly like Edwin—struggling for an impossible wish, believing in survival even when trapped in absolute despair.

And because of this—

The gods, through eyes from a thousand years ago, watched everything.

Watched as Edwin came to witness with his own eyes—that he had been abandoned.