TBR CH69

Even gods cannot see through the hearts of men.

This is the only flaw of an omnipotent deity, though for a god, it’s hardly a significant defect. Those he deems loyal are etched into history with eternal praise; those he condemns as traitors bear the irrefutable stigma of sinners. Should any errors occur in between, a god neither knows nor cares to know.

In the predawn hours when all are still asleep, hesitant footsteps always echo outside the sanctuary. A hunched figure pauses at the door, his cloudy eyes straining to see the statue of the God of Light, illuminated by the ever-burning holy candles. He’s practically a ghost. A young guard, after being startled once, now waves his arms dramatically, his urge to speak unusually strong:

“Who’d believe this is the same ‘hard-headed old Bart’ from back then!”

After being stripped of his right to faith by the god, Father Bart should’ve been expelled from the Church. But he was too old, with no wife or children and little contact with relatives. This winter was the harshest in years, so the Church made an exception, allowing him to stay as a gesture of the God of Light’s mercy.

Yet he was forbidden from ever stepping foot in the sanctuary again.

In the past, he’d always been the first to join the prayers. At the sanctuary’s entrance, the old man blinked slowly, the radiance of the holy candles searing his vision. He could barely see anything, only lowering his head, unable to sigh—his voice had been taken by the god. Trembling fingers instinctively rubbed his chest, finding nothing where a string of rose prayer beads once hung. Now a sinner barred from approaching the divine, he naturally couldn’t wear any blessed relics.

He was like an ominous specter wandering the Church grounds, avoided by all who saw him.

At his age, decay came quickly, and lately, it had accelerated at an alarming rate.

Father Bart had always been stern with everyone—a famously unyielding man. But now his spine seemed to collapse inward, like a snowbank caving in. At the start of the year, he’d still seemed vigorous; now his entire head was ashen, his face shadowed with an ominous pallor, vitality draining from him ceaselessly.

Once, people guessed he’d live another decade. Now, it seemed he wouldn’t survive this winter.

He could be summed up as a pitiful, fallen old man, no longer a threat in any way.

…Except for those hawk-like eyes, which, at times, still shone with piercing light.

Noah walked down the small garden below his quarters, walking along the marble-paved path toward the sanctuary. Beyond his residence, flowers bloomed everywhere. Those he met along the way smiled and greeted him. He wore garments of the kingdom’s finest silk, adorned with intricate patterns designed by dozens of court artists.

As the Holy Son, most favored by the god, this was all routine for him.

Approaching the sanctuary, he was about to enter when he felt an unmistakable gaze—one all too familiar. In his original world, those he’d swindled out of their fortunes had glared at him with the same resentful eyes. Turning, he spotted Father Bart in the shadows of the bushes and roses—the man he’d stripped of everything.

The old man was so hunched that the holy knights only now noticed him. A knight in gleaming silver armor hurried forward to shoo away the unwelcome figure. The Holy Son had once proclaimed the god’s judgment, and the god’s actions had confirmed it—so this vile, shadowy heretic had no business troubling His Holiness.

Bart took a step back, showing no intent to linger. He simply stared deeply at Noah, as if burning a gaze of fire and hatred into his retinas. His lips moved silently before he turned and hobbled away. His steps were uneven—his right leg, stiff from the cold, had never been quite right.

Perhaps no one else present could decipher Bart’s words, but Noah pursed his lips slightly. He could read lips and traced the message clearly:

“You will face retribution in the end.”

What rotten luck, Noah thought irritably. What a dull curse.

Bart had lost to him completely and posed no threat. Caring about the ravings of an old man half-buried in the ground was pointless. He turned to instruct the knight behind him firmly: this blasphemer must never appear before him again, or the God of Light would be angered. His expression was a touch too ferocious, startling even the knight familiar with the Holy Son.

But the minor incident was resolved. Noah steadied his breath and continued into the sanctuary.

He hadn’t yet realized his agitation stemmed from the fear and uncertainty of the past few days. What had happened with the Dark God  Tarksius remained unknown, and the God of Light’s vague words filled him with dread. After days of waiting, nothing had transpired. Noah had to mentally brace himself to stay calm and complete his mission.

It left him somewhat on edge.

Standing before the statue of the God of Light, gazing into its lusterless eyes, he couldn’t suppress the flicker of the old man’s expression in his mind. He pressed a hand to his chest, feeling his heart swell and pound unnaturally.

There was really nothing to fear. The Holy Son entered a private room in the sanctuary—his personal prayer space, ornate and refined, with a golden statue of the god. Sometimes, the God of Light met him here. Lately, the god had grown increasingly fond of him, once even mentioning a desire for Noah to stay by His side forever.

Forever. That meant accepting him as an eternal companion.

He blinked, puzzled. Why, kneeling on the soft, wide golden cushion, did his body feel heavier, as if sinking uncontrollably into a drowsy dream? His eyelids drooped like lead, and darkness fluttered over his vision, gradually engulfing everything.

In his daze, Noah instinctively called out to the system in his mind.

There was no response.

Something’s wrong. Noah jolted in alarm, pinching himself hard. In an instant, the drowsiness vanished like smoke, and the world sharpened before him. He stood reflexively, only to realize he wasn’t wearing his lavish robes but a coarse, sturdy garment—one whose pattern he’d never forget.

How—how could this be?

Noah snapped his eyes up. Before him, blinding light stabbed his vision—not the Church’s holy glow. In its presence, talk of the Church seemed trivial. Trembling, he reached out to touch the object before him: vertical iron bars forming what could only be called a prison cell.

He wore a prisoner’s clothes, standing before a jail window, harsh white light glaring down on him. He tried to convince himself it was an illusion, but no matter how he looked, this was stark reality—utterly devoid of falsehood. By contrast, the so-called system and his mission felt like a mad, beautiful dream conjured before death.

Once again, he heard the verdict he’d memorized long ago:

“Death penalty.”

*

“Feeling a bit surprised?”

 Tarksius sat on a throne inlaid with rubies and cat’s-eye stones, tilting his head slightly. His raven-black hair brushed past his blood-hued eyes. Though he smiled, it carried a chilling malice. Across from him, the God of Light’s expression wavered between stormy and calm, his brow furrowed as he gazed at the trial grounds below—a divine testing field, now sharply divided into two halves.

Solving disputes in the way of gods. Unable to pierce human hearts, gods devised tools to test their followers in every way imaginable—burning them with fire, drowning them in water, afflicting them with the cruelest diseases, killing all their loved ones, then observing their attitude toward the god who inflicted such suffering.

It wasn’t exactly honorable, so later, when divine conflicts risked breaking the world’s laws, the trial grounds emerged as a solution. The God of Light had lived through that era, a time of numerous gods, great and small. When they quarreled but feared the consequences of wielding divine might, they turned to this ancient structure.

Reducing godly disputes to contests between their followers was a clever move.

Using illusions instead of real deprivation seemed far more merciful.

Of course, the illusion now troubling Noah wasn’t part of the final wager—it was purely  Tarksius stirring the pot. In truth, gods easily found loyal followers capable of enduring the harshest illusory tests, making illusions a low-tier method of competition. The question was which devout believer held deeper faith—an unmeasurable metric, yet the gods’ wager could, through some means, yield a clear result.

Opening the trial grounds required a wager set by both gods—an exceedingly difficult condition.

The God of Light had wanted to jump straight to the final stage, but the Dark God interrupted:

“It took some effort to separate your little lover’s soul and body,”  Tarksius said, twirling a ruby on his finger that refracted bright light. “So, don’t you want to give it a try?”

A test. The word was foreign to the God of Light. Since his birth, he’d had legions willing to die for him, and he’d never particularly cared about their sacrifices. To him, followers loving him fanatically was perfectly natural—he’d never doubted Noah, especially given his earnest, devout demeanor.

And yet…

The God of Light had to admit a flicker of hesitation. He lowered his gaze to the trial grounds, where the breathtakingly beautiful young man  lay with eyes tightly shut. This was the only follower he’d ever considered elevating to his side, the only one he’d valued so highly—even pitting him against the Dark God as his most faithful.

He couldn’t deny that witnessing the young man ’s unwavering faith firsthand would satisfy him more.

Meanwhile, the Dark God watched the少年—whom he treasured—indifferently from across the way, sparking an inexplicable competitive urge in the God of Light. A god’s desire to win was fearsome, and in that moment, he resolved to challenge  Tarksius, to prove his eye for choosing humans far surpassed that of a god with just one follower.

The first illusion revealed what one feared most.

The God of Light accepted the challenge eagerly.  Tarksius spun the ruby on his finger but flatly refused to participate. Naturally, this was seen as weakness. The God of Light smirked arrogantly, assuming the Dark God lacked faith in his follower and dared not compete—a first victory for him.

 Tarksius didn’t care.

The ruby on his ring gleamed with crystalline light, softening his eyes from menacing blood-red to something tender and clear. He lowered his head slightly, gazing at the other soul on the trial grounds—Edwin’s soul, eyes closed as if in dreamless sleep.

The god would never let the bishop relive memories he wished to forget, nor subject him to fear or the pain of loss in this wager. Protecting him far outweighed the stakes.

Thus, in the first round, only half the trial grounds lit up with illusion.

“Surprised?”

 Tarksius looked down as Noah fumbled in disbelief within the illusion, hitting walls at every turn, his expression shifting to fear and panic. Before his inevitable sentence, no amount of forced calm could help. The scenes in the illusion were alien to this world, and as the God of Light watched his beloved follower face his greatest fear, a faint trace of confusion and unease crossed his divine face.

The Dark God chuckled carelessly, commenting:

“I thought it’d be him losing your favor. Turns out your faithful one fears something else more than losing a god’s love.”

Just minutes ago, the God of Light had been so certain. Now, the illusion before him was undeniable. This wasn’t something a god could tamper with—the trial grounds, built to test follower loyalty, drew directly from the world’s laws, revealing truths even gods couldn’t know or alter.

The God of Light waved a hand lightly, but his tense palm betrayed his displeasure.

At least this didn’t count as a loss to  Tarksius. The Dark God had cleanly forfeited this round, and Noah’s vision—whatever it meant—wasn’t fully clear even to the god. Perhaps there was some hidden key. His irritation eased slightly as he looked down at the Holy Son’s face.

—As long as he didn’t disappoint Him next.

*

The second illusion was the opposite of the first, showing what one desired most.

The standard answer was already set: a worthy follower’s sole desire should be the god’s favor. The God of Light felt brimming with confidence. Noah had sworn countless times that his greatest wish was the god’s love—a young man  whose words carried an enchanting, unquestionable charm, rooted in his piety and resolve.

However, at this very moment, before the illusion manifested, the God of Light felt a rare flicker of hesitation.

It was this hesitation that made him first turn his gaze toward the follower chosen by  Tarksius. To call him a human selected by the Dark God was almost a stretch—after all,  Tarksius had only this one devotee to date. The God of Light had extinguished his candle, yet it burned even brighter. This human stood at his pulpit, speaking words so beguiling that even a god might be swayed.

A venomous snake of lies, an irredeemable seeker of power. The God of Light couldn’t fathom what  Tarksius saw in him. He cast his eyes to the field, and, as expected, it was no surprise:

Power. The dark-curled bishop sat upon a throne, his supreme authority unmistakable at a glance—encompassing royal and ecclesiastical dominion, perhaps even more. Wealth surrounded him, piles of jewels and gold and silver meekly prostrating at the foot of his seat. Fame followed, with people gazing at him in awe and admiration, while he remained calm, his eyes brimming with unshakable resolve.

Was that all? The God of Light almost pitied  Tarksius’s choice. This human not only lacked any devotion to him but seemed to have deceived another deity as well.

Yet  Tarksius remained unfazed. More than that, he even let out an amused chuckle. Following his line of sight, the God of Light realized it was Noah’s illusion unfolding. It couldn’t be worse than Edwin’s—whatever Noah desired most, as long as it involved him even slightly, victory was assured. At last, the god turned to his chosen faithful.

He saw himself first.

Such was a god’s arrogance—among all, he always saw himself first. The God of Light nearly smiled, but then he noticed something odd about the scene: too many figures. Leaning forward, he beheld an unimaginable sight, one that demanded closer scrutiny—and that scrutiny, without a doubt, inflicted greater damage.

Noah sat beside him, correct so far, and he, with a doting expression, placed a golden crown on the young man ’s head and pressed a kiss upon him. If only it had stopped there. But the problem was the others—a pale hand pulled open Noah’s collar, revealing a kiss mark branded on his chest. If the god wasn’t mistaken, it belonged to the ruler of the vampires. And that wasn’t all—before he could process how Noah knew such a figure, a black-haired, black-clad youth stepped forward. Noah, slightly displeased, extended his hand, and the youth kissed it—not a chaste kiss by any means. In the illusion, Noah squinted slightly, clearly savoring it.

Then, a silver-haired dark elf behind the young man  lowered his proud head to kiss his rose-like lips, while the illusory God of Light stood by, unperturbed, as if sharing affection with him was only natural.

“This…”

The God of Light shot up from his throne, a mix of disarray and fury. He reached out to shut down the illusion, trembling with rage, even misdirecting his power and blasting a terrifying bolt into the void. “This is utterly impossible!”

Yet the illusion pressed on. Even if the God of Light listed every possible person who might walk through that door, he’d never have guessed the next to enter—none other than the god seated across from him on the ruby-encrusted throne:  Tarksius, the Dark God.

In the illusion, Noah smiled with satisfaction, hopping off his chair and approaching  Tarksius. “You’re finally here, darling…”

This time, the God of Light aimed his power at the illusion, unable to bear another word—especially in front of the other god present.  Tarksius laughed lazily, adding:

“I should clarify: I have no relationship with your little lover.”

The illusion flickered twice before vanishing completely. Only the young man  remained, eyes tightly shut, now wearing a wistful expression, as if longing for the “most desired scene” he’d witnessed. The God of Light stood rigid at his throne, not even considering sitting, thunder gathering in his hands. A blazing, piercing bolt was poised to strike the spiritual form on the field—though it would be a futile outburst.

But had he lost or won? If  Tarksius’s follower craved only power, while Noah’s illusion at least included him, perhaps this round wasn’t a complete defeat. With that thought, the God of Light shifted his gaze to the other side of the trial grounds.

By then, Edwin’s illusion had shifted scenes.

The palace and throne flickered and vanished. The man of boundless power walked in a certain direction, treasures scattered along the way as if heralding something. Every path converged on a magnificent hall surrounded by opulent structures. The Dark God’s follower, wearing a crown symbolizing ultimate authority, stepped inside.

Compared to this, the earlier palace seemed downright modest.

Amid the shimmering glow of priceless gems sat… a demon. He had soft black hair cascading to his shoulders, eyes as beautiful as rubies. Upon seeing him, Edwin’s lips curved into a smile—far more genuine than when he’d been crowned in the prior scene. His steps were light as he approached the demon.

Their rapport was effortless. The demon opened his arms, tilting his head, and the human—who possessed all glory—took a soft breath, embracing him as if he were the world’s greatest treasure. Edwin brought him treasures of inestimable value and a devotion to the divine underpinned by supreme power. Half-kneeling, the bishop focused intently, slipping a ruby ring—blazing like a heart—onto the demon’s finger.

The demon looked familiar, yet the God of Light couldn’t place where he’d seen him. Given the scene, he couldn’t fathom why  Tarksius remained so calm. They’d both been deceived by their followers, stirring a fleeting sense of shared misery in him—but it didn’t last long…

Because he saw the statue of a god.

There were only two gods on this continent, and the statue in the illusion bore the demon’s likeness.

The God of Light snapped to awareness, staring at  Tarksius across the thrones. The Dark God twirled the ruby on his ring.

“Well?” He flashed a chilling smile. “This round’s mine.”