TBR CH66

Edwin had no strength left, and Tal knew it. The bishop struggled to stand steady in his embrace, still reaching out an arm as if to shield him from the black mist threatening to engulf him. The mist was an extension of divine power, capable of devouring all living things with a mere touch—like the legendary river of the underworld that sinks feathers.

His action was no different from a moth hurling itself into flame. No creature could withstand the primal power of the dark god, let alone a human—let alone a human on the brink of death, whose life’s flame was flickering out.

Yet… when he reached for the black mist, it gently settled at his fingertips.

Edwin’s pupils widened slightly, his gray eyes reflecting the scene before him. Amid the trembling, blurred colors, Tal found himself—so utterly exposed—his bright, crystalline eyes like washed rubies. He pressed Edwin’s hand firmly, enveloping his entire body in his protection. The black light flickering in his grasp was more dangerous, more lethal than anything, yet it bowed to one person alone.

“I won’t let you die,” the god heard himself say. His words were an oracle countless souls yearned for but could never attain. Yet Tal’s voice trembled. He leaned in from behind, nuzzling Edwin’s neck, leaving a trail of wet, fervent kisses.

“You…” Edwin’s heart beat sluggish and slow. Oxygen deprivation clouded his thoughts. He’d just sensed something amiss when the flurry of kisses sealed his mind shut. Tal was like some small creature desperate for approval, softening Edwin’s heart unbearably as he kissed him. Edwin let out a soft “hiss,” and only then did Tal pause.

“Did I hurt you?” the demon asked cautiously, looking more flustered than ever. The problem was, Edwin had to ignore the strangeness of the situation to even notice this. The plaza was now filled with perilous, eerie black mist—mist that flowed from Tal’s fingers. The demon hadn’t fled, and Edwin hadn’t died as planned. It had come so close, yet everything veered off course.

Tal knew Edwin was staring at him.

He’d already silently used his divine power to ease the bishop’s pain. He was so grateful to be a god, almost thanking the countless years spent in the golden bottle that allowed him to save a human on the verge of collapse. He kissed the human’s neck, divine power seeping from his lips into Edwin’s body, repairing damaged veins, stabilizing his heartbeat, ensuring those eyes could keep gazing at him.

He hid nothing. It wasn’t the right time, yet the god decided to conceal nothing from Edwin anymore. For the first time, he understood what love felt like—a rose blooming in the endless permafrost of a snowfield. He’d willingly shield it from the storm, knowing the storm posed it no threat.

Tarksius felt his heart still pounding.

Not just as the dark god—even Tal had never known how intoxicating love could be. The young demon had wandered the world alone for centuries, witnessing countless breathtaking landscapes and tales, observing innumerable lovers, yet always dismissing love with indifference. His steps had been free and swift, never pausing for anyone.

Until a human laughed arrogantly, refusing to relinquish his pride even in death. Until those storm-filled eyes looked at him with resolve and sorrow, granting him freedom and a curse. Love struck him like thunder, like an arrow.

Never forget—far more than that.

Tal knew he’d spare no effort to keep him, no matter the cost.

He all but laid bare his secrets. The power in his hands grew more staggering the longer one looked. Edwin had seen the demon’s might before, but under this radiance, it was a mere fraction. Only during a divine summoning ritual had he felt a pressure remotely comparable.

Tal held nothing back from him.

Demon—no, he shouldn’t be called a demon anymore. The god knew how clever Edwin was. So, my brilliant love, look at this—the power in my hands that could destroy everything. You should be able to guess it all. The god stood there, anxious. Tal stood there, anxious, his scarlet gaze fixed on him.

His form grew taller, more lithe. His jet-black hair spread like a spider’s web, no longer soft but sharp with an edge of menace. Tarksius pursed his lips. Never had the god felt so nervous. Revealing his true self to the only object of his affection filled him with fear, yet he willingly accepted Edwin’s judgment.

The bishop gazed at him, then sighed softly. He raised a hand—pain-free now, but exhaustion still lingered in his body. The motion was slow yet resolute.

The god bent down, making it easier for him to do whatever he wished.

Edwin’s fingers were cold and pale. Tarksius wanted to tuck them into his embrace, to warm them. But the god remained still, watching those fingertips grow infinitely large in his vision. His eyes, unlike those of his younger self a millennium ago, carried the red of dried blood, tempered by years of solitude.

Edwin gently touched his eyes. The sensation was cool and damp, trailing a faint mist. Tarksius blinked slowly, puzzled, his eyelids brushing Edwin’s fingertips like butterfly wings.

“God…” Edwin murmured, utterly certain. The word vibrated faintly between his lips before breaking free. Yet the human merely uttered it without fully grasping its meaning. So the bishop blinked hesitantly.

“You’re crying too.”

Was he? Tarksius hadn’t realized. He reached for his own eyes, finding wet traces. Suddenly, he understood how the demon Tal had shed tears when Edwin stretched out his arms atop the white tower. Back then, his eyes had still been the translucent garnet of fine wine.

Tarksius and Tal—two identities undeniably linked by tears.

Could a god cry?

Edwin didn’t understand, but he looked at the being before him—unquestionably a god, with a god’s visage and power, bearing the familiar scent of roses. Those eyes gazing at him were Tal’s eyes. The demon stood there, weeping. He shouldn’t overthink it—his heart softened and moistened with those tears, as if it could be wrung out. He should’ve known he’d always crumble before Tal, no matter the moment.

The bishop opened his arms helplessly, tilting his head to look at the god. Like someone stumbling, he lurched forward uncontrollably and embraced the demon who’d panicked at his pursuit of death.

And he was caught perfectly.

The future could wait. For now, the bishop followed his heart, unable to fully process what was happening. His overtaxed body craved rest, even as he felt vast power coursing through him, repairing all that had been broken.

The god knew he needed rest. Tarksius caught Edwin like he was catching the most precious rose.

Before Edwin closed his eyes—

The god whispered a promise in his ear: “Everything you want, you’ll have it all.”

*

Just as he hadn’t personally overseen the demon’s capture, Noah waited anxiously in the shadows of a building outside the plaza. After all, the Holy Son couldn’t appear at a demon’s execution without reason. If all went as planned, the templar knights loyal to him would bring the demon, saved at the last moment, and recount His Holiness’s heroic role in the ordeal.

He wore the purest white robes, while the demon would surely be in a pitiful state. He’d act unperturbed, using his pristine garments to wipe the dark soot from the demon’s body left by the flames—a crucial moment to stir the heart.

The script was already written.

He’d rescue the demon from the pyre, teetering on the edge of death, stripped of all hope. By his calculations, the later the redemption, the deeper it would carve into the soul. He timed it perfectly, adjusting his attire, pondering how to make the young Tarksius even more grateful. Noah didn’t mind exaggerating his efforts, exploiting the demon’s vulnerability.

It was almost time.

A deep violet thrill surged within him, the sensation of holding everything in his grasp. If he could claim the dark god this time, then spend a bit more effort to conquer the God of Light, he’d complete his mission gloriously—perhaps even exceed expectations.

Noah peered at a corner of the plaza through a gap between the buildings.

Though he was accustomed to staying behind the scenes, Noah wasn’t foolish enough to let everything unfold far beyond his reach. He was just thinking it was almost time, adjusting his angle to locate the demon, when a sudden commotion erupted from the plaza. The source of the disturbance was unclear—Noah was too far to pinpoint it. Puzzled, he took two steps forward.

The problem was, it wasn’t fast enough.

A blinding wave of light swept across the entire plaza, stinging the Holy Son’s eyes. In an instant, the plaza became a transparent vessel, as if it contained the sun itself, sealing everything within. Noah tried to step closer, but he still couldn’t see anything clearly.

“No way,” he muttered, feeling his plan slipping helplessly into the unknown. He began to regret leaving the artifact—granted by the God of Light to block all light-based attacks—in his room. It couldn’t be helped; who knew how the demon might react to such an item?

But he quickly forced himself to regain composure. He commanded the system in his mind to locate the dark god, then hesitated before adding a small request.

Fortunately, he received two pieces of good news.

Amid the sudden flood of light, the dark god remained in place, unmoving. And the God of Light wasn’t present. Heaven knew how terrified Noah had been when he saw that overwhelming radiance—he’d immediately feared it signaled the arrival of the deity of light. That would’ve been bad news for him.

So who had the power to unleash such light, and what were they trying to do?

Noah hesitated, clenching his teeth, and cast one last glance at the plaza. The problem was, he couldn’t pierce the brilliance to see what lay behind it, nor could he step inside. The Holy Son knew decisions had to be swift, so he turned abruptly, his figure vanishing around the corner. He decided to retrieve the protective gear from his room as quickly as possible. At least that might clarify the situation a little.

The trouble was, none of the templar knights were with him, forcing him to waste precious time.

By the time he returned to the plaza, the light had undeniably weakened significantly.

Wearing the protective gear, Noah strode forward quickly, intent on investigating. He no longer worried about his identity being inappropriate for the scene—something had clearly happened in the plaza.

But just as his toes were about to touch the fading light and shatter it, the day seemed to shift in an instant. The blue sky overhead and the flawless sunlight extinguished silently. Pure black mist engulfed him without a sound, laced with the scent of darkness and blood. Danger roared within the fog.

The Holy Son’s pupils constricted slightly.

He’d seen this power before—he knew it. Suddenly, the long-healed scar on his chest throbbed again, a wound once undeniably cleaved by this very force. Something was wrong. His mind raced as his legs instinctively reacted, trying to retreat from the plaza. But the mist held a seductive, beguiling power, its lethal poison already seeping into his body.

Like the others in the plaza, Noah stumbled like a puppet for two steps.

Then he collapsed unconscious on the church plaza.

*

Edwin opened his eyes silently. He found himself lying on the four-poster bed in his room, the bedding dry and soft around him, dark curtains draping down, pooling sinuously on the floor.

A flicker of confusion surfaced in the bishop’s gray eyes. He hurriedly pulled back the curtains, and sunlight slanted through the window, casting faint golden patches on the floor. The furniture stood mute and still. No one knocked at the door; the corridor outside his room was as quiet as ever, rarely disturbed.

For a moment, he almost doubted it had all been a chaotic dream.

His eyes darted around the room in panic, his heart pounding again with the fear of loss, too overwhelmed to carefully process what had happened. But soon, his breathing steadied. The bishop raised his left hand to touch his neck, as if the demon’s kisses still lingered there, his fingertips sensing a faint dampness.

A god…

A god’s tears.

Edwin took a slow, deep breath. The air carried the dry, woody scent typical of an afternoon room, but it was overshadowed by an intense rose fragrance. The sweet, potent aroma flooded the space, as if a vast rose garden had been planted here, boldly and fiercely asserting its presence.

The bishop approached his desk, the first thing his gaze landed on. A bouquet of blooming roses, red as blood, sat there. Unexpectedly, Edwin recalled the deep red eyes from his final glance. He stepped closer, his boots clicking crisply against the floor, thoughts turning to the god as he reached to touch the roses.

The roses were still in the pen holder.

The moment Edwin brushed them, a note slipped out from the holder.

The bishop pursed his lips. Now, he could finally think clearly about the full picture—or rather, the parts that had been concealed. Tal, or a god—what had he summoned, and what did he truly want to possess? Soon, the unfolded note interrupted his thoughts. He found himself greedily devouring the words, written in elegant cursive, so very like the demon.

“I’ll be back tonight. I’ll tell you everything and let you do whatever you want.”

The pen paused here, then the demon drew a graceful flourish for the signature:

“Yours lovingly, Tal.”

The word “love” had one letter replaced with a tiny heart—quintessentially Tal. Edwin folded the paper into a neat square and tucked it into his sleeve. He walked to the door, where bright sunlight awaited outside. The world opened before him, seemingly without secrets.

The bishop turned the doorknob and stepped out without hesitation.

—

Everyone’s story was perfectly aligned. That was the problem. Everyone present—templar knights, priests, even the pilgrims reluctant to leave the church—spoke the same tale. Edwin even spotted the familiar green-eyed old woman. She smiled and nodded at him, her gaze tinged with faint admiration.

The demon from that morning? Naturally, he’d been reduced to ashes on the pyre under the priest’s judgment. Bishop, is there anything noteworthy about this? Of course, I saw it with my own eyes.

Edwin shook his head, indicating it was nothing.

The priest he’d stopped looked at him with concern. “Bishop, I heard you were unwell today. Are you feeling better now?”

“Of course,” Edwin replied, lifting his pale gray eyes to meet his. Something complex flickered within them—like fire, like a storm, or perhaps like the effortless confidence he exuded every morning at the pulpit.

“I’m perfectly fine now.”

Everything remained intact, awaiting the bishop’s review. Edwin walked slowly, like a general inspecting troops or a child maintaining a serious expression while unwrapping a gift. All memories had been scrubbed clean—likely the work of the black mist in the god’s hands. In everyone’s recollection, the morning’s events had been neatly resolved.

Meanwhile, someone had excused his absence. The bishop was unwell. Before the current pope could show any awkwardness, the king and nobles, wiping sweat from their brows, expressed immediate understanding. After all, Edwin’s ascension as the next pope was indisputable—time was the least of their concerns.

Even if the aging pope passed before it could be formalized, it wouldn’t matter. Edwin would still hold immense power—who could rival his brilliance?

The young attendant sent by Bishop Edwin to explain his absence smiled and bowed to them. He was youthful and striking, a hint of异色 (iridescence) shimmering in his eyes. For some reason, the king found him vaguely familiar. Years ago, at Prince Angelo’s estate, when his carriage had stopped before the ornate gates, he’d glimpsed this young man.

He had an unforgettable quality.

Suddenly, His Majesty shivered. He recalled his late brother, Prince Angelo, gritted teeth recounting a mysteriously botched plan. Edwin’s coachman was supposed to be killed by a skilled assassin, but it was the assassin who ended up dead—dumped on his brother’s bed, becoming the year’s most sensational royal scandal.

Noticing his gaze, the young attendant turned, his smile deepening. But his eyes held a terrifying, incomprehensible monstrous gleam. Under that stare, the king’s fine silk coat grew damp with sweat on his back. Then, as if struck by realization, he blinked:

“Right, we’ve met—at the prince’s estate. I’m Bishop Edwin’s man. It’s impressive you remember.”

Edwin listened as the pope recounted the morning’s events.

Nothing had changed. The path to power remained as he’d left it, gleaming gems and a radiant future bowing meekly before him, awaiting the bishop’s boots to crush the blood-soaked bones on the road, step by step, to the highest throne.

Everything was pristine and gleaming, and as he reached to touch his chest, he felt the blood flowing steadily through his body once more. Yes, there was one final step—the step he’d thought he could never take. Yet here he stood again, having lost nothing.

The bishop lowered his head, his gaze sharp as a blade, tightening his grip on the staff. It still burned hot in his palm, radiant light rippling outward in waves.

But he knew better than anyone that after delivering such a shocking declaration, after the church plaza had been successively bathed in light and darkness, whatever Tal had done for him could not escape the God of Light’s notice. He could feel it—the source from which he once drew power had dried up. The light had closed its gates to him.

What he wielded now came from a different origin.

Only a god could bestow their power upon a human, and there were only two gods in this world. Edwin opened his palm, and dark energy swirled within it—adept at cloaking itself in grandeur, like a black sheep disguised among the divine flock. Wielding this power required no medium.

This beautiful, dangerous essence felt tailor-made for him.

God. The thought surfaced again. Instinctively, he felt uneasy, counting his erratic heartbeats, yet unable to pinpoint why. He waited for his blood to cool, to reach a calmness clear enough for thought. Rationally, he confirmed the rescheduled succession ceremony with the pope. The old man coughed incessantly—death was near—and the God of Light showed no extra mercy for his earthly spokesperson.

Beyond the God of Light, there was only one other deity in this world—aloof, malevolent, and isolated. The dark god Tarksius. Edwin had read his name, and now he tried to connect those descriptions to Tal.

Tal was soft and sweet, carrying the scent of roses and honey.

Tal had leaned in to give him a hug, kissing his eyes in the same moment.

He could possess Tal—a low-tier demon. In this world, he’d decided to shelter him, and for the first time, he had someone he wanted to protect. That thought made his heart pound, as if he’d been reborn. But could a human possess a god? The bishop felt he was thinking too far ahead. He didn’t know how gods viewed humans—perhaps as ants. The God of Light might see priests as mere toys in a child’s game.

But this was Tal.

That thought kept crashing into his mind whenever he tried to think seriously. Along with the god’s tears captured by his fingertips—the demon’s tears—Tal’s beautiful garnet eyes, washed clean as if by water, because he truly couldn’t hold them back. It was when Edwin had gazed down urgently from the white tower, desperate to see his lover one last time—

His fingers twitched faintly.

Time passed quickly. The sun sank, casting a dim shadow along the horizon. “Tonight” was a vague term; he’d have to tell Tal later to leave a more specific time when asking someone to wait. But for now, he decided to start waiting.

The bishop returned to his room.

Below the white tower, a templar knight saw him and bowed his proud head. Edwin cast him a probing glance, and the knight smiled awkwardly, pretending he was just loitering aimlessly. Archbishop Edwin’s authority was overwhelming. Even if the knight would give everything for Noah, he couldn’t help but waver…

In his memory, he’d followed the Holy Son’s orders to the letter that morning. Noah had told him the demon’s soul required careful scrutiny—God’s will—so he’d acted without hesitation. He clearly recalled handing the demon, rescued from the pyre, to Noah. That’s where the memory ended.

Then, at noon, Noah had come running, breathless and disheveled, asking him to confirm everything that had happened that morning.

He seemed utterly unconvinced by the knight’s account until the knight showed irritation. Only then did Noah snap out of it, plastering on a smile, admitting his memory was slightly muddled, and claiming he’d already dealt with the demon.

But he’d asked the knight to check on Archbishop Edwin.

One glance from the archbishop, and the templar knight couldn’t help but lower his head. Typically, a holy knight’s martial prowess outstripped a priest’s, but the bishop was different. Just standing near him, the knight felt an immense power emanating from this human—a power that undeniably proclaimed his closeness to the light. Any doubt was futile.

The bishop seemed unbothered by his intrusion, which moved the knight even more.

Ascending the steps, Edwin moved with practiced ease. Then came pushing open the door. This time, his state of mind differed from all the others—not a foreboding of grim fate, nor the joy of anticipation, but something more complex.

For the past week, he’d hardly dared open this door, knowing the room was empty, that no one awaited his return. It pained him—love made a person strong, but it also made them weak.

Edwin pushed open the door.

The scent of roses hadn’t faded; it had grown stronger. As he opened the door, light from outside spilled through the half-open gap, illuminating the god’s shimmering wine-red eyes. He sat in that chair as usual, though in his divine form, Tal was much taller, his feet forced to touch the ground. He was different from Tal in many ways, yet unmistakably identical.

“Hi,” Tal—Edwin didn’t want to change the name—said, pursing his lips. He tried to appear calm, but the tightly pressed lips betrayed the god’s nervousness.

“Welcome home, Edwin.”

Edwin blinked slowly, only then realizing he couldn’t stop the scalding liquid welling up in his eyes. Too fragile, too pathetic—just those words, and everything still lacked clear answers. He blinked deliberately, holding back the tears from spilling over, the droplets sharpening his vision.

Then he noticed a detail, a mere corner of the scene.

The god’s black hair fell past his shoulders, soft even in the dim light. But it wasn’t carelessly draped down his back—it was neatly tied up, gentle and obedient.

He remembered the ribbon that had vanished with Tal. Back then, the emptiness of its loss had gripped his throat; he hadn’t thought it through properly. But now…

The god wore a ruby-red ribbon.

Without a doubt, it was that one.