Chapter 177 : Gap (2)
Chapter 177: Gap (2)
You shall now become the executors and instruments carrying out the will of the Holy Sun Church.
That day, someone whose face was covered with a veil had indeed said this to the children gathered at the Cathedral.
An instrument does not require free will or conviction.
It simply moves according to the will and command of the one who holds the handle.
There is no mission or responsibility within that.
Because the one who holds the handle is none other than the Holy Sun Church, the representative of the merciful Ilionel.
The mission and responsibility belong solely to them.
Therefore, we were also told to be infinitely grateful for being allowed to act as the Church’s agent.
A world where Ilionel’s will is evenly spread, where only His words and laws become the rules that govern.
To be used as parts in the grand plan toward that overwhelming utopia—be proud of being consumed for that cause, and be so moved by the opportunity that we ought to weep with gratitude and sob uncontrollably—that person had indeed said so.
Your sole purpose is to burn fiercely, using yourselves as firewood.
Do not forget—even if you turn to ash, the warmth gained from burning your body will serve to spread His will far and wide.
It is right, and again right, to willingly and properly throw your body onto the pile of firewood.
You are torches and soon lighthouses.
Your fire and light shall brightly illuminate the world.
You shall become the blade and the tip of the sword to rewrite the perception of this rotting world—of the foolish ones who cry out the names of ancient heroes rather than Ilionel.
Thus, you must become tools that are hotter, more radiant, and sharper than anything else.
With those words, he had ended, exhaling a breath as if to calm his excitement.
…Then, may I dare ask?
A world where His will is thoroughly spread.
A world where fire, light, and even swords are no longer needed.
If such a world were to come, what would become of us?
…Lancia had ultimately not spoken that question aloud at the time.
Not only because one boy who had voiced a similar thought had been dragged away and never returned.
But also because of the faith that had firmly taken root within her—
The village where she lived as a child.
The demons who burned it down and massacred everyone except her.
The cursed beings she couldn’t kill enough times to be satisfied—such beings, of course, would have no place in a world governed by Ilionel.
That belief had been immovably embedded within her.
And also...
“Miss Lancia?”
At the voice calling her, Lancia quietly broke from her thoughts and lifted her head.
Across from her, Archbishop Onnime sat and was quietly watching her.
“You seem very tired. Have you not been able to rest properly?”
“……”
Lancia didn’t answer.
Instead, as if to gather her mind, she slowly turned her gaze and looked around.
Archbishop Onnime’s office was modest in every way.
Whether it was his title as archbishop or his position as a professor of the Academy, the space matched neither.
There wasn’t a single ornate decoration or expensive piece of furniture.
Just a neatly arranged desk, a few chairs, and some bookshelves.
Only the cross of the Holy Sun Church hanging on the wall emitted an antique glow, silently illuminating them.
“How is your wound?”
“It’s fine.”
“Don’t overexert yourself. If you wish, I could exclude you from this mission.”
“It’s fine.”
“Then would you care for a cup of tea? It’s good for relieving fatigue and tension.”
“It’s fine.”
Faced with her string of cold, firm refusals, Onnime gave a small shrug.
He silently stared at Lancia for a moment.
Officially, this was counseling time with a dormitory student, but the air between them felt nothing like that.
Onnime, a former Inquisitor.
Lancia, a member of the Executors.
Though they belonged to different departments, they had worked together several times before, and had long since become familiar with each other’s faces.
“……”
“……”
A faint, yet taut tension lingered between the two.
“…The reason you called me.”
Lancia spoke first.
“May I ask what it is?”
“Hmm… I was curious about how you were adjusting to life at the Academy, so I thought we could have this time to talk.”
Onnime replied blandly.
It was an utterly mundane and formal remark.
“……”
Lancia stared at him in silence.
Her eyes said plainly: Enough with the nonsense. Just get to the point.
Onnime gave a faint smile.
“…If I said that, you’d look extremely uncomfortable, so I’ll get to the point as you wish.”
He shook his head with a wry smile.
Still not someone I can joke with at all, he thought. Yet somehow, even if it’s all an act, she blends into this Academy rather well.
“I’ll get straight to it. I’m sure you’ve already heard, but because of the recent incident in the underground aqueduct, there’s been a lot of talk within the Church.”
“I’ve heard.”
Lancia replied.
At that, Onnime’s voice dropped slightly.
“Yes, still, I’ll explain a bit more. I’m sure you’ve heard that the cultists of the Evil God ended up annihilating each other in an internal clash... Perhaps because of that, it seems the higher-ups are viewing this incident with grave seriousness.”
“……”
Onnime paused briefly and observed Lancia’s reaction.
She remained still, silently staring at him.
“And so... perhaps as a formality, an official notice just came down—two Cardinals will be personally visiting the Academy for the upcoming Departure Festival.”
He cautiously named them.
“Cardinal Bruyant and Cardinal Bernard. Those two, apparently.”
“……”
At his words, Lancia’s shoulders flinched ever so slightly—but noticeably.
Onnime pretended not to notice and continued.
“How troublesome. Things are about to become even more exhausting than they already are.”
Cardinal Bruyant.
The man who secretly oversaw the Executors, known as the shadows and blades of the Holy Sun Church.
To Lancia, he was practically a direct superior.
And Cardinal Bernard—
On the other hand, he was the one who oversaw the Inquisitors.
In other words, he was Onnime’s superior.
“……”
It was by no means a light matter for the heads of both militant factions of the Holy Sun Church to visit.
Even so, Lancia remained silent.
Onnime, who had been waiting for her to speak, finally opened his mouth again, as if raising a white flag.
“By any chance… do you have anything to say? Thoughts, perhaps?”
“Nothing.”
Lancia answered his question in the same dry, hard tone.
“They say a soldier should never speak of politics.”
Lancia spoke quietly, almost like a whisper.
“Likewise, what we Executors require is obedience to orders—personal convictions or sentiments are meaningless.”
Her reply was textbook-perfect, a model answer for an Executor.
As if he had expected it, Onnime nodded once or twice.
“I see.”
Cardinal Bruyant is still as formidable as ever when it comes to commanding people.
Muttering this, Onnime gave a slight shrug.
“Well, I suppose it's ridiculous for me to bring this up with you, Miss Lancia. You and I both simply follow orders, after all.”
He tapped the empty teacup in front of him with his finger.
“To be honest, during the upcoming Departure Festival… well, even if attending the banquet with the distinguished guests is asking too much, I had hoped you might hold your place for a short while. As you know, it’s an important occasion for us as well—a time for meetings and interactions.”
Onnime trailed off mid-sentence.
Because he had felt the sudden chill in Lancia’s presence, which just moments ago had been flat and indifferent.
It wasn’t a mistake—though it lasted only a moment, he had clearly seen something sharp and murderous flash through her eyes.
And Onnime could easily guess why she reacted that way.
Demons.
Whether it was to flaunt the Empire’s dignity or for some other hidden agenda, a few Demons had been invited to the Departure Festival.
And not just invited—they were to attend as distinguished guests.
“……”
Onnime knew all too well how deeply Lancia loathed Demons, just as much as she despised the cultists of the Evil God.
Given her past, it was only natural.
To her, Demons were beings whose mere presence in the same space was intolerable.
Let alone a mission to protect them.
…Well, of course she would react that way.
He hadn’t expected her to agree in the first place.
Onnime quickly cleared his throat once or twice, as if to shift the subject.
“…But, of course, there are plenty of others who can take that role. The real reason I called you here is something else entirely.”
“What is it?”
He leaned forward slightly, gazing at Lancia.
His eyes, as devoid of emotion as hers, settled on her.
“Have you ever—”
Onnime whispered quietly.
“…heard of something called a Brand?”
Again.
Lian murmured the word without thinking.
The sight before his eyes made him realize it instinctively.
That where he was now… wasn’t the real world.
This feeling… it's the same as what I felt in the underground aqueduct back then.
His whole body felt vivid, and yet there was an unsettling sensation, like something was subtly off.
A hazy awareness, like in a dream.
How should he put it?
Yes, it felt like being suddenly thrown onto a well-staged theater set.
And Lian was honestly relieved to realize this wasn’t reality.
Yes—it had to not be real.
“……”
Because the street in front of his eyes was burning.
This is…
A familiar street.
Near the Academy’s shopping district, perhaps?
But the usual liveliness was nowhere to be seen.
The buildings lined along the street were half-destroyed, engulfed in crimson flames that belched black smoke into the sky.
From all around, faint noise echoed—whether screams of people or the sound of fire devouring everything, it was hard to tell.
The scorching heat pricked at his skin, and the acrid smoke stabbed at his nose and eyes.
“……”
If hell existed, would it look like this?
No—if he were being honest, hadn’t he seen similar sights in his previous life?
Lian stared blankly at the burning street.
It was then—
Thunk.
He felt something catch beneath his foot.
Slowly, Lian lowered his head.
And without realizing it, he stopped breathing.
“Ha.”
Someone lay at his feet.
A familiar figure.
A familiar outfit.
Familiar blue hair.
“……”
The moment he saw the fallen person’s face, a sigh—almost like a groan—escaped Lian’s lips.
“…Lancia.”
Lancia Jintia.
It was her.
She was lying at his feet, a cold corpse.
Even knowing it wasn’t real, Lian felt as if all the blood in his body had turned cold.