TBR CH75

The Holy Son of the Church defected. The old Pope had passed away, and the one who controlled people’s fates had simply changed from one to another. But there were always people whose lives remained unchanged, like withered grass long forgotten in the corners of history.

Being forgotten by people was not enough to destroy a soul. Bart walked slowly in the cold darkness before dawn, dragging his now-limp right leg. When he passed by the temple, he paused slightly. The old man’s pupils were cloudy, revealing no emotion.

But being forgotten by God—that was enough to utterly destroy him.

The omniscient and omnipotent God of Light had finally become aware of the Holy Son’s betrayal. Within Bart the cleric’s long-silent and despairing soul, a flicker of hope was reignited—like a faint flame, it burned again within the old man’s reed-thin frame. He longed for the candle to light once more, and yet he felt deeply ashamed for the very thought—that it implied he believed God had made a mistake.

He himself was the evidence of God’s mistake.

How a god treated his devout follower, how he harmed his body, stripped away his power, and shattered his spirit. And if in the end, the god chose to make amends to this mortal, it would be no different from admitting a grave, unforgivable mistake.

After that day passed, Bart still held on to hope—one day, then two—but as more time went by, that hope faded away, like salt dissolving in water, leaving only a faint, bitter aftertaste. In the dead of night, Bart opened his eyes. Old age had made his back ache from the hard bed beneath him. He stared into the darkness, trying hard to see clearly:

Was he truly someone steeped in sin? Not because of Noah, but because of something else? Was that why he had received such cruel punishment?

That was the only way he could think about it. As a devout believer, he should not question any of God’s decisions. Faith was like a small, square, dark box, enclosing him tightly within, blinding his eyes so he could see no other possibility.

And yet, in that very moment, the wooden boards sealing the window seemed to shift slightly.

With his clouded human eyes, he saw the sound flowing in—those very sounds that had been stolen from him, that he could no longer make. Now they silently pried through his pale hair and gently crept into his ears, whispering ominously and darkly. Then, in a voice that allowed no denial, they questioned the soul of the old man:

Had his God forgotten him? Or did He simply refuse to admit it?

Noah walked along the edge of the city, body held as straight as possible, carefully navigating under the dim night sky. He was afraid of bumping into anyone, yet he had to pull his hood tight, blocking his vision, hiding the greater part of his festering face.

Adelaide’s artifact had already lost its effect. The pendant that allowed him to cross space had used up its last bit of energy. Noah hesitated for a moment, but still kept it. He couldn’t bear to throw away the glowing night pearl and emerald on it—at least they could fetch a good price.

It wasn’t just that artifact.

His face had already begun to rot, but Adelaide had treated it with medicine from the dragon race, so it had been less noticeable. Now that the effect had worn off, his flesh constantly swelled and emitted an unbearable stench. In some severe areas, the necrotic pieces were nearly falling off.

Noah didn’t dare look into a mirror or at any reflective surface. But soon, he wouldn’t need to worry about that—his vision was beginning to deteriorate again, and large black spots were replacing what he could see. The only tool he could still use allowed him to make sounds without vocal cords.

These “sounds” referred to anything he could still produce. If one got close to the faceless figure in black, perhaps they would hear horrifying moans from beneath the all-covering robes.

What now?

Noah knew Adelaide was foolish and too trusting, and Edward was blindly hesitant and constrained. They were the only people he could have turned to, but both paths were now blocked. He didn’t believe he could fool the Dark Elf King either. Just thinking about the cost of angering him made Noah shudder.

If that paranoid, perfectionist ex-lover saw his current ugliness or discovered his betrayal, he would not show the slightest trace of affection. He would only destroy Noah as a shameful memory from his past.

He was hiding from the Light Church. From Edwin—who knew which side he was on now? From the ears and eyes of the Dark Elves. The last place Noah had teleported to was the most remote district of the royal city—those dark, narrow alleys even stray dogs didn’t want to enter. Strange-looking people in bizarre clothes filled the area. Some, like Noah, made others deeply uncomfortable.

Noah stayed as far from people as he could.

He had tried seeking shelter, but the moment others saw the skin beneath his mask, they recoiled in horror and disgust.

Only one person tried to help him—a kind old woman with gentle green eyes. She paused beside him, forcing herself to ignore her nausea and asked if he needed help.

But when she looked into the former Holy Son’s eyes, the old woman recoiled in horror, stepping back with unprecedented coldness:

“You… you are the one who betrayed the Lord of Light. Get out. There is no place for you in my home. May your filthy soul fall into the flames of hell soon!”

Noah had never suffered such humiliation—no, in fact, he had. In a dark, damp alley, he leaned against the cold stone wall, trembling from the cold and pain. But more unbearable than the physical suffering was the mental anguish. He had always lived high above, never sparing a glance for the lives of the ordinary. And yet now, every moment seemed to overlap with scenes from his past life.

In that life, when he was thrown into prison, he had seen an old woman. Her child had been tricked by Noah into handing over a massive sum of money and had slit their wrist in despair and guilt. That sum meant only a few days of expenses to Noah.

The old woman, with her meticulously combed silver hair, was kind and polite to the officers holding her. But when she finally stood in front of Noah, her eyes suddenly filled with despair and hatred, and tears streamed down her face. She lost control. At first, she scolded him harshly, and then she screamed as if using up her life. That frail body released an overwhelming force of hatred.

Bit by bit, the old woman’s back hunched further, but before her, Noah—just then—suddenly realized how small he had become.

And after her, many other victims’ families came when they learned of his arrest. At that time, he was just like now—deeply loathed and rejected by everyone.

But how had things gone down such a similar path again?

His sharp nails dug into his flesh. Noah forced himself to stop thinking. At least this wasn’t the end yet. In his previous life, a bullet had struck his forehead with irreversible force, bringing death. What he feared most—what he could not accept—was death.

He had to survive.

Though he had cried and begged for forgiveness in court in his past life, all his emotions were ultimately driven by self-interest, not sincerity. Being shouted at or hated by victims didn’t bring him lasting guilt. Back then, he still thought he could exploit loopholes in the law and avoid the death penalty.

People were so stupid, so easy to manipulate.

As long as he lived, there would always be a chance—

He almost felt a flicker of hope. In situations like this, what he needed most were those beautiful fantasies.

Yes, he was already hiding in the edge of the capital. Even the most perfect defenses would have loopholes. Noah had heard that deep within the black market, there were people who would help church fugitives hide, for the right price. And he had plenty of money. If he had a chance to get out of here, the future didn’t have to be all darkness.

The boy’s rotting face twisted under the hood into a grotesque mockery of a smile. If he could escape, he could sell the priceless gems from Adelaide’s treasure and amass great wealth to seek powerful evil beings—perhaps they could even partially block the Light’s curse.

Such an enticing dream.

He almost didn’t hear the ghostlike footsteps. The sound followed him like a shadow, returning after a brief pause. Very close now. Noah held his breath, melted into the shadows, and dared not make a sound.

But the footsteps continued heading straight toward him, without hesitation.

Tap tap. Tap tap.

Fear and despair devoured him completely. He trembled, frozen in place, his fingers touching the blade at his waist, but he was too stiff to draw it—only brushing the cold metal spine. Resistance was impossible. Whether it was a church knight, the unreadable Archbishop Edwin, or someone sent by Anseir—he had no strength to fight back.

The footsteps came closer and closer, until they were nearly right at his ear.

Strangely, they didn’t sound like those of a healthy adult. More like the light tapping of hollow, worm-eaten wood, uneven in rhythm, like a dissonant concerto. Noah’s trembling hand finally found the hilt.

Then he looked up—and in that moment, he deflated like a pierced balloon. His taut body suddenly relaxed, and he almost sighed in relief. Heaven was still watching over him, it seemed. He wouldn’t die here.

The person in front of him was not…

Not one of those deadly, unstoppable forces.

It was a mute priest—hair white, right leg half-limp, most of his vitality already sapped by age. His cloudy eyes shifted faintly, reflecting the image of Noah drawing his blade. He posed no real threat. Even back when Noah left the church, the old priest had been so frail that even a child could knock him over.

Everyone knew—the God of Light had not withdrawn His decree.

“You came to punish me?” Noah raised his gleaming blade. The ecstasy of surviving filled him with renewed vigor. He suddenly felt he once again held dominion over everything—at least over this loathsome old man.

“All because I betrayed your beloved god? Ha. Do you know how favored I once was? I received more of His love than you could ever dream of. And you—look at yourself. Your faith is worth nothing.”

No one else would come to this alley where even the moonlight couldn’t reach.

Bart remained still, letting Noah approach step by step. As the boy moved, his hood fell back, revealing that horrifically disfigured face. Blade pointing downward, he ranted about blood sacrifice and reclaiming the thrill of dominance—almost ready to stab.

Then he heard a voice.

“I’m not here for revenge on His behalf,”

Bart’s voice rang clearly in the alley—a voice stripped from him by God long ago, deep and stern, never meant to be heard again. He chuckled softly, self-mockingly:

“Or maybe it is for Him. These old bones are about to vanish anyway. To say it’s for myself would be a stretch.”

At the sound, Noah froze, his blade halted mid-strike. Then he recovered, trying with all his might to plunge it into Bart’s neck—but the blade was caught, suspended in midair. No matter how he tried, it wouldn’t move even a millimeter downward.

A heavy, dull sense of doom finally crashed over Noah’s head.

Impossible. He couldn’t believe it. He hadn’t fallen into the hands of those great figures—but was instead thwarted by a pathetic, laughable, mediocre old priest he held in utter contempt.

His glorious life, his great achievements yet to begin…

He had to survive. He was more valuable than anyone else. It was only natural.

The boy’s head was twisted and swollen, yet his final expression? It was frozen in a state of extreme fear and utter disbelief at the arrival of death. His eyes bulged outward, as if urgently asking, “Something… is wrong.” Anyone who saw this face could feel the immense pain and terror its owner endured in the final moments of life.

If the prison guard who had collected his corpse in his past life could see this body, he would surely exclaim in shock that this twisted face in death looked exactly like that of a fraudster he had once executed—someone guilty of countless crimes.

Cleric Bart lowered the weapon in his hand. The narrow alley, surrounded by walls, revealed only a small patch of sky. The night sky here was so overcast that most stars were hidden from view—only the North Star still cast a faint silver light in that sliver of darkness, prepared for lost travelers.

The old man raised his head and finally let out a breath of turbid air that had been long held.

What he saw was no longer the god he once believed in, but the eternal, unchanging starlight.

The Saint Child’s head was a sacrifice the God of Light was eager to obtain. Though at first He merely wanted to punish Noah and bring retribution upon him, He soon realized something unexpected: death was the only true destination for this endlessly greedy liar.

The problem was that those under His control were utterly inept at finding Noah. Besides, the Church was not a monolith at this point. Most people simply followed the orders of Archbishop Edwin, and the God could do nothing to this mortal.

If things continued this way, His divine authority would be greatly diminished.

At that moment, His eyes and ears in the mortal world reported that a devout old cleric had killed Noah before anyone else.

This news delighted the god. He was eager to accept this glorious sacrifice and decided to reward the cleric generously—to grant him power so that the world might see how the God of Light punishes evil and rewards good. Even though He also heard some less optimistic remarks, which reminded Him that this old cleric had once been punished by Him because of Noah’s words.

But the god was not too concerned.

His followers, regardless of how they are treated, ought to maintain reverence and devotion toward Him. The earlier punishment was no big deal—as long as He compensated him now and publicly declared that the cleric had redeemed himself, He could satisfy the believer’s heart with gratitude, and His own reputation would not be tarnished.

The God of Light sat loftily upon His throne, detached from the mortal realm—only to receive a message He could scarcely believe.

The supposed devout follower had offered the former Saint Child’s head not to Him—but to Archbishop Edwin.

The wrathful god descended upon the old cleric’s dilapidated home. Thunder and lightning lit the entire room as though it were a snow cave. The terrifying divine fury exploded in the cleric’s ears, and the god’s pressure weighed down like the sky upon this foolish mortal. Bart, pale-faced, knelt before the god he had devoted his whole life to, bowing low as he had countless times before.

But this time, the divine lightning of wrath dissipated silently when it touched him.

Even the old cleric was a bit surprised. Yet the God of Light instantly recognized the unfathomable power that clashed with His own—its source was none other than the dark god, Takxius. That dark power had already tainted His follower, causing Him to once again suffer a bitter, shameful betrayal.

“You are a heretic.”

The God of Light gritted His teeth. His words, thick with fury, fell upon Bart, once again handing down a terrifying verdict to the old man in Church robes who bowed his head before Him:

“You betrayed the light and chose the dark. Only the most despicable of clerics would do such a thing. Your soul has already fallen completely into a bottomless hell.”

No human could remain unaffected by such divine condemnation.

Bart knelt on the cold ground and suddenly wished to hold his cross. But unfortunately, the god had already stripped away his faith, and he could no longer wear any divine blessings related to the God of Light. In his life, light had always appeared alongside holiness and justice. He had firmly, resolutely, and without doubt believed in the god, rejoiced in the divine power he received, and felt endless gratitude for serving Him.

He had fantasized countless times about hearing the god speak to him—but never like this.

The god he worshipped was narrow-minded, gullible, cruel in His methods, and unwilling to face His own mistakes. The faith Bart had held onto for his whole life now seemed like a complete joke. If anyone in the world read his story, they would mourn his ignorance, for this scene was the most ironic of comedies—and he was the fool.

At this point, one ought to either cry in despair or fall into self-pity over a meaningless life, perhaps even long to end it all and flee that absurd faith.

But he was unwilling to do so.

Cleric Bart simply straightened his posture as he knelt, maintaining perfect decorum in the presence of the God of Light. Calmly, he told the enraged god:

“I did not betray my faith.”

“Did you not already join the dark god’s church?” the God of Light sneered, His voice buzzing in Bart’s head. “What did He promise you to make you go to a new church that has nothing? Supreme power? Endless wealth and glory? Extended life?”

“No, none of that,” the old cleric shook his head, but a bright light flickered in his clouded eyes. “I told you, I did not betray my faith—even if I no longer believe you are a god worthy of devotion.”

“If not for Takxius’ protection,”

the god’s voice was ice-cold and cruel, “I would inflict upon you the most terrible punishment.”

“That’s exactly why I say: you are not a god worthy of faith. And I am not afraid to say it. I don’t have much time left. But even in death, I am still a member of the Church. You tried to strip me of that identity. I doubted myself countless times. And in the end, the answer is here before both of us…”

“I merely made a trade with the Pope—and turned down his invitation.”

Bart continued without waiting for the god’s reaction. “Laugh at me if you will. I’m just an old-fashioned cleric, only capable of swearing loyalty to one faith for life. Faith is the greatest meaning of my life. It caused me excruciating pain when I saw how narrow and shortsighted you were, yet in the end I could not help but fulfill my duty as a cleric.”

“You’re saying,” the God of Light asked suspiciously, “you are still loyal to me? That you haven’t betrayed me? After all that you’ve done, how can I possibly believe you?”

“After all that you’ve done, how could I possibly still believe in you?”

Bart returned the words unchanged to the God of Light. He looked into the god’s golden eyes, and at that moment, he felt utterly free, utterly at peace. Looking back, he felt he had lived a life without regret:

“I hate Noah. But more than that, I hate a heretic—not for myself. My faith is carved into my very bones, inseparable from who I am. So even if I must borrow power, I will kill the one who betrayed You. I suppose… I am no longer devoted to You, but I am still devoted to my faith. And I am willing to die for it.”

“That’s contradictory and meaningless,” said the god.

“It is not,”

the cleric replied in the end. The remaining power within him shielded him from the god’s attack, but he could feel his life slipping away. He was old—so old he should have died already, surviving only out of a desperate desire for closure. But now, it was time to let the fire burn out.

“My god, I know you will never understand. That’s okay. There will be countless heretics in the future, and this world will change completely. Let my death be the curtain fall of this era.”

He murmured something in the end. The God of Light listened closely and realized—it was a prayer from the Church of Light:

“…Always remember, always believe, never betray. That is the life a cleric ought to live.”

Year 427 of the New Calendar. Pope Edwin became a heretic.

His betrayal did not incur terrifying divine retribution. On the contrary, behind him, the name of a new god gradually began to be spoken by humanity. Overnight, people realized the world around them was changing. Edwin took a large portion of the clergy with him. The rest of the Church was left in disarray, with its wings essentially broken.

The royal family, like lost sheep, urgently needed to choose a side. To them, it didn’t matter whom they worshipped. Edwin still gathered them all under his wing.

“The God of Light must be furious.”

Tal stood behind Edwin, skimming through the roster on the desk. “He always expected you to leave, but he never imagined you’d take so many believers with you.”

“They didn’t have a choice back then—just like me.”

Edwin paused, looked up, and reached out to grab the demon’s sleeve. Tal let out a soft “oh,” like he had been caught. His clear ruby-red eyes reflected the newly appointed archbishop of the dark church as he leaned in, waiting either for Edwin to speak or act.

Edwin finished his sentence. “I’m really glad I met you. If not, I definitely would have ended in ruin.”

“I don’t think that’s true.”

The demon’s hair, soft as crow feathers, brushed against the archbishop’s neck. Edwin pursed his lips, trying to stay rational—at least until he finished talking. Tal said seriously,

“You would’ve gotten everything you wanted, even without me. I’m sure of it.”

That harsh, painful path—struggles over bloodlines and power—Tal believed Edwin could have walked it alone. Even without him, Edwin would have carved a bloodstained trail through thorns to reach the pinnacle of power in the mortal world.

“But…”

Edwin didn’t get to finish. Tal leaned close enough and placed a kiss on his earlobe. Edwin nearly bit his lip. The outside world saw him as a restrained and ascetic archbishop—but even he could be rendered speechless by a lover’s kiss like any young man in love.

Now wasn’t the time to keep arguing.

The archbishop swallowed the second half of his sentence. He closed his eyes and eagerly sought his lover’s kiss. But in his heart, he knew—without Tal, even if all his ambitions were realized, he would still have walked straight into destruction. There was a place in Edwin’s heart that had never been filled. In his dreams, his flesh was torn open to reveal his bones, and his soul would burst into flames at the slightest spark.

Then one day, roses began to bloom from them.

He gripped the rose in his hand—and knew he had been saved.

After a brief moment of intimacy, the bishop calmed his breathing slightly. The complicated documents in front of him had to be dealt with within the next couple of days. However, the work no longer weighed on him as heavily as it used to—perhaps simply because… his god was going to take a short trip with him in two days.

Edwin flipped through the registry while the god, standing beside him with interest, casually pulled out a few files to read. Suddenly, he saw that somewhat familiar name again:

“Bart…”

That name had been crossed out with a black line. Tal said, “I remember he came looking for you.”

“Mm,” Edwin replied. “He only came to borrow power and promised a strong repayment. I lent him Adelaide’s positioning artifact. Actually, I feel rather regretful—”

“He wasn’t planning to betray the Church of the God of Light?”

As a leader, the bishop naturally felt regret at losing someone with potential—but that morning, even the dawn had not yet penetrated the deep purple curtains. The aging priest sat stiffly across from him for a long while before finally speaking—half in sigh, half in mockery, both to Edwin and to himself:

“Isn’t it ridiculous?”

Bart stared fixedly at a single spot on the table—not because he wanted to look at anything in particular, but to find some direction to anchor himself. For the first time, he softened his tone in front of the young man he had always disapproved of.

“I don’t even know what meaning this faith holds anymore. It’s both foolish and laughable. But I can’t abandon it. It’s an irreplaceable part of my life. In the end, my life has no meaning either.”

Loyal, steadfast, kind, without hesitation, without doubt—strictly upholding church doctrine, teaching young apprentices, reciting every line of scripture, performing flawlessly in ceremonies, willing to give everything for the god.

Edwin’s pale gray eyes reflected the clouded pupils of the old man.

He gently drew a breath and said to him,

“Cleric Bart, even if the god is not worthy of your devotion, your faith itself possesses unquestionable strength. Perhaps meaning should not be sought outward, but inward. In truth, there are few people in the church whom I truly respect—and you, without a doubt, are a respectable man. I regret that you cannot come to my side, but I respect your decision.”

These words had an incredible effect on the old cleric.

Bart once again straightened his spine as he had in the past. The old man’s clouded gaze shimmered with a complex light as he looked at the bishop before him—a man destined to betray the church—while he himself was now asking for his help. In the end, he could only sigh helplessly.

“You too. I’ve always thought—you are a truly remarkable young man. It’s just that back then…”

The old man’s words faded into the air.

In the end, he used the table for support as he stood, limping his way out. Walking toward the fate he had chosen for himself—yet he felt no shame. Because in his life, he had never done anything that betrayed his faith.

This was a life illuminated by the Light.