The Way of Atonement (2)
[Repent. Repent.]
Seongjin heard a voice emanating from somewhere.
It was the voice of a man, singing a chant-like melody. Though rough and broken, the voice carried a strange power that seemed to reach deep within one’s soul.
“Betela.”
As if responding to the voice, many people joined in, chanting a brief refrain.
‘…What is this?’
As Seongjin focused, he was startled to find that the voice grew steadily closer.
[We are all sinners.]
“Betela.”
[So kneel here and repent for all your sins.]
“Betela.”
“Betela…”
Seongjin absentmindedly echoed the word, as if it held some distant memory.
It didn’t feel entirely unfamiliar. He was sure he’d heard it somewhere before.
Could it have been that bastard Rohan who mentioned it?
While Seongjin mused over this, the man’s voice continued.
[Listen. We were born into this world, tearing through our mother’s womb, drinking our father’s blood, and stamping down on this earth. That’s it! We wouldn’t hesitate to throw away a life just like ours if it meant breathing for a few more days. We bring harm to the world by simply existing—what monstrous sinners we are!]
“Betela.”
[Even a mere breath or a single word we utter is nothing but filth polluting the world. How can I watch this silently? How can I endure it without repentance?]
Many voices joined in agreement, singing softly.
Oh Lord, we are all sinners. Please punish us for our sins.
[Brothers, brothers of penance! How will you repent for such a profound sin?]
The crowd answered the man’s call.
I shall punish myself by embracing penance.
I will confess my sins continually, enduring the pain.
With their blood, we shall cleanse all evil.
Now, not only did Seongjin hear the sounds, but he could also see them as if they were right in front of him.
It was the sight of hundreds of people kneeling on the cold stone ground in a vast cavern, praying.
‘…Is this a dream?’
But the scene was too vivid to dismiss as just a dream.
They were pitifully thin, their faces gaunt beneath their ragged monastic robes, and their limbs were covered with countless scars and wounds.
And at the center of the cavern, where the people gazed, stood a man on a raised platform.
Like the believers, he was emaciated, his body lined with fresh wounds.
Yet, despite his frail appearance, he commanded an imposing presence, looking down upon the people with intense authority. His thick beard and unruly hair flowed around him like a lion’s mane.
[Yes! Only through suffering are we purified. Only endless penance will make us aware of our sins!]
The man’s powerful voice resonated in the believers’ eyes, stirring their souls.
As if mesmerized, the people repeated after him.
“Betela.”
Endless penance.
[Only through total suffering will you find repentance!]
“Betela.”
Absolute pain.
[Pain, suffering—this is the only path to true repentance.]
Watching this, Seongjin thought, bewildered.
People say that if you believe, you’ll receive wealth and fame. Or, they say you’ll gain eternal life in heaven.
‘How could this type of evangelism possibly work on people?’
Sure, let’s assume that all humans are sinners.
Then couldn’t they repent in a more productive way?
Suffering through pain is just self-gratification; it does nothing to help the world. In the end, all you’re doing is consuming a lot of oxygen and producing carbon dioxide.
‘If you have the strength to punish yourself, at least use it to till a field and help the world! And if you can’t forgive yourself, just go sleep quietly in a corner instead of being a nuisance.’
Seongjin snorted to himself.
But as if he had heard Seongjin’s thoughts, the man on the podium suddenly turned toward him.
‘…?!’
The moment their eyes met, surprise flashed in the man’s gaze.
[■■■ ■■?!]
‘What?’
[What are you doing there…?]
Are you talking to me? How can you see me? What did you just call me?
At that moment, a familiar voice echoed in his mind.
[Return, now.]
…Father?
A whisper.
The scene before his eyes began to fade, and Seongjin’s consciousness swiftly drifted away.
Clip-clop, clip-clop.
Seongjin’s eyes fluttered open, feeling his body swaying slightly.
It was the familiar sensation of being on a moving carriage.
“Are you awake, Your Highness?”
“…Sir Massain?”
Seongjin turned toward the sound, but his vision remained obscured.
“…?”
For some reason, everything looked strangely dark, as if something were blocking his eyes.
Perplexed, he tried to reach out and touch his face, but a hand gently stopped him.
“Leave it be, Your Highness. I don’t know if you remember, but you suffered a severe injury to your eyes.”
“Injury…?”
Only then did the memories of the previous day flood back to him.
The appearance of the gigantic Demonic Tree, the obliteration of Milo’s elite forces, and the vivid, colorful scenes he’d seen when borrowing the Demon King’s senses.
And the splitting headache that had consumed his mind, the burning pain in his eyes.
Ugh.
Just thinking about it made him feel like the headache was returning. Seongjin stopped himself from thinking further, letting his body relax.
“How long do I have to keep these on?”
“According to Father Gustav, it’s best for you to avoid light for a while. Since we’re close to Segismund, it’d be wise to have the council member there examine you before removing the bandages.”
“Hmm.”
He touched the bandages, but felt no pain in his eyes.
‘I feel fine…’
Still, Seongjin decided to heed Massain’s advice.
He wanted to check if his vision was okay as soon as possible, but it would be wiser to follow the priest’s instructions. There was no harm in being cautious.
“By the way, Lord Massain… you seem… tense.”
There was a restrained energy in Massain’s voice, a hint of barely-contained anger.
Was he upset?
It seemed as though something was held back, as if a seal might break at any moment, unleashing the frustration pent up within him.
“Sir Massain… how long was I out?”
Seongjin began to ask, but just then, the carriage jolted to a halt.
“You slept all morning. It’s nearly noon now.”
Massain stood up, speaking in a low voice.
“Well, now that I’ve confirmed you’re awake and safe, I’ll take my leave. A dedicated attendant will come to serve you lunch shortly, so don’t skip it, Your Highness.”
With that, Massain opened the carriage door and stepped outside.
He hadn’t given Seongjin a chance to ask anything about the previous day or the Demonic Tree.
‘Wait!’
At the very least, he wanted to know how he’d survived after cutting the growth core and falling from such a height!
Lying there in confusion, Seongjin turned his thoughts to the Demon King.
“Well, it seems Sir Massain is quite angry.”
[… … .]
‘…Demon King?’
But there was no response.
He definitely felt a presence lingering at the edge of his mind, though.
‘Hey, what’s going on with you? Why are you so quiet? What happened?’
Then, he sensed a faint tremor from the back of his mind.
[Sniff…]
Wait… are you crying? Why?
[…Who’s crying? I’m just tired and need to rest, so don’t talk to me for a while!]
With that, the Demon King fell silent again.
‘…Huh? Why is everyone acting like this?’
Baffled, Seongjin sat with his mouth agape until Edith arrived with his meal.
Meanwhile, Bruno, who had just sensed the prince’s stirring, caught Sir Massain as he exited the carriage.
“Sir Massain. Has His Highness woken?”
“Yes, he has.”
“That’s good news.”
Bruno let out a relieved sigh.
There had been moments last night when he truly feared the worst, but fortunately, everything had worked out.
The previous night…
The holy energy that had descended upon their group had instantly dispersed the demonic energy surrounding Prince Mores and completely purified the lingering remnants of the Demonic Tree.
The prince’s body had been enveloped in a sacred white light. The bleeding from his eyes ceased immediately, and even the minor cuts across his body healed fully.
It had been nothing short of a miracle.
Massain: “Prince!”
Sir Massain, who had cautiously opened the prince’s eyelids to check his vision, had collapsed back, looking as though he’d aged a decade in that moment.
The miracle didn’t end there. Even items that had shown signs of gradual erosion were fully restored.
Sir Massain himself, whose body had been marked with black patches from demonic corrosion, was healed without a trace of injury.
Thanks to this, the Wolf Knights, who had whispered suspicions about the demonic energy surrounding the prince, were left astounded.
The holy energy dissipated shortly afterward, but the party, including Priest Gustav, voluntarily spent some time praying in gratitude.
Sharon: “Perhaps His Majesty’s spirit was with you.”
Sir Sharon, who had regained consciousness later, remarked this solemnly.
Certainly, the Holy King, as Bruno knew him, was capable of such miracles.
Bruno was still somewhat stunned; as he had never before witnessed such a miracle performed solely through the presence of a spirit.
Massain gave a quiet nod, seeming to process it all in his own way, before he spoke softly and turned away, walking out into the open field with his sword tightly gripped. It looked as though he intended to use the break in travel to resume his training.
‘Take your time; no need to rush…’
Bruno stroked his mustache thoughtfully, watching Massain’s back. He knew that Massain had been pushing his training to an extreme lately. Today especially, Massain had barely rested, seizing every opportunity since dawn to wield his sword, his expression hard and intent.
Bruno could only imagine the frustration and helplessness that must have plagued Massain after last night.
If anything, Massain was now closer than ever to advancing to the fabled tenth level of aura mastery. Yet instead of pressing on recklessly, he would be better served by self-reflection and a more balanced approach to his inner training.
Just then, an Inquisitor came running over, shouting.
“Captain Bruno!”
Sir Sharon, who had collapsed from channeling overload the previous night, seemed to have fully recovered.
“Oh, Sir Sharon, are you alright?”
“Fine… well, I am now,” she replied, but her expression was grave. “Something strange is happening. The channel is still closed! Tell me exactly what happened last night!”
“What? Why the sudden concern?” Bruno asked, bewildered.
Sharon, her face unusually tense, blurted out, “The Holy King’s channel! No matter how many times I call, there’s no response at all!”
Nate was, at that moment, suspended within a form of [Rift] in spirit.
Someone had invoked a power strong enough to pull his very soul into this place.
Yet this was no ordinary Rift—the unstable passage usually forced open by foreign monarchs attempting to invade. Rather, it was a stable place of calm, where the owner controlled both time and space. This was sometimes where the [Meeting of the Six] was held, a gathering of those who safeguarded the dimension.
Tatiana is probably managing the council’s affairs well, he thought, while Katrina takes care of my private matters. There’s still time.
He was surrounded by an immense, colorless void, where space and time had come to a halt, frozen as if captured in a grayscale image.
In the midst of this, Nate drifted, going over numerous concerns in his mind. Eventually, a twinge of impatience began to bubble within him.
‘I feel like I could break out right now if I wanted…’
It wasn’t difficult to force his way out, but doing so would create all sorts of complications afterward.
This was why he was restraining himself, waiting patiently for the master of this place to make an appearance.
[How long are you going to keep me waiting here? Can you please hurry up with this “meeting” or “audience” or whatever it is?]
Finally out of patience, Nate’s voice echoed into the void, causing a subtle ripple that reverberated through the space around him.
[Or is this some form of protest? If you’re not going to be of any help, don’t waste my time. You know I’m a very busy person.]
Just as Nate’s hand instinctively brushed his waist, considering whether he should force his way out after all, a familiar voice echoed from behind him.
[…There will be no meeting.]
Before he knew it, a tall, elderly man had appeared, gazing at Nate with quiet intensity. The old man wore a simple gray robe, his face sharp and clear, with lines softened by age, lending him a serene yet perceptive appearance.
His piercing golden eyes, slit vertically like a cat’s, held an uncanny intelligence as he looked at Nate.
[You’ve been patient, it seems. And it’s given you time to cool your head, hasn’t it?]
Nate exhaled slowly, his fingers easing away from his waist.
[…Elder.]
He addressed the old man with respect, though the tension between them was palpable.
In the physical realm, Sharon struggled to steady her channeling abilities, repeatedly calling out to Nate without success. Meanwhile, Massain watched the prince with deep concern, not quite able to relax even as they finally neared Segismund.
For now, the prince lay quietly in the carriage, seemingly safe under the vigilant eyes of his guards.
But even in this calm, an unsettling feeling continued to simmer, as though something far larger was brewing on the horizon.