The Way of Atonement (1)
As the prince ascended the Demonic Tree like the wind, finally disappearing into the thick branches at its peak…
Kiiii….
The Demonic Tree abruptly halted its movements, then began to shrivel. Bruno realized in that moment: the prince’s plan had worked.
“…Did he… defeat it?”
But their joy was short-lived.
The Tree’s remains collapsed faster than expected, shrinking away, fragmenting, and then vanishing into thin air. Like most slain demons, it was quickly pulled back to the demonic realm.
Wait—if it disappears like this…!
“Prince Mores!”
And just as he feared.
With the Demonic Tree gone, there was nothing to support the prince’s body, which was now suspended in midair. His form, slack and unconscious, began plummeting toward the ground.
“Your Highness!”
Sir Massain, his face pale, threw his sword aside and dashed toward the prince.
“Damn…!”
Bruno, too, stretched out his hand, gathering what little aura he could muster to help slow the prince’s fall.
But the boy’s accelerating descent was too rapid, and Bruno grit his teeth.
‘If only His Highness were conscious!’
The first time the prince had fallen from the Tree, Massain had managed to catch him safely, but in the final moment, it was an unexpected surge of aura that had crucially slowed the prince’s speed.
And Bruno recognized that familiar aura—the rough but refined energy that manifested whenever the prince meditated. It seemed that, in the face of danger, the prince had instinctively solidified his aura.
But now, with him unconscious, they couldn’t count on such a miracle.
‘If only His Majesty were here…!’
Holding on to that slim hope, Bruno glanced at Sir Sharon, but his face fell.
She was staring blankly at the air, muttering to herself as if completely entranced.
Not only that, her channeling powers were spiraling out of control, beyond any semblance of restraint.
“Has he arrived? At last, has he arrived?”
“Why must I… Why must I wait here like this…?”
“Wind, blow! Faster, faster, faster…!”
“Wait for Mores! Slower, slower, slower…!”
“Oh, I see! We are waiting for you!”
But then, something curious happened.
The moment Sharon began muttering, a strange breeze started swirling around them. It wasn’t the solidified aura of channeling, but a natural gust, blowing steadily upward, pushing against the prince’s falling body.
The wind was slowing his descent, as if some invisible force were trying to catch him.
‘…What in the world is happening?’
While Bruno stared at Sharon in bewilderment, her rambling continued, and her voice grew louder.
“I didn’t want to disappear like this!”
“Stay with us! Lee Sungjin! Lee Sungjin!”
“We’re waiting, always waiting for you.”
“Faster, faster…”
“Slower, slower…”
“Our prayers have been answered! Now, all you must do is command!”
And then it happened.
A miraculous sight unfolded before the eyes of the group.
The scattered demonic energy that had been dissipating into the air suddenly began gathering together as if directed by some unknown will.
The dark energy coalesced, forming a dense cloud around the prince, reaching out to him like countless hands gripping him tightly.
Gradually, the speed of his descent slowed.
“Hurry, Father! Quickly, quickly!”
“Father! Father! Father!”
“Lee Sungjin! Lee Sungjin!”
“We are waiting, waiting for you to come to us and lead us…”
By now, Sharon had begun weeping openly, tears streaming down her face.
Unable to control her channeling, she had become deeply attuned to even the faintest whispers in her mind.
This was the sensitivity of a spiritual adept, capturing all the vague thoughts and distant emotions that even Bruno, with his aura mastery, could not perceive.
“We… only wish to remain in silence…”
Sway.
With that last murmured phrase, Sharon fainted, collapsing to the ground. Bruno, startled, quickly caught her.
“Sir Sharon!”
He checked her condition frantically, but to his relief, she was breathing steadily. It seemed to be a temporary reaction from the excessive channeling.
Meanwhile, Prince Mores, his speed further diminished, was now drifting down like a feather in the wind.
“…How could this be…?”
The entire group watched in a trance-like daze, captivated by the unbelievable scene.
And finally…
Wrapped in the demonic energy like a cradle, the prince landed gently in Sir Massain’s arms.
Rippling…
Nate opened his eyes slowly, gazing at the calm surface of the water.
After returning from the Rift, he always felt severe nausea, but the artificial pond in the prayer room did wonders to alleviate it.
The pool, crafted for this very purpose, helped bridge the gap between spaces and eased the transition back to reality.
As he let himself relax into the gentle undulations of the water, a memory of his son’s recent words surfaced.
Mores: “Father, I have a request.”
The day before he left the capital, his son had approached him with an unusually determined look.
Nate: “A request.”
Mores: “Yes. I’ll be away from here for a while, and I can’t help feeling uneasy leaving just like that.”
Nate had raised an eyebrow.
Who was worried about whom here?
Nate: “Alright. What is your request?”
Mores: “It’s simple. If anyone opens the Rift in my absence, make sure to punish them soundly. Destroy any invaders that dare breach Delcross… or better yet, stop them before they even attempt it…”
Nate had chuckled despite himself.
The boy had barely been informed of his responsibilities, yet here he was, earnestly envisioning ways to enforce cosmic order as best he could.
Nate: “It’s wasted energy, Mores. To alter cause and effect, you need a concrete target you can identify.”
Sigurd Sigurdson was a perfect example.
So long as he remained hidden in his puppet body, the [Accord] treated him as an individual human.
Thus, so long as he didn’t violate the laws of this world or cross certain boundaries, the prince couldn’t intervene, and therefore, neither could the Holy King.
Such were the constraints imposed on the Holy King by the [Accord].
Only Mores, by force of will, might be able to bypass these restrictions. However, it required that Mores knew precisely who the puppet was and could formally make the request.
But Nate couldn’t be the one to reveal that information to him; doing so would breach the [Accord].
This was also why Sigurd Sigurdson had abandoned his puppet once Mores had uncovered his identity. With his puppet exposed, Sigurd could be slain by the Holy King anytime at Mores’s command.
Mores: “So it’s useless unless there’s a specific target? Then… what about this?”
Nate: “What?”
Mores: “Whenever you enter the Rift, Father, come back safely. Every single time.”
Nate had blinked.
Mores: “I sensed a response! That one worked, didn’t it?”
Yes. The cause Mores created had indeed worked. Rising slowly from the water, Nate reflected on the events.
This time, an exceptionally powerful foreign lord had entered, but to Nate’s surprise, he had managed to resolve the situation more easily than he had anticipated.
‘But I’ve been gone for quite some time.’
Beep—
He opened a channel, feeling an urgency that pressed him to return quickly. Only a piercing tinnitus echoed in his mind, likely a residual distortion from the Rift. It seemed channeling remained unstable in the vicinity for now.
‘I’ll leave here and get the night’s report from Sir Sharon…’
Though his nausea hadn’t fully faded, Nate exited the prayer room, walking with a slightly unsteady gait.
Outside, Katrina stood waiting, holding a blanket with a deeply troubled expression.
“A message from Aranja, Your Majesty!”
Nate frowned at her words.
If it were urgent, Aranja could’ve sent a direct message through thought communication.
Cormshim.
They’re so careful that they won’t go near the Rift when it opens…
But as Katrina continued, Nate’s face darkened.
“Prince Mores and his party encountered a demon species called the [Demonic Tree]. They successfully subdued it under the prince’s lead, but His Highness has suffered severe injuries…”
Without waiting to hear more, Nate expanded his channel.
Yet he received no response from Sharon. She was likely unconscious or overwhelmed to the point that she couldn’t receive his transmission.
Instead, he heard the distant sound of children calling out to him, their voices filled with anxious pleas.
Children’s Voices: “Holy King! Quickly, quickly, quickly!”
Children’s Voices: “Father! Father! Father!”
Without giving Katrina a moment’s notice, Nate immediately shed his physical form and projected his spirit.
Katrina: “Your Majesty!”
Ignoring Katrina’s voice, Nate hurtled through the air, heading straight for the last place he had seen his son.
“Your Highness! Your Highness! Are you alright?”
Massain laid Prince Mores gently on the ground, urgently calling out to him.
The prince showed no external injuries, but the blood streaming from his eyes made the situation look grave.
His forehead was burning hot, and he remained unresponsive.
“Get a priest! Quickly, bring someone to heal him!”
But no one dared to approach. The demonic energy still surrounded the prince in thick, swirling clouds.
Realizing the problem, Sir Massain tried to disperse the dark energy with his hand, swiping at the mist in a desperate attempt to clear it. But strangely, the demonic energy continued to cling tightly to the prince, refusing to dissipate and swirling persistently around him.
“Sir Massain, please step back!” one of the knights urged him. “The corruption has already started!”
Sure enough, patches of dark splotches had begun to appear on Massain’s face and arms.
Even though he was a member of the Holy King’s family and naturally resistant to demonic energy, there was little he could do after such prolonged exposure. His willingness to stay by the prince’s side without regard for his own safety was starting to take its toll.
Oddly enough, despite being surrounded by such intense demonic energy, the prince himself showed no signs of corruption. It was a small relief, but it was clear this situation couldn’t last indefinitely.
“I’ll try purifying the energy!” called out Sir Valery. He and the summoned priest, Gustav, immediately began a prayer, concentrating their auras to purify the dark energy surrounding the prince.
But as they struggled with little progress, a sharp voice rang out, scolding Commander Bruno.
Demon Lord: “You fool! Why aren’t you calling for the Holy King?!”
Bruno jolted in surprise. “Red One? Is that you?”
Bruno: “What happened up there? What exactly did we miss?”
Demon Lord: “It doesn’t matter now! What’s the paladin doing? Tell him to summon the prince’s father!”
Bruno’s face fell with a grimace. “As you can see, Sir Sharon is currently unconscious. It’s impossible for her to reach him.”
Demon Lord: “What? So you’re just going to stand here doing nothing? Then you need to summon him yourself, fool!”
Bruno: “But Red One, my weak channeling abilities aren’t enough to transmit my thoughts all the way to the capital. And even if I could, I am not suited to hold His Majesty’s spirit.”
Demon Lord: “Then wake up that crazy paladin! If the Holy King comes here in spirit form without a physical anchor, it could disrupt the balance of cause and effect!”
Just as the Demon Lord was furiously berating Bruno, he suddenly stopped, as if startled.
Demon Lord: “Wait… What’s this?”
Bruno sensed it, too. His heightened perception as a Dekaron Knight alerted him to a sudden change in the atmosphere—the weight of the air had shifted.
“What… what’s happening?”
Sir Gustav and Sir Valery, who had been praying fervently, paused and looked up, feeling a powerful surge of holy energy.
The sensation was overwhelming, as though they were standing within the sacred sanctum of the capital itself, where divine energy radiated with a pure intensity that inspired reverence and even fear.
And then—
Boom!
A palpable force pressed down upon the area.
Whoosh!
The dark energy that had been wrapped around Prince Mores immediately evaporated, vanishing without a trace.
Splash… splash…
As the waves settled, Nate drew in a long breath, emerging fully from the deep trance that had brought him back from the Rift.
He could still feel his son’s faint pulse, each beat struggling as if trying to connect back with him.
Despite the massive holy energy that surrounded him now, stabilizing the region, his son’s essence called out to him—wavering but alive.