Even a Scoundrel Gets Tired

54 – White and Black

I raced towards the altar, but the sight that greeted me was wretched.

The white altar was stained black, then dyed crimson once more.

Those clad in priestly robes, similar in cut but different in hue, were locked in a dance of death, each killing the other.

It was the white priests who were predominantly falling.

The black priestly robes, even when stained and splattered with blood, remained fundamentally black.

But the white robes absorbed the crimson all too easily, scattering and wilting like bloodied petals on the wind.

The black voices, steeped in madness, echoed monstrously, their sound vast and grotesque.

The white voices, noble and magnificent, were but whispers, faint and fleeting.

Something felt terribly wrong.

Even granting the white order’s larger numbers, how could they be pushed back this far?

While not numerous, each of the order’s paladins could hold their own against two or three ordinary men.

And with the priests’ overlapping blessings, they could achieve even more.

As such, I couldn’t grasp this situation, not at all.

But I decided to postpone my thoughts for later.

“Heeheehee, accept it as an honor to be embraced by our God, little lamb…”

“The…His wrath…terrifies…guh…”

“P-please…save me…Mother Superior!!!”

There, ahead, a wretch held a young child aloft in one hand, a knife poised at its throat.

His foot pressed down upon a nun who appeared to be quite aged, her face contorted in pain.

I began to run again.

Desperate to arrive in time, yet silent, careful not to be seen.

Running and running, I closed the distance to the fiend.

His back seemed to be drawing closer to me.

And then, my action was simply to cut.

As if cleaving through the air itself, I drew a single stroke.

The child, startled by my sudden appearance, choked back its sobs and began to hiccup.

I spoke softly, just loud enough for the child to hear.

“Close your eyes.”

“Huh? What are…?!

The words would surely carry to the one holding the child, but I paid no heed.

He wouldn’t be moving anymore anyway.

His head spun.

Blood bloomed, painting the air in a macabre tapestry.

The dying scream of the one whose head was now parted from his body was unheard.

In its stead, the sound of something falling heavily to the ground seemed to suffice.

Slowly, the little one opened its eyes, and they widened still further.

The nun who had been trampled hastily gathered herself up and embraced the child protectively.

Her gaze met mine, and a hint of fear flickered within her eyes.

Her lips parted, trembling slightly, and a fragile voice emerged.

“Wh-who are you…?”

“Mother Superior, th-that man… that big brother…!”

“Just a moment, Levin, go behind me.”

She said it, then strained to hide the small boy behind her thin, bent frame.

Like watching a mother animal shielding her young.

How many would answer her demands when spoken with such trembling resolve?

Her courage, so laudable, deserved but one reply from me.

“Flee while you can. If you escape the Order’s reach, please, report them.”

“Wh-what…? Just… wait!”

The rest of her words were lost.

Before she could utter another syllable, I had already surged forward.

A few more loomed ahead.

Two more men clad in the same black garb as before.

The difference was that these ones had a young nun in their sights.

It didn’t take much to imagine what two virile, burly men might do to a young nun.

They already wore knowing smirks as their hands danced over their groins.

I closed the distance and cleaved twice.

Again, no death throes.

Only the sound of something falling, repeated twice, filled the void.

The nun before me seemed to be saying something, but

her words couldn’t penetrate my consciousness.

Such expressions of gratitude couldn’t reach me, not when

the cries and screams echoing through this place had already claimed my ears.

Without truly hearing, I repeated the words I’d said to the nun from before.

Then, I pushed off the ground and ran again.

Toward the place where white screams mingled with black death rattles.

*

“Hercal, is the disposition of the Order proceeding smoothly?”

“Yes, it is…”

A black-clad man who had been praying before an upside-down cross in the chapel for some time

finally finished his devotions and stepped outside, throwing his question into the empty air.

From nowhere, an old man materialized behind him

and answered in a voice that scraped at the throat.

Another figure approached the black-clad man, who seemed pleased by the answer.

“Hm? Is the Saintess finished, then, Antonio?”

“Yes, that bracelet has been secured. She won’t be resisting.”

“…If you’re so certain, I won’t press the matter.”

It was Antonio, his white priestly robes now stained black.

His ear bore a crescent moon earring,

a commonality amongst all those robed in sable vestments.

The black-clad procession continued, silent after his answer.

Their path led into the cathedral at the heart of the Order.

Stained glass windows, depicting the Order’s patron deity and the symbols of its dominion,

bathed the interior in golden light, inspiring reverence even in the common man.

And in the midst of that golden glow stood a figure in white.

Clutching a black codex to his chest.

An old man, his white cap tinged yellow by the light.

“To what do I owe this visit? I do not recall extending such an invitation, guests.”

“Hmm…that anyone remained… I, too, did not anticipate.”

“..Answer the question.”

Contrary to his seemingly mild demeanor, the energies surrounding him crackled with ferocity.

The Pope’s eyes flared, the space around him shimmering.

Antonio, the black-robed man, and the old man felt it instinctively, a palpable threat of imminent attack.

Yet, smiles remained etched on their faces.

Even knowing their lives hung by a thread,

they continued to smile.

It was at this moment that the Pope felt the first stirrings of unease.

The Pope’s pressure mounted, and Antonio was the first to speak.

“Your Holiness, it has been too long. Haha.”

“..Priest Antonio, I see. This hardly feels like a felicitous encounter.”

“A pity, that. We harbor no desire to clash with Your Holiness.”

A sound of incredulous laughter escaped the Pope’s lips.

After the devastation wrought upon the Order, they dared hope to avoid a clash?

And this man, once a member of the Order.

He who was once lauded for his piety.

Even cherished, treated like a son by some.

And now, this very same man has committed such atrocious acts against his former brethren.

And still he dares suggest avoiding conflict? Is such a thing even conceivable?

The sheer audacity of it set his teeth on edge, and rage began to boil over,

causing the surrounding air to vibrate.

The divine power that permeated the interior began to surge erratically,

prompting Antonio and his party to brace themselves in response.

“Just asking, of course… but would you be averse to… ceasing your attempts to impede us? Hahaha…”

“Silence that mouth, Antonio.”

He entertained the thought of silencing his incessant babbling once and for all.

A palm struck out, divine power flying in response.

All scattered, evading the spot, leaving only a palm-shaped mark on the floor.

“At this level, it’s nothing much–”

“I told you to keep your mouth shut.”

Again, a palm imbued with divine power flew towards them.

Or, more accurately, towards Antonio.

He ducked to avoid it, and this time a deep gouge was left in the wall.

“Kuh..! But we still outnumber you! We can use th–”

“Hoh…ho, truly impressive.”

“Indeed, he didn’t rise to the position of Pope for nothing.”

His companions were only exclaiming in admiration, offering no help, so

he hastily turned his head to where they were looking.

What could have so captivated them, causing them to neglect him so?

Following their gaze, he saw yet another palm.

No, two enormous arms.

Vast arms had sprouted from behind the Pope.

Or rather, formless arms.

Arms made of divine power, so potent that they seemed capable of purifying any taint of demonic energy upon approach.

“..Someone like you isn’t worthy to even stand beside Him.

Just fall into Hell.”

As those words ended, the Pope’s two hands clasped together,

and those two arms crashed down upon Antonio.

A deafening *boom* echoed as the surrounding furniture was either blown away or shattered by the pressure,

and a cloud of dust from the impact spread everywhere.

Soon, a breeze blew through the cracks that had formed in the Order’s walls,

clearing away the thick dust.

Not wanting to witness his crushing death,

he turned his gaze to the old man beside him and moved to strike, but

the sight that greeted him was different from what he had expected.

“I’m afraid…we wish to go to someone other than the one you serve.

And He does not reside in Hell, hoo hoo…”

“..How did you stop it?”

The scene that entered the Pope’s eyes was two figures blocking the immense arms.

The old man and the black-clad man who had been standing next to him just moments before.

Then, moonlight streamed through the cracks in the wall, beautifully illuminating the interior of the Order,

and what especially caught the Pope’s eye was the man’s black, crescent moon earring, shining with exceptional brilliance.