TBR CH68

As always, Edwin opened his eyes silently in the faint morning light. The pale gray mist in his gaze swirled briefly before his muscles tensed for an instant. Instinctively, he lowered his eyes to the figure in his arms. The god still bore the guise of a demon, his arm draped over Edwin’s shoulder. Soft hair, warmed by the bedding, spilled across the bishop’s body.

Drowsily, he opened those beautiful garnet-red eyes and said softly, “Good morning, Edwin.”

For a fleeting moment, Edwin wished this moment could stretch longer—long enough for him to etch every detail before him into his memory. The thought carried a hint of bitterness, but far more sweetness.

He couldn’t pretend he wasn’t afraid. Edwin knew full well that “human” and “god” were words that could never stand side by side. It was as absurd as Sata mocking him for daring to challenge a demon—an overestimation of his own strength. In this world, the races were sharply divided, ranked in clear order. Humans were the most numerous and widespread across the continent, yet also the most fragile, lacking any innate magic.

He had seen the haughty gazes of those self-proclaimed superior races. To them, lesser beings were like grains of sand, ants, dust. Yet even they had to bow before a god.

A human dreaming of claiming a god for himself—what an outrageously wild ambition.

But as Edwin stood at the starting point, gazing toward the end of the path, he trembled as he welcomed the sharp, fresh winds rushing toward him. He looked up at the crown awaiting him at the journey’s end—a crown offered by none other than Tal, also known as a god. He knew the road ahead would still be strewn with thorns and blood, and he understood that his climb would bring him great rewards.

The god saw his ambition, permitted it, smiled upon it—had even allowed Edwin to shackle him in advance.

Yet the bishop demanded more of himself. He had always been this arrogant, refusing to bow to any coercion fate might impose. Now, with his power restored, he felt for the first time that he could reach even greater heights, his ambition swelling further. Nothing could stop him from pressing onward.

He shed all his defenses, his gray eyes softening as he returned Tal’s good morning. Neither could say who leaned in first—perhaps both were to blame—but they kissed. Edwin had once thought what he had was enough, that it didn’t matter if Tal’s heart remained unmoved. Only in these past few days did he realize how intoxicating it was to be loved so earnestly and steadfastly by a demon, the entire world melting in those love-filled eyes.

Tal could always offer him greater rewards.

Edwin closed his eyes during the kiss. For a moment, the bishop thought coldly that no matter the cost, he would stand alongside his god in the end.

*

Edwin, as usual, had to perform the morning prayer. Suppressing the further desires sparked by the kiss, his breathing still unsteady, he began fastening those troublesome buttons. Even more troublesome was Tal—the demon suddenly took a keen interest in his silver buttons, volunteering to help his lover dress. As his hands threaded through the buttonholes, they unintentionally brushed against Edwin’s body.

Edwin could only hold his breath.

Once Tal finished fussing, time was nearly up. It was like every morning before—the demon stayed in the room, watching Edwin leave, already calculating his return. Perhaps he’d brew a hot, strong cup of tea in advance. At the door, Edwin couldn’t help but glance back.

That look carried inquiry, a touch of expectation, and a thin layer of reproach.

Tal suddenly realized he’d dropped all pretense before Edwin. There was no need to “lock” him in the room for safety anymore, no need to worry about him wandering the Church and exposing himself. Beyond that, nothing could confine him—Edwin had surely guessed he hadn’t stayed obediently in the room before. The question was: where would Tal go today?

The demon clasped his hands behind his back, feigning ignorance as he met Edwin’s gaze, a sly glimmer of amusement in his eyes. Edwin was the first to yield, turning away as his footsteps carried him into the corridor beyond the door. Only then did Tal speak, his words trailing off with an ambiguous hook that tugged at the bishop’s heartbeat:

“I’ll come see you.”

Edwin’s lips had already curved into a smile.

Even earlier, perhaps, because he knew Tal wouldn’t let him down.

The god moved silently through the pristine, towering structures of the Church, shadows swallowing him. In the darkness, he saw Edwin take extra notice of everything along the way. The bishop walked in sunlight, its bright rays illuminating his face—dark curls and pale gray eyes. To the congregation, he looked like a handsome statue of a god, no different from divinity itself.

He appeared exceedingly humble, exceedingly composed.

In truth, he was exceedingly greedy, exceedingly arrogant. Some dismissed the rumors entirely, while others believed them but no longer dared speak.

Sometimes, Tal deliberately let Edwin catch sight of him. The demon stood in the shadows, blinking and waving at his bishop. The gray mist in Edwin’s eyes churned darkly, ambiguously, yet he was forced to maintain normalcy under the public eye—restrained, ascetic. He walked past countless awed gazes, standing at the pulpit as the pinnacle of their faith, holding the sacred scriptures and lighting the pure candle symbolizing divine blessing.

Before all eyes, the candle flickered twice.

It was a minor thing. Soon after, a soothing light rippled outward, the smoke carrying a calming effect. It seemed brighter than usual, proclaiming their bishop’s purity and piety, destined to become the Church’s future pillar, doubly blessed by the gods.

Edwin extended his arm, a strange glint flashing in his eyes. Yes, no one had noticed the candle extinguish for an instant. He had reignited the holy flame with his own power.

He was the greatest traitor to the God of Light, and even that god could do nothing about him.

After the morning prayer began, Edwin knelt before the statue of the God of Light, carved from pure white marble. To the bishop, it was merely a slab of stone. This time, though, was different. This time, he felt his blood coursing hotly, raw and slow through his veins. He slightly raised his eyes to the statue. The massive marble cast an equally massive shadow.

The Dark God stood within that shadow, looking down at him. Those deep red eyes flickered, offering him a faint smile.

In truth, priests weren’t supposed to look directly at the divine statue during prayer—it was a sign of respect. Edwin adhered to this rule, appearing entirely unremarkable. Tal thought it a pity; the bishop remained kneeling, not even lifting his eyes to meet his. Those gray eyes hid in the shadow of his face, his voice steady as ever.

So the god stared at Edwin unabashedly. The bishop’s effortless command in such settings, everything under his control, was genuinely captivating. He must have memorized all the doctrines by heart, though half were human embellishments—

Tal suddenly noticed the content of Edwin’s prayer:

“…I shall surely love the divine, sparing neither flesh nor life, offering myself wholly. Love for the divine must be unreserved; all humans should revere their god. Like the masses, I raise the torch of love above my head, to please the divine…”

The bishop had spontaneously switched the prayer. He was reciting a classic poem from the scriptures exhorting love for the divine, penned by the Church’s earliest Holy Son. Its language was fervent, ardently expressing devotion. Edwin recited these lines calmly, and though those attending the prayer were briefly surprised by the change, they soon sank into the strange atmosphere.

Before the bishop, the god’s eyes gleamed brightly. He knew to whom Edwin pledged himself.

“…Forever loyal to You, my divine.”

The final words lingered in the sanctuary for a few seconds before fading. Tal lowered his head, watching the human rise with the ruby staff symbolizing authority. The pigeon-blood-red gem gleamed between his fingers like a flame—yet it paled beside the fire in his eyes. At last, he raised his head without restraint, his pale gray eyes fully reflecting the god’s true form.

This was no oath of loyalty—it was a declaration of ambition.

And the god spoke softly, with a mischievous edge that shattered the solemn mood entirely:

“I, too, will forever love you, dear bishop.”

*

“I need you to help me with a little favor.”

Tal said this as he walked with Edwin beside the rose garden. The bishop could no longer distinguish whether the fragrance came from the flowers or Tal himself. It was odd—he’d never paid attention to something as fleeting as scent before. Until meeting Tal, he’d never even properly smelled a rose.

“Alright,” Edwin nodded almost without hesitation. “As long as I can do it.”

“By rights, I shouldn’t reveal too much,” the demon said, his fingers entwined with the bishop’s. He seemed focused on untangling the knot their hands had formed, so Edwin’s hand was constantly prodded by his restless fingers. “But since you guessed it yourself, it doesn’t count. Edwin, you’re really clever.”

Before this conversation began, Edwin had asked Tal something that had been swirling in his mind, waiting for the right moment to slip off his tongue. When the holy candle had extinguished in his hand, he’d felt a sense of relief, just as he had when he realized the power of light had fully left him. Yet here he was, still in the Church, one step away from the papal throne. Even if the God of Light paid little heed to humans, He shouldn’t tolerate such an obvious traitor ascending to speak for Him in the mortal realm.

The bishop had given his hand to his god and asked whether, at this moment, the God of Light’s lack of immediate retribution meant divine forces were clashing behind the scenes.

“He even went out of his way to snuff out your candle,” the demon said, looking at the bishop with bright, innocent garnet eyes. “I think that counts as tripping you up, so what comes next is fair retaliation.”

Edwin nearly laughed. The God of Light deliberately extinguishing a human’s candle wasn’t unprecedented, but hearing it now sounded comically petty. And the notion of “fair retaliation” was even more absurd.

But a few seconds later, the bishop sighed.

“You know I didn’t mean that.”

“Fine,” Tal held his gaze for a moment before surrendering. He’d long decided to keep nothing from his lover, though this matter couldn’t be spoken directly from a god’s mouth—it involved a secret pact between two deities. That’s why he’d vaguely told Edwin he “needed his help.”

“…I can only say this much, but don’t worry, Edwin,” he said, blinking. “What I’m most worried about is that you’ll get upset because I can’t say it outright, so I’ll apologize in advance.”

He lightly scratched Edwin’s palm. What kind of apology was this—holding the other’s hand, touching him so intimately, like a feather brushing his heart? The bishop tried to keep his lips stern, but he couldn’t suppress the smile tugging at them. He gazed at the god with a mix of exasperation and contentment for a moment before saying softly:

“Will I get a reward?”

“Hmm,” Tal replied, “that depends. The good news is your Pope is dying. He’s basically hanging on by a thread, but the God of Light is still keeping him alive, clinging to a pitiful last shred of hope. Once this is over, everything will fall into place like dominoes.”

“Sounds good.”

The bishop judged the impending death of the Church’s most revered elder without so much as a furrowed brow. No doubt it would be a national tragedy, but the rumors had been floating around for a while—people wouldn’t be too shocked.

“But you brought this up first,” Edwin said, lifting his eyes with the confident ease of someone assured of their prize. “Which means there’s an even better reward.”

“Alright,” the demon turned to face Edwin in front of the new rose garden. To outsiders, it might seem the bishop was merely patrolling the Church grounds, but for the two of them, it was a rather romantic stroll. Tal stood with the rose bushes at his back—though no flower, however vibrant, could outshine him. His eyes were more beautiful than the roses, his pure black hair like their thorns: soft in appearance, yet dangerous and captivating.

Edwin paused his steps.

The bishop looked as though his gaze had been drawn by the roses along the path. A gardener working in the distance couldn’t help but feel honored—Bishop Edwin pausing for the roses he’d tended was a tremendous privilege.

Tal was a little demon exceedingly adept at reading hearts. At this moment, he looked at Edwin slyly, tilting his head. “Actually, it’s not much of a reward—I’m not even sure you’d be interested. But…” Sensing Edwin’s intent to protest, he continued without further teasing:

“People often say that whether a promotion happens or not pales in comparison to whether the next gig is good or bad. Being Pope of the Church of Light is certainly a fine job, so I just wanted to ask if you’ve considered switching employers?”

“Yes,” Edwin said softly, a spark dancing in his eyes. “To which one?”

“Whichever you like,” Tal replied. “I’m not joking—I haven’t fully figured it out myself. But you can do whatever you want, and I’ll support you a hundred percent. If you need another church, some other ambitious place, or even to become a billionaire or something, I’m all in. I always feel my plans fall short, so it’s really up to you.”

The decision was handed to him by the god. Edwin felt certain desires steaming up from his flesh and blood, while Tal stood before him, pledging full cooperation, willingly. He knew he’d started pondering this days ago, but the seed of this thought had taken root in his heart far longer—countless years back, when he first set out on this ever-upward path. Back then, he’d wrestled with confusion and questions, wondering if there might be another road to take.

Now, that road unfurled before him, gleaming like a wish fulfilled.

“I think I have an idea,” the bishop said after a brief hesitation, deciding to draft a proposal later. He was meticulous, leaving no loose ends, and would approach his and the god’s future with even greater care. But he knew what the new spark igniting in his chest meant. Edwin closed his eyes, then opened them again.

The old gardener in the distance thought, My roses are so beautiful—that’s why Bishop Edwin lingers there, as if giving thanks for this divinely bestowed beauty.

Edwin looked at Tal amid the roses, filled with gratitude—though he knew they’d long passed the point of thanking each other.

“Tal,” he said at last, his voice dry. He smiled and cleared his throat. “This is enough for me to do countless things for you. You know, I don’t actually need any reward.”

Edwin looked both eager and restrained. Tal stood before the flowerbed, while Edwin faced him, the Church’s buildings rising behind. Yet even those towering structures couldn’t obscure the distant mountains. The range encircled the royal city to the northwest, now edged with gold in the bright daylight—like a crown placed upon the bishop’s head.

The god loved these omens. Though fate was an ethereal thing, this scene delighted him. With Edwin looking at him like that, Tal suddenly felt his little verbal trap had been worthwhile…

“Dear Bishop,” he said, curling his lips into a smile, using the most intimate address to sway a rational mind—and, as always, succeeding effortlessly.

“You seem to have misunderstood. This isn’t the reward I’m offering for your help. I just took a moment to discuss the future with you—our shared future, which, frankly, will trouble you more to arrange. What I mean is, the reward is something else entirely.”

“What?” Edwin asked softly, purely out of surprise. His heart tightened again, but it was all positive—nothing bad could happen in Tal’s presence. He held his breath, wondering if this was how children felt, nervously unwrapping a birthday gift with eager anticipation.

“The Dragon’s Ridge,” Tal said, flashing a smile sweeter than fizzing mead. Edwin suspected the words carried more intoxication than the tavern’s finest brew—how else could he feel so dizzy, like a flustered boy facing a lover’s date invitation, stammering to repeat the words for confirmation—

“Yes,” the demon winked at him. “Edwin, I want to watch the meteors at Dragon’s Ridge with you too.”

*

Noah sat on an intricately carved, luxurious bed. Moments ago, he’d been rushing around the Church, gathering information to no avail. Anxiety crept over his exquisite features, his brows knitting tightly, almost convincing him the whole affair hadn’t happened.

In truth, he had forgotten everything. If not for the system replaying it clearly in his mind,勉强 piecing his memory back together, that morning’s events would have slipped silently into oblivion for the Holy Son.

“…The problem is, things haven’t improved at all,” Noah realized his voice had grown too sharp with frustration. He deliberately lowered it in an instant. “First the blinding white light, then the black mist symbolizing the Dark God—what does it even mean?”

“At the very least, it means the Dark God has regained consciousness,” the system replied in its cold, mechanical tone, sounding even more distant. It didn’t get along with this host and knew full well he wouldn’t heed its advice. If Noah had been doing well, that’d be one thing—he’d been decent enough earlier—but now, clearly, something was amiss. The flat statement, devoid of inflection, somehow stung its host.

“I don’t need you to remind me of that,” Noah snapped, his brows furrowing deeper. “What about the white light? Was someone trying to strike first? Hey, do you think it’s possible someone got wind of our plan and decided to take out Taxius before we could act? The Church isn’t short on devout believers, and the Holy Knights’ lips might not be as sealed as I thought.”

It was a plausible theory. But to unleash light of that magnitude, it’d take someone of the Pope’s, bishop’s, or Holy Knight Commander’s caliber. The Holy Son had asked around—everyone claimed neither of the first two had been at the ceremony, both resting due to poor health. Bishop Edwin had even postponed a visit from the king.

Bishop Edwin was a prime suspect.

And he had both the motive to kill the demon and the means to glean information from the knights. After all, a deal with a demon wasn’t exactly honorable—if the demon survived, it’d pose a direct threat to his standing.

“But there’s still something odd…” Noah muttered. “If the Dark God really regained his memory and power on the brink of death, why erase everyone’s memories instead of killing them on the spot? And why hasn’t Taxius come to me? Before or after losing his memory, I should’ve left a good impression on him.”

“Are there other possibilities?” the system asked. “Maybe it wasn’t the bishop that morning, or perhaps the light wasn’t aimed at the demon. Also, they say even a restored time stream can leave lingering effects. Everything’s possible.”

“Yeah,” Noah said with deliberate mockery. When things went awry, he grew more aggressive, as if desperate to prove himself by contradicting others. “Maybe the bishop fell for some lowlife demon and would throw everything away to die for him—”

His expression showed how ridiculous he found the idea—just a lame joke.

“What I mean is, mulling over all these absurd possibilities is pointless right now. Isn’t the God of Light coming soon?”

Something had gone wrong somewhere, but it wasn’t necessarily spiraling out of control. Despite his unease, the Holy Son hadn’t entirely lost his optimism about the future. This world was progressing decently. He’d aimed to claim the love of both gods, but if time ran short, securing just one wouldn’t be a total failure.

He sat in a gem-encrusted chair, grooming himself, because the system had warned him the God of Light’s footsteps were drawing near. He had to hurry. At least the God of Light’s infatuation with him seemed on track—just a gentle nudge more, though it was taking longer than expected. The end wasn’t so far off now.

Noah put on a meek, docile smile, as if the person before him were his entire world.

The God of Light was pleased with this display from his follower and lover. This human had the most beautiful face and the truest heart—that’s why he’d gradually sunk into him. Though something felt off—he’d never invested this much in a pretty toy before—a strange force within him kept pulling him to act with love. But it was so well-hidden that he only rarely noticed it.

And as time with Noah accumulated, he felt that sense of being out of control less and less.

Recently, he’d even considered sharing his divinity with the boy before him.

But that idea was still a ways from reality. The God of Light held the young man in his arms, listening to him chirp like a fledgling, professing admiration and love, pledging loyalty over and over. The anger he’d felt from Taxius melted away in the Holy Son’s soft words. If he were to love a human, it should be like this—choosing someone delicate, beautiful, wholly devoted. Noah, so dependent on him, surely wouldn’t let him down in the wager between gods.

Thinking of this, the God of Light softened his voice, coaxing the human nestled against his chest.

“I need you to do something for me,” the god said, “but I can’t give you the details. It’s a wager between gods, my dear, but I trust you won’t let me down. Rest assured—I believe no one could be more devout to me than you.”

Theyoung man in his arms suddenly faltered, his voice catching unnaturally.

The God of Light lowered his head, his golden eyes reflecting Noah’s face. The complexion of his most intimate little lover had suddenly turned pale, as if startled, stammering to ask for more details. This reaction reignited the god’s displeasure, though it could simply be that his Holy Son was overly self-conscious—he’d always needed gentle care.

So, the God of Light patiently repeated himself.

He didn’t know Noah’s feelings at that moment. Noah was gripped by confusion and bewilderment, but above those emotions loomed something far more terrifying: a profound, ominous premonition of something massive about to descend upon him. In his original world, just before his capture, this same inexplicable feeling had surged within him. It was hard to dismiss it as mere coincidence. Heavens, everything had been under control, and now it felt like plunging into a fog—

Yet Noah knew all too well that when one foresaw impending doom, there was no room for struggle. Even now, as anxious as he was, he had to force himself to placate the God of Light, trying to glean more details.

“Of course I’m willing,” he said, his face pale but offering the God of Light a sweet smile. “I love you so deeply—my devotion is utterly flawless. I won’t disappoint your expectations.”

Theyoung man’s exquisite beauty turned his pallor into an expression of nervous shyness. The God of Light looked down at his Holy Son with satisfaction, feeling his love for him grow a little more. There was nothing to worry about—Taxius had only one follower, while he had countless devotees willing to sacrifice themselves for him. He trusted his own judgment.

Unfortunately, among all who knew of this wager, he was the only one so unwaveringly certain.