TBR CH64

After the morning prayer, Edwin walked alone back to his room atop the white tower.

His steps were light, as if he feared disturbing something. The bishop counted the stairs one by one until he realized there were no more to climb. He stood before that door.

The defensive wards at the entrance hadn’t been removed—perhaps because he’d put so much effort into them that dismantling them felt wasteful, or perhaps because he couldn’t bear to touch anything tied to Tal right now.

Edwin lowered his eyes and quietly shut the door behind him, deliberately avoiding everything—too many things could stir memories. Tal always sat at the desk, legs dangling; Tal reached out to touch him from the bed, eyes bright as gems; Tal hid in the wardrobe, leaving the clothes with a lingering rose scent that never faded. He dropped his gaze and saw the carpet again.

So many things had already changed.

The carpet had been replaced shortly after they met, because there happened to be a corpse in the room, and Edwin was trying to at least maintain a decent relationship with his new roommate. They picked the color together—Edwin thought it was too bright, while Tal found it a bit dull, but in the end, the demon grudgingly agreed.

It took time to get used to the new carpet, and even longer to adjust to having a demon by his side.

The cost of losing him outweighed both.

Edwin knew he couldn’t keep thinking about it. He lit the room’s lamp, its light casting everything into sharp relief. Before Tal came, the bishop had lived alone in this room without issue. But now it felt vast and empty, like a hollow tomb filled with burial goods.

Even objects had a lifespan.

The rose had wilted. Edwin saw it—the rose that had gradually gone from full bloom to decay. Without the demon, no one kept it alive. Now it was completely shriveled, on the verge of rotting, its stem blackened, half its petals fallen.

The bishop knew he should throw it out, maybe replace it, but he never did.

…This was the fifth day since losing Tal.

The church’s trial proceedings were moving forward methodically. The demon was to be judged—an uncomplicated process. Were it not for the unusual location of its discovery, dealing with a low-tier demon wouldn’t warrant such a fuss.

Even so, the outcome was already set. Tal was slated for execution on the seventh day of the process, in full view of the public, right in the church plaza, where a cage stood for burning evil creatures.

He had tried his hardest, but time was too short.

The situation was delicate. A demon had appeared within the church, and the news had spread quickly. People were shocked and concerned, even though the demon itself posed no threat. The church had to handle it properly.

To prove his innocence, he couldn’t interfere too much. Power could sometimes become a shackle. There seemed to be another force at play—one not hostile to him, targeting only the demon, determined to isolate Tal and then kill him.

Time was too short.

Edwin didn’t believe anything was truly impossible. He hadn’t given up for a moment, leveraging every ounce of his influence to find a way out, even into the late hours of this night. The candle flickered beside him as he lifted his head from the pages, his mind foggy. The sharp pain of relentless thinking left him unable to decide or rest.

Subconsciously, the bishop called out, “Tal.”

It was as if glass had finally shattered. Edwin’s pale gray pupils were suddenly flooded with panic and confusion. A massive sense of foreboding climbed up his spine. The room was eerily silent, not a sound to be heard. From a distance, the bishop still sat in his chair, but he seemed exhausted, his head drooping slowly.

He knew nothing could be undone.

If he’d been able to avoid this question before, now it was time to decide.

Would he save him, or abandon him? Was he willing to treat the power he’d chased for years as mere dust, or would he follow the path of every great ruler, making sacrifice the final step toward the summit?

His thoughts trembled. He recalled Tal winking at him in the tavern, handing him mead, saying, “You’re not greedy enough.” For a moment back then, he’d felt he could do anything, hold everything firmly in his grasp.

But the world didn’t work that way. It was always a choice between two.

He had to face it: human ability had its limits.

In that instant, all the suppressed emotions surged like a tide, nearly drowning Edwin in a sea of feeling. He braced his hands on the table, his face low, merging with the shadow cast on the surface.

Yet his mind remained razor-sharp, relentlessly calculating, making rational decisions against his own will even in this moment.

Let him go.

You cannot be ruined.

Abandon the demon, and there’d be no obstacles. He knew how to break the contract, and even if he didn’t use it, the demon’s death wasn’t directly his doing—he might even conceal the damage from the contract. The templar knights had told him the demon hadn’t confessed anything, so Tal clearly had no intention of revealing it all—

He knew this thought cut his heart like a blade, but he could only ignore it and keep reasoning.

He couldn’t give up everything he held now. It had started in childhood—every step he took, Edwin gripped tightly to what was his. His path to the top was built on ruthlessly crushing others or himself.

He needed a blade in his hand to feel secure.

Betraying the church would undoubtedly cost him everything—not just supreme power and reputation, but also all his strength, for that power was granted by the God of Light through faith, and it could be stripped away with ease.

He would be disgraced, left with nothing. Even if he somehow escaped death, he’d be forced onto a perilous path of exile.

Poets extol love, claiming that before the gold of affection, power is mere dust. But poets have never wielded power.

For Edwin, ambition was the marrow of his bones, the flesh of his being, laid bare and bloody before him. To strip him of his position as archbishop would be like ripping out his ribs—he couldn’t survive under such conditions.

“I…” Edwin forced himself to harden, knowing he had to decide. Only one day remained. “I should abandon him.”

On one side, a lowly demon; on the other, the exalted seat of the Pope. It was the only rational choice.

The bishop told himself this, reaching to touch his eyes. There were no tears, like a well run dry. Sacrifice and death stared up at him from the dark depths, and he futilely spread his fingers to catch tears that weren’t there, his hands grasping nothing.

The candle burned to its end, crackling faintly. With a final flicker, the room plunged into dimness, the heavy velvet curtains blocking out all external light, casting everything once more into hazy shadows.

“Tal.”

Edwin murmured, unable to stop himself from calling the demon’s name, even before he fully realized it. He knew it was wrong—having made his decision, he should forget that name.

Forget. The mere thought made his already outstretched hands clench suddenly, as if trying to seize something. The bishop couldn’t control his expression, until a scornful, mocking smile twisted his face—his soul rejecting itself. His lips parted, a faint breath escaping between them, and he whispered the name over and over, half-crying, half-laughing,

“Tal, Tal, Tal, Tal.”

By the end, his voice was barely audible, a near-silent gasp carrying a different note, “…My Tal.”

*

Tal opened his eyes amidst an almost blinding brightness.

By church protocol, captured demons weren’t typically tortured—save for the final execution by fire and the constant exposure to holy light. The light both sapped the strength of evil beings and caused their skin to sting unbearably.

To emphasize the hard-won nature of redemption, Noah had specifically requested the Knight Commander to light two holy candles simultaneously, doubling the torment inflicted on the demon.

The restraints on Tal were studded with sharp thorns, tools originally designed for binding higher-tier demons. They pierced deep into his veins, injecting divine power into his bloodstream.

It was just a small request from the Holy Son, and the Knight Commander complied without hesitation. Noah gazed at him with soft eyes and a smile hidden behind his hand, leaving the knight dazed. He’d lost all ability to discern right from wrong, reduced to a puppet beneath that captivating beauty.

Noah expressed a desire to visit this special prisoner, specifically instructing the Knight Commander not to mention his involvement in front of the demon. The young, zealous knight had no objections, though he feared the lowly demon might disrespect the Holy Son. To prevent this, he’d deliberately intensified the restraints.

He lit three candles, ensuring the demon would writhe in agony under the pure radiance, drained of strength and too weak to even speak. The results pleased him.

When Noah approached the demon’s cell alone, Tal sat with his head bowed, his pitch-black hair veiling his face. His exposed skin was pale, pinned firmly to the chair by the restraining chains. Hearing movement, he didn’t look up.

This left the Holy Son a bit awkward at the outset. Fortunately, he’d prepared for such a scenario.

“Are you alright?” he asked kindly. “I… think you’re not doing too well right now. If you don’t mind, I’d like to help you.”

Noah slowly drew closer until he felt the demon’s gaze settle on him. He offered a generous smile, extinguishing two of the candles that tormented Tal right in front of him. One remained—he couldn’t overplay his hand just yet. The demon seemed to struggle faintly, some strength returning to his body, though far from enough.

“Are you still in pain?”

It was working. Noah sensed the demon’s expression shift from hostility to slight confusion. This was his chance. He stepped forward, his tone deliberately soft and innocent, presenting his irresistibly charming face fully to the demon:

“My name is Noah. I mean no harm—I just want to help you.”

“Why…” The demon’s voice was hoarse, clearly having endured significant suffering. The boy’s arrival gave him a brief reprieve. Noah wondered if he resembled a descending angel right now—that was the effect he aimed for.

“I don’t think you’re a bad person,” Noah recited his lines flawlessly. “So I believe in you. No one’s coming to save you—you’ve never been trusted by anyone, but that’s not your fault. I will—”

Tal forced a smile, dripping with mockery:

“Save me?” he said. “A demon about to die on the pyre. I don’t even know you.”

The Holy Son adopted a wounded expression.

“I’ve seen you before, a long time ago.”

It was a small gamble. The demon had roamed countless places and times—surely he couldn’t recall every person he’d met. Meanwhile, Noah, in name, had traveled widely. Seeing the demon fall silent, he rejoiced inwardly.

“What do you say will happen to you in the end?”

His bet had paid off.

Noah bit his lip, feigning unease yet mustering courage:

“Even if everyone abandons you, I’ll definitely save you and make sure you live.”

Perfect. He nearly wanted to applaud himself inwardly. Everything unfolded as he’d envisioned: the demon started wary, but his words, delivered in this dire moment, would surely strike deep. Even if the demon didn’t show it now, with a little more pressure, he could swoop in triumphantly at the last moment to save him.

Then, redeeming someone in their deepest despair, combined with his irresistible charm and the dark god’s current state, winning him over would be effortless.

Noah calculated the time. He couldn’t stay too long or let the demon relax too much—torment and chains were the path to the story’s climax. With a reluctant air, he explained his limited abilities, promised to visit again, and relit the candles.

He would become the demon’s sole solace amidst his suffering.

And he would successfully claim the other’s affection for himself.

Soon, he thought, as he stepped out of the cell. Tal was once again pinned down by chains and holy light. Noah wanted him to understand that only his arrival symbolized salvation, and his departure meant the pain of abandonment.

Until the Holy Son’s final step faded from the god’s sight. All expression silently vanished from Tarksius’s face.

Tarksius’s scarlet eyes resembled dried bloodstains, cold and indifferent within, like a snake’s pupils—exuding the merciless hunting instinct of a cold-blooded creature. He knew Noah had just left, and no one was watching yet. The god effortlessly removed the chains; the holy light shone on his skin but couldn’t cause him real harm, barely even registering as a sensation.

Every word and sentence of the Holy Son’s visit dripped with ulterior motives.

Noah repeatedly emphasized the demon’s abandonment, his acting so convincing that it didn’t feel scripted but rather heartfelt. Yet his presence had the opposite effect, reminding Tarksius that he was a god, not truly the demon from a thousand years ago.

Noah gazed at this vessel of flesh, clearly not seeing him as a mere low-tier demon. He coveted the divine power and fate behind it, every word crafted to inspire gratitude, carefully doling out just enough sweetness each time to groom him for a submissive role in the grand finale Noah had rehearsed—redeemed, then madly in love with his savior.

A redemption that cost nothing.

As long as Noah kept grinding away, he’d eventually win over the God of Light, though it was taking far longer than he’d initially planned. So now, the Holy Son turned his focus inward, lowering his guard, eager to use this window to seize the dark god’s heart through his schemes.

The Holy Son believed everything was proceeding smoothly.

And the god smiled softly, slowly.

He quietly awaited the staged drama’s unfolding, biding his time for the perfect moment.

He only needed to find the right opportunity—one that, when he struck, would deal Noah the greatest blow.

*

Love torments your soul like a blazing fire. Love makes you vulnerable.

Twenty-four hours remained until Tal faced the pyre. Edwin entered the church’s chapel, his demeanor perfectly measured—no one suspected any emotional turmoil.

Sixteen hours until the demon’s life was sacrificed to the light. The heir of the kingdom’s most powerful noble family personally visited the church, pledging loyalty, cooperation, and wealth to the new ruler.

Nine hours left. Edwin’s enemies were losing hope. Even if the demon incident tied back to him, he could clearly extricate himself unscathed.

Six hours remained. The night had deepened, a faint light still glowing in the room.

Crystal-like tears of wax rolled down the pure white candle.

Edwin sliced his arm with a dagger, its blade gleaming like snow. Blood trickled down, staining long-lost runes, blooming into crimson flowers. The cut wasn’t deep, but a burning sensation spread from within, as if part of his soul was being torn away, departing his body with the blood.

The dagger clattered to the floor from his left hand. With that now-free hand, he pressed against his heart. Its beat was clear yet hollow. He felt like a vessel, an empty cup. The connection forged deep in his soul was gone—the contract that once bound two lives together had been erased. The runes were wiped away, absolving him of responsibility for another’s life.

Six hours left—half a night. The demon raised his eyes. The cell was perpetually bathed in steady light, the holy candles always burning.

The glow reminded him of Edwin, though not really—it was because he knew the thread of fate tying him to the bishop had finally been severed.

Finally.

Tal’s thoughts were like an imperceptible sigh. Edwin had made this decision too late.

In his usual state, he’d have realized quickly that cutting losses was the smart move. The bishop knew how to break the contract—Tal had glimpsed that, to some extent, in his gray eyes. The Holy Son would also provide Edwin an escape, perhaps through the Pope or some other channel.

He’d been waiting for this moment.

Edwin possessed the brightest soul Tarksius had ever seen, destined for greatness. The timeless secret to every ambitious soul’s success was sacrifice.

He believed Edwin wouldn’t shy away; he’d face the harsh choice head-on. He knew Edwin couldn’t abandon power—his pride and self-regard wouldn’t allow him to lose everything and flee. He understood Edwin would feel unease, hesitation, pain. But love—that word was too light.

He knew Edwin loved him.

In the stillness of this late night, Tarksius finally had time to recall his father and mother. A saintess and a demon king—an epic romance, a lifelong vow. They’d had sweet, beautiful days, radiant as gold, where all obstacles melted before their love.

Even at the end, when resentment grew and they sought each other’s demise, they still loved.

When the saintess sealed him in a bottle with her own hands, Tal felt no hatred. She hadn’t been wrong. The church had pressured her then; she had to take the risk. Had she not chosen that path, she couldn’t have outmaneuvered them, cleared her pristine name, or emerged victorious—severing the head of the mightiest demon, her lover, and offering it to God.

Now, with Edwin, Tal thought the same.

Facing the bishop, the god knew he was prone to indulgence. Even if Edwin had chosen to flee in the end, Tarksius would’ve unlocked the chains himself. The path upward should no longer be obstructed.

The bishop was a worthy ruler, but a worthy ruler shouldn’t harbor weaknesses. The god turned back at the door, taking one last look at the room.

Of course he’d be sad, but he shouldn’t grieve too long.

The final lesson was called sacrifice.

“Goodbye, Edwin.”

Before the holy knights’ encirclement closed in, the black-haired demon cast a final glance around the room with his gem-like eyes, whispering softly, as if someone might hear.

At this moment, Tal sat in the chair, feeling the contract ebb from his soul like a receding tide. He realized he hadn’t properly said goodbye to Edwin. Farewells in the mortal world were always so abrupt, abandonment no different—everything happened so fast, before you could even react.

He’d orchestrated it deliberately, staying in control, right up to now.

But this time, for some reason, the god felt a faint, unfamiliar emotion.

Just a trace, too subtle for even him to identify. It was something he’d never experienced—not even when his own mother abandoned him. It was as if, in those days of confinement, he’d entertained an impractical fantasy of a different ending. The feeling was light, brushing past his heart like butterfly wings.

Fortunately, it vanished in an instant. The demon closed his eyes.

Edwin closed his eyes.

Darkness was familiar to him. It enveloped him from all sides. That evening, he reviewed the ledgers as usual, as if it were still a normal workday.

The night had deepened, stars dotting the sky like gleaming silver buttons. It promised good weather tomorrow.

Five hours remained until the demon was burned in the plaza.

He removed his vestments, the silver cross, the ruby staff. He took off the boots hiding the dagger, lifted the curtains, and slipped into bed. The blankets offered no warmth—cold and dry, they rasped against his skin like sand grinding in a desert, hissing faintly.

Tomorrow’s ritual to purify the demon wouldn’t be conducted by him.

At that time, he would be in the grand cathedral. His Majesty the Emperor had scheduled a visit for worship, bringing along a flock of anxious nobles—like sheep without a shepherd, eager to throw themselves into the jaws of a jackal.

Edwin felt he had never been so calm. He let himself sink into the coldness of the bedding, each heartbeat resounding in his chest. His soul was empty, craving something greedy and vast to fill it, yet he savored this hollowness. The severed contract was like an open wound.

He let out a soft laugh, then curled up on the soft bed, pressing his cheek into the gentle, dry scent. He found what he was searching for—a faint trace of roses lingered on the pillow, detectable only with great care. Scent was such an unstable thing, so easily slipping beyond control.

Stripped of his garments, the bishop knew he was utterly vulnerable and soft in this moment.

As if embracing someone, he reached out into the empty air, but it couldn’t fill the void in his chest.

You’ll carry this sin for a lifetime, he thought disjointedly, yet he felt no shame. Without him, losing him, your steps were never meant to leave the church. The church is square and rigid, like a cage.

Edwin thought of everything. He began imagining abandoning power to flee with the demon. If they could escape the church, perhaps they’d sit in a bustling tavern, sharing a cup of mead. It would be far from the capital, far from ambition. He’d look into the demon’s eyes and tell him he needed a kiss, a hug.

The thought was too childish.

Edwin smiled. He knew he wasn’t a dreamer—he only felt compelled to consider every possibility, to exhaust them all, though the decision was already made. He just wanted to glimpse those other options.

In all those possibilities—

He knelt in the sanctuary as God bestowed the papal crown, placing a crown of thorns upon his head; he embarked on a quest to resurrect the dead, a path with no end or result; he planted countless roses in the church and never left its walls; he stood with Tal on the Dragon’s Ridge, watching meteors fall until divine thunder struck; he was excommunicated, reviled by all, stripped of his bishopric, robbed of all power…

Each possibility crystallized in his gray eyes, then dissipated like mist.

Time slipped by with them.

Four hours, three hours… two hours, then one.

Morning arrived quietly, treading on pale dew. The sky was opalescent, tinged with a hint of rose-colored dawn at the distant horizon. Edwin dressed himself anew. The room was a silent room. Someone presented him with a large, glistening gem, red as pigeon’s blood. He kept it, threading it carefully onto black satin—a gift that could never be given.

He stood at the door, surveying the room. Later, he realized he didn’t actually want to look at anything—he just suddenly felt he needed a hug, any kind would do.

Staff in hand, Edwin closed the door.

Why didn’t I kiss him one more time? The bishop had thought this countless times, and now was no different.

He should have kissed him again back then, even if it meant being a little late.

He began walking forward, his steps firm, toward his destiny—as if fate lay bare before him, requiring no effort to discern.

*

The demon’s arms were twisted behind him as he was led from the cell into a new cage. Forged from refined mithril, the cage was unyieldingly solid, with tiny gaps that offered no chance of escape.

The lock clicked shut with a crisp sound.

The cage was placed in the church plaza, where smoke already rose. The smoke was pure, a milky-white column connecting earth and sky, cradling flames. The pyre stood towering and massive, its chains stained with old blood.

Noah’s operatives would wait until the last moment. Despair grew with each passing second—without pushing the demon’s hopelessness to its peak, how could the most complete effect be achieved? The mechanisms he’d prepared, the strings he’d pulled, would activate the instant the flames licked Tal. Then, like an angel, he’d appear before the demon.

The demon in the cage wore an indifferent expression, his eyes strikingly beautiful. The priests avoided his gaze, beginning their prayers. God, sinful creatures always bear a beguiling appearance.

Tal looked toward the platform at the front of the plaza. A priest he’d never seen was presiding over the purification ritual, glaring at him with righteous fury, as if he’d committed some heinous crime. The priest had prepared, memorizing the litany of condemnation. He held a staff, more than capable of handling a low-tier demon.

Tal averted his eyes.

Nothing worth noting. Pigeons wheeled in the sky, overlapping clouds occasionally parting to reveal a deep blue expanse. The church bell tolled its seventh chime, the sound heavy and authoritative. The templar knights moved silently and solemnly around the perimeter—protocol demanded their presence at the purification, though this time, the low-tier demon seemed hardly a threat.

“Do you confess? Do you repent?”

Tal hadn’t really listened to the first half of the speech, but hearing it or not made no difference to his answer. He smirked, his satin-black hair spilling over his shoulders:

“I don’t confess—what would I repent for?”

The priest shook his head. Such wicked creatures remained obstinate; only destruction could truly erase their sins. Especially since this demon had been found within the church—an affront to God. There was no point in trying to save a soul already mired in filth.

So he prepared to declare the ritual’s start, lifting his chin toward the waiting knights below. This execution was open to the public. People watched silently from the stands prepared for them, whispering among themselves, filled with anticipation and a touch of fear for what was to come.

The demon began to feel bored. He stood nonchalantly in the cage.

Until the surroundings were suddenly drowned in louder commotion.

The crowd began murmuring, even shifting in confusion, straining to see more clearly.

It wasn’t just the onlookers—even the priest paused mid-motion, hesitating as he exchanged a glance with his companion for confirmation. The templar knights, not yet at the cage, halted abruptly, as if they’d seen something bizarre. They looked up in unison, still unsure what this meant.

…What?

As if sensing something, the demon felt his heart gripped by an unseen force. He snapped his gaze downward, toward the horizon. It was a high place—it was—

The church’s white tower. Atop it stood a small, solemn platform, used for presiding over grand ceremonies and oaths. Only the Pope and the bishop were permitted to stand there, the heart of the white tower. Every word spoken from that spot rang clear across the entire plaza.

This was just an ordinary Sunday.

The event wasn’t a grand ceremony, but the burning of a demon.

Yet, atop the white tower, there was a figure.