TBR CH63

An overwhelming expanse of white.

Tal’s red pupils shifted slightly, like glass marbles, taking in everything within the cell. It must be said that even after a millennium, the church lacked creativity. This place was less a prison and more a monk’s ascetic chamber—or perhaps there was no discernible difference between the two.

His hands were bound behind him with mithril chains, the inner spikes digging deep into the demon’s skin. Visually, it was nothing short of striking: some of the dark, almost black blood had dried, while fresh streams continued to trickle with his every movement. Just looking at it seemed excruciating.

The guards watched the demon’s every move with caution.

Yet Tal barely stirred. Since his capture, he hadn’t spoken a single word to them. He sat quietly on the room’s sole chair, his ink-black hair falling over his face, obscuring his expression.

Was he plotting some blasphemous scheme? Or was he contemplating how to escape an inescapable cage?

…Beneath the curtain of his hair.

The divine hue of his eyes deepened, scarlet slowly overtaking them. The physical pain was trivial to him. And here he sat, in the same position, within the church’s cell—unable to send a word to the outside, stripped of the power to resist, at least on the surface. Then, fate plunged into unfathomable darkness.

A mere flick of his fingertip could destroy everything before him.

Tal’s sharp claws didn’t tremble in the slightest. This was a stage, and everyone had their role to play; the curtain had yet to rise. He wasn’t playing a god—certainly not a god.

Was he playing a demon?

No, the face of a demon was equally vague. The story only needed a savior.

He thought: What a predictable script.

*

Rewind a few hours, back when Sata was still lingering outside the door.

Even a mighty demon like him was powerless against the intricate wards the bishop had painstakingly set. So he turned to leave, but not before sending a signal to someone else. The demon had eavesdropped on it all—effortless for a god.

Tal sat on this side of the door, the room quiet and secure.

He let out an almost inaudible sigh.

He had known this day would come eventually. The stalled progress had finally pushed the Holy Son, devoted to the God of Light, to make up his mind and restart the plan targeting Tarksius. Fortunately, the demon was weak and ignorant at this stage, skilled only in hiding and fleeing—worthy of caution in that regard alone.

And then there was Edwin, who kept him locked away like a precious treasure.

He had foreseen this day. Now, in hindsight, today was indeed a perfect choice. Most of the church’s attention was focused on the charity banquet, and Edwin would be away from the room longer than usual.

Noah wasn’t foolish. He had devised a meticulous plan with every reason to believe it wouldn’t fail.

Demons excelled at concealment, but Noah’s system could pinpoint his exact location, leaving him no chance of escape.

The demon’s strength was lacking; in a direct confrontation, the powerful templar knights could easily subdue him.

And then there was the final obstacle.

The bishop’s power surpassed everyone in the temple. His defenses could even hold back an unstoppable demon. Inside them, the demon was safe, like a pearl preserved in a sealed box.

But…

There was a fatal flaw in Edwin’s wards: they were rooted in the power of light.

The power of light stemmed from the grace that slipped through the fingers of the divine, and the Holy Son, with his coquettish pleas to the God of Light, had won favor and received a blessed strand of beads. All magic based on light crumbled before him.

The breathtakingly beautiful Holy Son preferred to lurk behind the scenes, and this time was no exception. At his side, the captain of the templar knights gazed at him with infatuated devotion, ready to carry out his every command without hesitation.

Clad in gleaming silver boots, he ascended the steps of the white tower.

And Tal had heard their footsteps in advance.

Even as they drew near, the demon remained seated, lost in thought. Beside him, the black book fluttered its pages frantically, words scattering like snowflakes. The world’s consciousness was urging the dark god to make the right choice—the Holy Son had once again staked his chips on the young demon, meaning Tarksius could finally complete the mission he’d long neglected.

Only by getting close could he expose and destroy him.

“What are you worried about?”

The god finally raised his scarlet eyes, casting a sidelong glance at it. He toyed with a ruby hair ribbon in his hands, one that had just been removed from his soft black locks. That morning, the bishop had tied it on himself.

“I’m not planning to break the deal just yet. Hasn’t the Holy Son already set the stage? I’ll be the one to lift the curtain.”

The black book quieted somewhat.

The god hesitated, lingered a little—though he wouldn’t admit it aloud, it showed in his actions. He had stepped into the torrent of time, concealing his name, to resolve the matter of the child of destiny and the system. There was no reason now not to withdraw.

So the world’s consciousness couldn’t comprehend his silence. Tarksius was a god—cold, arrogant, lofty. He knew what decision he should make at this moment, or he risked exposure.

Then, as if to confirm, it brushed aside the heavy ink of its pages.

“They’ll soon enter the room to capture you. As Tal, you should have no ability to resist.”

The footsteps were nearly silent; the holy knights took care not to alert the demon they were about to seize. But the demon inside the room had already heard everything crystal clear.

He rubbed the ruby ribbon one last time before concealing it in his hand. This was the power of a god—no matter what Noah had prepared, they wouldn’t be able to find it on Tal.

Then, before the world’s consciousness could react, Tarksius walked toward the door, effortlessly stepping through the defensive wards and into the corridor outside. The demon tilted his head slightly, gazing in the direction from which the knights would approach.

Behind him, the sound of flapping pages echoed from the room.

The god’s lips curved faintly. He knew that as a demon ignorant of the plan, one secretly bound to the bishop by contract, he shouldn’t have left the room early—or even had the ability to do so.

But—

Edwin.

Today, the bishop would achieve everything he had longed for, and Tal had no interest in ruining it. He knew how much unspoken hardship and effort Edwin had poured into this.

He deserved it all.

Discovering a demon tamed in the bishop’s room would serve as irrefutable evidence to accuse Edwin.

So the god protected him.

He removed the ribbon, ensuring no one would recognize how similar its bright ruby was to the gem recently offered to Edwin. He left the bishop’s room—open to myriad interpretations. Though he risked exposure by using divine power, at least Edwin wouldn’t be tainted by unshakeable suspicion in this matter. He would claim he had no connection to Edwin, and if necessary, perhaps sever their contract.

He had done all this with indulgence, deliberately avoiding thoughts of how Edwin might feel upon discovering his absence.

These days spent with a human were, in the end, just a fleeting dream. Gods grew bored easily, and countless times he had tried to resolve to leave. Yet somehow, he kept indulging the faint wish to stay, however slight it was.

Humans always softened him. Edwin’s climb had been fraught with danger, his fragility often on the brink of breaking, giving Tarksius a reason to linger. But now, he had attained what he desired. Power would forge armor to shield him, locking away the heart of an ambitious man.

Perhaps this was an opportune moment.

And Edwin always made the right choices.

*

When Edwin stepped out of the room, all his emotions had been forcibly shattered, ground into his bones, leaving bloody wounds within him. But his face was expressionless, colder than usual. All the emotions in the world seemed to him like dust waiting to scatter.

It wasn’t until he reached the end of the white tower’s stairs that he raised his eyes.

Fortunately, no one dared meet his gaze.

In those gray eyes lay something untouchable, even to Edwin himself. He merely set those emotions aside for the moment, pretending they didn’t need to be addressed.

He was very…

He was normal. As always, Edwin rounded a corner. The solemn white church buildings cast a vast shadow, enveloping him entirely. He passed the church’s rose garden, the red blooms spreading like flames, stinging his eyes and leaving a trace of bewilderment in his gaze.

He unconsciously clenched his fists, his fingers digging deep into his flesh.

The pain granted him a bitter clarity. He was now being torn apart by immense contradictions, conflicting thoughts swirling chaotically in his mind. He needed clarity—clarity would give him the ability to sort things out one by one, and then, perhaps, things might improve. Maybe this was all just a misunderstanding, a solvable problem—

But clarity also told him, like a shadow hovering overhead, that this was an instinct. It wasn’t vague; it was as direct as an eagle swooping toward its prey, certain of catching the rabbit, imbued with the cold, distinct precision of rationalism.

This instinct told him that nothing would get better.

He had only just stepped out, and now he suddenly began thinking of the return journey.

This time, no one was waiting for him in the room.

He was normal; now wasn’t the time to dwell on all this. No time was suitable, but certainly not now. Edwin walked forward along the passage to the right of the cathedral. The stone slabs were bright and clean, almost spotless. Passing believers would bow their heads respectfully and salute him. Nearly everyone revered him, for he held more in his hands than anyone else.

…But no one was waiting for him to return. Edwin began to feel as though he might be ill. He was both cold and hot, losing his sense of the world around him. Tal would always brew him a cup of scalding tea and then hold him close with a hint of reproach. For that, he’d always delay a little before healing himself with light magic.

The final turn.

The building before him was majestic and solemn, its ivory-white eaves gleaming, adorned with intricate, elaborate carvings.

Edwin reached the door and knocked, just as he had done countless times before.

He heard a “Come in.”

*

Traces of a demon had been discovered in the corridor outside Archbishop Edwin’s room.

This news spread rapidly upward following the demon’s submission, but due to its sensitive nature, it bypassed the central figure of the incident and was delivered directly to the Pope.

It was roughly a quarter of an hour after the report of Prince Angelo’s death had been submitted.

The silver-haired old man stared at the messenger before him, silent for a long while. The barrage of news clearly unsettled this man who had resolved to stay as far from conflict as possible. But his position made detachment impossible.

“Send for the Archbishop,” he finally said, the crown atop his head gleaming steadily.

And so, here they were.

His Holiness once again scrutinized his successor with meticulous care, leaving no detail overlooked. There was nothing to fault in Edwin. This young man possessed impeccable ability—perhaps he was born destined to be an extraordinary leader. When he drew tarot cards, the divine didn’t assign him The Hierophant, but The Emperor.

His gray eyes seemed forged from no material found in this world.

When handling church affairs, those eyes held an uncanny power, compelling everyone to bow their heads in devout submission before him, even praising his piety in hushed, reverent tones. Yet Edwin could make those same eyes appear so cold, their inorganic pupils barely shifting.

It was the finest disguise the Pope had ever seen.

His enemies would say that beneath the thick gray mist hid countless blades, all dripping with fresh blood, and being gazed upon by such eyes would send chills down one’s spine. The Pope was glad he’d never directly met that gaze, for he lacked confidence in his own courage.

Under the Pope’s scrutiny, Edwin merely stood quietly.

The supreme elder let a sigh slip silently from his lips, realizing that even now, the young man before him showed no cracks. He ultimately chose to adopt a friendly tone:

“Edwin, my child, come closer to me.”

He wasn’t the Pope’s preferred successor, but the other candidates had all fallen in competition with the bishop. The Pope knew he wasn’t the one to make choices.

Edwin approached silently, maintaining a distance befitting etiquette.

Did anything in this world truly get close to him?

The air seemed to stagnate. This conversation, decided so hastily, felt ill-timed. In that moment, the Pope suddenly wondered if his concerns were unnecessary. Why bother with a special warning? The bishop was the sharpest person he’d ever met, while he was just an unlikable old man whose words lacked originality and were entirely predictable.

“I assume you’ve heard about the demon,” the old man said, coughing. His health had been deteriorating lately.

“Of course, I know it’s not your fault. It could be an accident—or a setup. My child, I don’t think you need to worry about this. The God of Light will judge accordingly.”

That was nearly enough.

The Pope considered whether to stop there. Then he could ask his attending priests to bring him a white towel and cough syrup—constant coughing had worn him down. But as he looked up at Edwin this time, the old man’s shrunken head froze mid-motion.

It was the only time he’d ever seen Edwin reveal such an expression.

Not pain, not hatred, but bewilderment. His bewilderment was as light as mist, fleeting quickly across his eyes. Only someone like the Pope, who had witnessed countless emotions, could catch it.

How could this be—

The old man couldn’t hide his shock.

Edwin noticed his surprise, aware that his one lapse in emotion had been glimpsed by the elder. He knew the Pope had suspicions, which was why he’d summoned him. So, softly and succinctly, he said:

“Then it is my fault.”

In an instant, the room fell into a terrifying silence.

Even the sound of a pin dropping would have been audible. The Pope hadn’t yet recovered from the aftershock of his surprise. Murmuring, the old man said:

“Good heavens, God, oh God…”

Then, his face suddenly tightened. Those eyes, dulled by age and the monotony of days, flared with a terrifying light. He stared intently at Edwin and said:

“You know what you must do.”

Edwin didn’t respond. No, the Pope wanted to overpower this young man’s presence, but the bishop’s unfamiliar, piercing gaze still defeated him. He realized he hadn’t seen through Edwin at all, while Edwin’s understanding of him was enough to pin him like a specimen in an entomologist’s collection.

So, the Pope softened his tone abruptly:

“The news has already spread. Of course, public opinion largely favors you, especially since the demon wasn’t captured in your room. But you understand—after the incident with Angelo, only a fool would get tangled with a demon. Right now, it’s a precarious moment. For the sake of the church’s reputation, I trust you know what the right decision is.”

The old man began racking his brain, drawing on the knowledge he’d accumulated over his long life. He had faced a few thrilling and perilous moments in his time—ah, sacrifice, eternal sacrifice—

“If you need it,” the Pope lowered his voice, “I have a secret method to break a contract.”

His voice trailed off into nothingness, for Edwin looked at him as though he were a pitiful creature, or a piece of wood on the verge of rotting.

The bishop lowered his gaze, looking at the silver button on his chest, engraved with a rose pattern:

“I already know.”

It was a secret kept for a long time. From the day the contract was forged, Edwin had ordered his people to seek out ways to undo it. It was a forbidden spell, but by chance, they encountered an elf who had lived for thousands of years. By the second week, the incantation was on Edwin’s desk.

He hadn’t expected it to happen so quickly.

But even faster was the shift in his heart. Back then, he hadn’t yet fallen, yet he’d already subconsciously wanted the demon to stay by his side.

The Pope finally let out a breath of relief.

Edwin seemed perfectly in control. Indeed, this old bag of bones shouldn’t meddle in such matters. The bishop could fully extricate himself from this final incident—even the demon hadn’t implicated him. Of course, even if the demon had said something, it wouldn’t matter; it was, after all, a vile and lowly being.

The church had just triumphed in its rivalry with the royal family. Victory needed time to solidify, and Edwin had much to do in the days ahead. The church was left with only one candidate for Pope.

He would know how to make his choice.

Weariness washed over the Pope’s shoulders in waves, the old man crumbling under an irresistible exhaustion. He permitted Edwin to leave. The young bishop’s steps were light yet resolute, and his final glance was a deep gray—deep enough to conceal everything.

Edwin pushed open the door and stepped out.

Then he realized he should return. Back to his room. The room was cold and quiet, much like the rooms he’d seen for most of his life.

The surroundings were deserted; the Pope’s door stood silent. Their conversation had been confidential, so no one was allowed near.

The bishop raised his hand.

He didn’t know why he made this gesture, but it felt familiar. The sunlight was perfect just then, its bright, dazzling rays spilling across the ground like gold. All emotions had nowhere to hide under its glow.

A soft, damp sensation brushed his fingertips.

Edwin touched his eyes and realized he was crying—probably because the sunlight was too harsh. The tears didn’t have time to spill from his eyes before his fingers caught them, leaving wet traces.

This didn’t count as full-on crying. He wasn’t weeping.

He…

He thought of the demon covering his eyes from behind, how the damp sea mist in his gaze had once wet Tal’s hands. Tal had smirked and said, “You’re crying. You need a hug.” These thoughts filled him with panic. He hadn’t yet made a decision—any decision—but it felt as though he already had.

And yet, he would have to decide eventually.