Chapter 327: God Loves the World

"Now, it's my turn to let you feel good too."

As the domain flickering with arcs of electricity spread outward, filaments of flame began, with each breath, to gradually stream out from the wounds across Muen’s body.

The flames were crimson, a little different from ordinary fire. They swayed and circled around Muen without pause, like leaping sprites, giving off a sense of quick, lively spirit.

But if one kept staring, it felt as if one could glimpse, hidden in the deepest part of those flames... a smear of lifeless silence, and destruction.

"This flame is..."

The priest’s eyes narrowed.

Magic?

A martial technique?

A magitech device?

An alchemical weapon?

Or the effect of some ancient relic?

He could not tell.

The strange domain that crackled with arcs completely screened off the senses he had extended by way of Divine Grace. Though Muen stood right before him, within his perception there was nothing at all in front of him.

Including that suddenly appearing strange flame.

However...

With the appearance of those flames, the temperature in the air did not increase in the least, and the gloom shrouded by this death-domain was not illuminated in the least by firelight. Even the ragged strips of cloth on Muen’s body, when stained by those flames, did not change one bit.

Though it was fire, it showed none of fire’s effects or traits. Plainly swaying there, as if light and heat did not exist within that flame at all.

It looked utterly harmless.

Of course, perhaps this strange domain was masking the flame’s effects, but no matter how mystical that fire might be, the priest still did not believe Muen Campbell had any chance to turn the tables.

Just as he had said a moment ago, before the gifts of the gods, any external thing was not worth mentioning.

The only thing worth noting was...

The priest looked aside—at the Hyena, who was likewise within the domain.

The Hyena was not far from Muen. At this distance, he could have launched another fatal strike at any time, could have driven his claws into Muen’s flesh once again.

But he did not.

He merely glared fixedly at Muen with crimson, bewildered eyes. Every scale on his body was practically bristling upright; at times he bared his fangs, at times a low whimper rumbled out of his throat.

Like a stray dog that has run into a lion.

He was actually afraid?

This monster who had already lost most of his reason, with only bloodlust remaining—at this moment, he was actually afraid, trembling?

Why?

What had he sensed within the domain?

"Let’s start with you."

Muen suddenly turned his head then, and smiled at the Hyena.

The smile was gentle, yet it chilled the Hyena’s back, like a naive girl who runs into a flasher in a grove.

Then Muen’s figure blurred; in an instant he crossed the not-so-far distance and arrived before the Hyena.

Without the fetters of Divine Grace upon him, speaking strictly of speed, Muen had already surpassed the Hyena.

So the Hyena had nowhere to flee. He could only let Muen reach out, like an old friend who could not be more familiar, and give a light pat to his shoulder.

And the crimson flames flowed, surging toward the Hyena.

Was he...

Planning to burn the Hyena to death with that flame?

The priest frowned, and the hand about to turn the Holy Codex suddenly paused.

To be prudent, he needed to understand the true effect of that flame. For that, it was necessary to let the Hyena suffer a little.

Moreover, with the Hyena’s terrifying vitality and recovery—he could be hacked to bits and still not die—then even if that flame was somewhat formidable, it shouldn’t...

"Ah—"

The priest’s reflection was cut off by a shrill howl a breath later.

As those flames poured in, the Hyena suddenly seemed to be subjected to some hideous torture, beginning to thrash and howl violently.

As if all the pain in the world had converged upon him. This monster who had few pain nerves to begin with—who would not even knit his brows when pierced by countless knives in normal times—now struggled and howled with all his strength.

He tried to rid himself of those crimson flames, but those flames clung like maggots gnawing on bone, adhering to his skin, to his flesh, burning without cease! Burning!

"Roar—"

At last, the despair of death—or perhaps a final frenzy—blazed up. The Hyena’s blood-red eyes locked on Muen as he hurled himself at him, his whole body wrapped in crimson fire, vicious and mad.

Extreme pain had already driven out his fear. He no longer cared about the dreadful aura now radiating from Muen. He would tear this fellow before his eyes to pieces!

But just as the Hyena’s claws were less than an inch from Muen’s unguarded neck, his movements suddenly stopped.

Because his gaze, unthinkingly, met Muen’s.

At this moment, within Muen’s eyes—calm like a lake—blazing firelight kindled.

And so, in the Hyena’s eyes, firelight kindled as well, spreading outward from the pupils.

That firelight was still crimson, yet had no more substance. It welled up from his mind, his thoughts, his consciousness... from the depths of his soul, swaying with eerie luster.

Then it burned.

Burned.

Burned everything away!

"Grk...grk..."

The Hyena’s eyes went wide and empty, and he tried to squeeze a few syllables out of his throat:

"Wi...th..."

But in the end, he could not say it.

Because Muen had already seized his throat. He lifted his index finger, placed it against his lips, and said softly:

"Shh—better not say that name out loud."

"And... good night."

Muen’s palm clenched, hard.

But the sensation meeting his palm was no longer that of a living creature.

Like a stone statue that had undergone long ages of corruption, finally reaching its end in this instant.

With a crisp crack, the Hyena’s entire body turned, within Muen’s hand, into countless collapsing ashes.

Ash scattered, merged into the raging gale, and vanished utterly.

Barely a few dozen seconds.

This powerful Fourth-Rank monster was burned to nothing.

From the inside out, nothing remained.

Only that tuft of crimson flame danced with eerie delight, as if burning all the more exuberantly.

"..."

For a heartbeat, the field fell into dead silence, as if even the wind had vanished.

And in this death-domain built of storm and giant trees, the priest looked at Muen, looked at the Hyena beside him dissolving into ash, and his ever-composed expression finally... sank into shadow.

Even if he were blind, even if a domain blocking all aura lay between them, he finally recognized the true nature of this dreadful power.

This was a rules-level burning that admitted no reason—absolutely not something any magic or any tool could achieve.

It was... the power of a god.

"I see... so this is your trump card, Muen Campbell?"

"Interesting, how very interesting. Who would have thought—dignified son of a duke, a genius sitting on the top resources of this world—and yet you would walk down this path."

After a brief silence, the priest suddenly laughed—laughter filled with boundless mockery:

"You are actually... a cleric?"

"..."

"Is it the God of Flame, or that God of the Forge? Forget it, I suppose you won’t say. But truly unexpected—could a highborn noble’s son also endure the celibate, ascetic road of a cleric?"

The priest sized Muen up, incredulous, clicking his tongue:

"I’ve served as a priest in the Church for so long and seen countless false believers who only want the gods’ favor yet never achieve true piety. I never thought you could actually pull it off. I must admit, Muen Campbell, someone like you is rare. Truly rare."

"Abstinence is not something I can do... but fine, let’s pretend I am."

Muen’s mouth twitched, but after a moment’s thought he did not argue. He only shrugged casually and said:

"Since this power of mine has been seen through at a glance by Father, why don’t you also accept my proposal?"

"Hm?"

"Just like you said earlier."

Muen pointed at the empty air beside him and smiled:

"In order not to end up like the Hyena, how about you surrender with your hands bound as well? That way, I can be merciful and let you die without any pain."

"..."

Hearing Muen’s familiar proposal, the priest froze for a moment, then suddenly pressed his palm to his face, covering his expression, his shoulders shaking.

"Pfft... hahaha—Muen Campbell, you—you truly are a most amusing person."

The priest laughed, then lifted his hand away, revealing once more on his face... scorn:

"I admit, you exceeded my expectations. But... why do you think that merely with a god’s favor, merely by killing that trash Hyena, you can run your mouth at me like this?"

"No."

Muen said with perfect seriousness:

"I’m making the proposal with utmost sincerity. After all, if possible, I don’t want to casually use that kind of power."

"What an arrogance. In that case..."

The priest suddenly raised the Holy Codex, and a majestic power of faith surfaced across his body.

He gazed toward the high heavens, fanaticism on his face:

"Then let me show you, the true might of my most exalted Lords!"

The Holy Codex turned.

Clear, immaculate light bloomed—holy and awe-inspiring.

The priest pointed with one finger.

Countless great trees shuddered. Those trunks so thick that over a dozen men would be needed to encircle them suddenly twisted and wove with supple force, forming layer upon layer of heaven-and-earth nets, casting the ant-small Muen within.

The giant trees writhed and ground together like a mass of serpents in heat, leaving absolutely no gap between their entwining.

It was hard to imagine a fragile body of flesh surviving within. The priest could almost hear Muen deep inside with his bones being crushed one by one.

But—

"Fssst."

The sound of flames swaying shattered the priest’s fantasy in an instant.

Crimson fire spread from the very center of that tangle of trunks, like a bonfire leaping up from a neatly stacked woodpile—burning in a blink... with savage ferocity!

"Ha, setting the mountains ablaze will earn you a life sentence."

Within the fire, Muen’s figure slowly took shape. He sounded a bit helpless:

"Can you use a technique that belongs to the living world?"

"It didn’t work?"

Watching the fire instantly incinerate the countless giant trees, the priest’s expression remained calm.

This result had been anticipated.

After all, using the Forest God’s grace to counter flames was, in any view, not a wise choice.

But he did so because this grace was the power he commanded most skillfully.

And also...

To create an opening for his next move.

As if he had finally gathered enough power, the priest’s extended finger became a palm, then pressed downward.

The gales encircling this region froze at once.

Above the forest, now bared as leaves were whisked away by the wind, a mass of storm clouds coiled, rotated, and contracted in the sky, then formed a vortex like the advent of doomsday.

And then, from that vortex, a true storm descended.

Unlike the earlier currents used only to bind and suppress Muen, now dreadful thunder, hail, and blade-like steel all poured into the storm, weaving a flood of destruction.

This was not the power of a single grace, but several graces triggered together, consuming a vast portion of the faith the priest had stored over the years.

Under this destructive torrent, the priest was confident that anything below Fifth Rank had absolutely no chance of survival.

Therefore...

"It’s over."

Watching the torrent of destruction precisely shroud Muen—wind and thunder to annihilate all things—the priest once more showed that faint, tranquil smile.

Muen Campbell was indeed a terrifying fellow.

Unfortunately, he had met the wrong enemy at the wrong time.

"I will raise a gravestone for your tomb. I will carve your name upon your stone."

The priest bowed his head in prayer.

But as he lifted his head, and in the desolated ruins left by the ravaging torrent sought a few pieces sufficient to make a simple grave, a light laugh suddenly sounded.

"Forget it, cough, cough... things like making a grave for me should be left to my future son—or daughter. You’re not worthy."

The voice came from behind debris and dust whipped up by the lingering wind, mixed with a cough or two of weakness, yet still... incomparably clear.

So clear... the priest’s heart nearly stopped.

"Wh... what?"

The bland smile vanished without a trace. For the first time, disbelief and horror flashed in the priest’s eyes.

"How is that possible? How can this be!"

The gale howled anew, sweeping away every speck of dust and fragment blocking sight.

And there the golden-haired man was revealed.

He was not unscathed. The several graces had once more left ghastly wounds upon his body, deep to the bone.

But that was all.

He was still alive, still able to stand.

And those crimson flames were roaming across his whole body, ceaselessly helping him recover.

"I see... I see it!"

Gazing at those flames—like he had discovered something—the priest shouted in excitement:

"That is not Divine Grace, not grace at all. That fire... is Divine Favor!"

Yes—this streamlike, living power of godhood that could be consumed without end at will was definitely not the dead stock of Divine Grace that dwindled with each use.

It was Divine Favor, the gods’ favor descending upon their beloved, a portion of a deity’s law manifest in the human world!

Muen Campbell was actually a bearer of Divine Favor!

What a joke!

He had never heard of such a thing!

How precious were bearers of Divine Favor? The appearance of each one was almost always registered in the Church’s records.

But among those records there had never been the name Muen Campbell!

He was no nobody. He was a duke’s son, born under the spotlight. His every move would fall into attentive eyes. Could he truly be so capable of forbearance?

So forbearing that... until now, he had never revealed this inborn power before outsiders?

Damn it! Bearers of Divine Favor usually awakened at seven or eight years old. If he already had this mindset for forbearance back then, just how terrifying would this man be?

"Hey, hey—why are you suddenly wearing that look of ‘this kid is too terrifying to live’? Want me to help by sucking in a cold breath?"

Clutching his injured side, Muen actually bared his teeth and sucked in a genuine cold hiss.

It hurt.

Crimson Flame was formidable, but in defense it was still slightly lacking.

He had almost stumbled for real just now.

Thankfully, he could take a beating.

With Crimson Flame’s blessing, he could take more of a beating.

Muen moved his feet, step by step walking toward the priest.

"W-wait!"

The priest shouted in terror:

"Don’t come closer—stop!"

The storm rose again; thunder roared.

Grace after dreadful grace fell upon Muen once more.

To no effect.

Whether gale or thunder, whether steel or hail, even brighter, seemingly hotter flames—none could break through that thin veil of crimson at Muen’s side. All were burned away to nothing.

Quantity still could not make up for this absolute gap in quality.

"No... no, that’s wrong!"

Staring at the despairing scene, the priest’s eyes went scarlet as he roared, composure in tatters:

"Even if it’s Divine Favor—even if it’s Divine Favor—it shouldn’t be this strong! It’s impossible that all the graces I’ve gained through years of devoted service to the gods would be utterly useless!"

"Which god’s favor do you bear? Is it truly the God of Flame?"

"It even carries the vigor of restoration—don’t tell me you are favored by more than one god?"

As conjecture followed conjecture, an emotion called envy suddenly surfaced in the priest’s heart, driving him to the brink of madness:

"Why? Why is it that all my years of asceticism and daily piety could only exchange for some paltry graces, but you—who did nothing—can receive the favor of so many gods?

Why! Answer me!"

"..."

Muen did not answer.

He only lowered his eyes slightly.

Unknowingly, he had come to stand right before the priest.

Very close.

Between them lay only a wavering arc of electricity.

This was the boundary of the Alchemy Domain.

"Teacher Mela’s domain is even stronger than I imagined."

Muen could not help but praise under his breath.

Though separated by only this thin layer of domain, the priest still could not sense upon Crimson Flame that aura belonging to the Evil God, the Withering King. He was still guessing, over and over, which god this Favor came from.

Naturally, all of it was wrong.

After all, he could rack his brains and still never imagine that a dignified duke’s son would risk destroying his bright future just to get in bed with an Evil God.

What’s more...

Muen looked at those swaying crimson flames.

When this power bore none of the Evil God’s mental pollution... it did not seem as eerily terrifying as one might think.

Judging by appearances alone, it looked like it had nothing to do with the words “Evil God.”

"But I still need to use it sparingly."

Muen murmured, "Power that doesn’t belong to you—don’t rely on it too much."

Reining in these thoughts, Muen set his eyes once more upon the priest before him, now mad as a loon.

Compared to the composed, confident hunter from not long ago, he was like a different person.

"All right. Stop making a scene."

Muen said:

"In your words—checkmate, Father."

"..."

The familiar word echoed by his ear and the mania on the priest’s face vanished at once.

He looked at Muen, then lowered his head to look at himself.

After a long moment, his voice trembled:

"I still have the Goddess’s Holy Light."

"The Holy Light on you—if we’re comparing purity—you’re far worse than Liya."

"..."

Right.

He was already standing this close. Even the Goddess’s Holy Light probably couldn’t stop him.

Was it truly over?

A hint of confusion flashed through the priest’s eyes.

The scene ⊛ Nоvеlιght ⊛ (Read the full story) and the words were so familiar, yet the positions of the two had completely reversed.

He was the hunter, and himself...

Had become the prey cornered to a dead end.

All the graces he relied on had already been used. Facing this desperate situation, he had no way at all...

"No, it’s not over!"

As if recalling something, the priest suddenly raised his head. Frenzy spread over his face once more.

He rapidly flipped through his Holy Codex.

To the final page.

Feeling the threads of aura attached to that page, tears of joy spilled out.

"Yes. I still have a trump card!"

"The Last Lord... whom I worship!"

...

...

"Suppose—I’m only saying suppose."

At the long table, the slightly tipsy Robin wobbled his head and posed a question to White Tiger:

"If that Muen Campbell really is that wild and fights his way out, what do we do?"

"Relax. That possibility doesn’t exist."

Faced with this doubt that didn’t sound very rational, White Tiger only swirled his glass and said blandly, "I have a trump card."

"Hm?"

Robin frowned:

"You mean that priest?"

"Yes," White Tiger nodded.

"With him there, no accident is possible."

"The Hundred-Believer... is indeed formidable. But he has a fatal flaw."

Robin pondered aloud:

"At the end of the day, he’s just an ordinary person."

"An ordinary person? Heh."

White Tiger sneered. "Can someone like him really be called human?"

"What do you mean?"

"The prerequisite for trading faith for power from the gods is piety. Yet if a person can piously worship multiple gods, doesn’t that mean his mind is already not quite right?"

White Tiger smiled without smiling:

"And people whose minds aren’t right, who often consort with deities—those are precisely the ones most likely to draw certain inexplicable existences.

Otherwise... how do you think a fool carrying Holy Light—no different from a humanoid lighthouse in the Church’s eyes—escaped the Tribunal’s pursuit?"

"...I see. I understand."

Robin paused, but with his IQ he easily grasped the twists within and exclaimed:

"As expected of you, Mister Speaker—you even accounted for things beyond common sense?"

"Naturally. If you want to completely destroy a person, pulling out all the stops is a necessary form of respect." The corner of White Tiger’s mouth quirked.

"Indeed. It may look like making a mountain out of a molehill, but this is fine."

Robin raised his glass again, smiling with more sincere regard:

"Then let’s celebrate our success in advance."

"Mm. Celebrate success." The clink was crisp and pleasing to the ear, still like the music of victory.

...

...

"Father Sion, do the gods truly love the world?"

Once, I heard such a question.

It was a sweet little girl.

Her parents had died in a sudden, unheralded plague, so she came to the church every day to pray, telling the Goddess how she missed her parents.

That day was the same. But after the set prayers, she suddenly tugged at the hem of my robe and asked me this.

"Of course."

I patted her head and smiled:

"The merciful Goddess looks upon us all."

"But..."

The girl opened her big, innocent eyes—blinking and irresistibly pitiful:

"I pray to the Goddess so piously every day, so why won’t the Goddess answer me?"

"What wish did you make?"

"I want the Goddess to tell me if my mom and dad—they’re doing okay down there. Sob, and... I miss them so much. I want to see them again. I dreamed about them before, but I can’t even remember their faces."

"...Don’t worry. The Goddess will definitely grant your wish."

At the time, I could only answer like that.

Do the gods love the world?

Of course.

Before then, I was sure of it.

But a seed of doubt still took root and sprouted in my heart.

I wanted to know whether the gods truly loved the world.

Not a love woven by catechism and imagined by believers.

I wanted the gods to answer me personally.

Do they love?

I began to worship the Goddess with even greater piety.

But no matter how I labored, how piously I offered up all of myself, the Goddess gave no response. She only granted me Holy Light.

But I did not want Holy Light. I wanted an answer.

Was it because there were too many believers, and she could not attend to answering?

So, after one morning’s lesson ended, I offered prayers to other gods.

Still with utmost piety, still with utmost sincerity, still offering all my devotion.

But even those deities with the smallest flocks gave me no answer.

They were like the Goddess—continuously responding only with power.

All kinds of power.

But I did not want power.

I only wanted an answer.

Do the gods love the world?

Thus, one by one by one—

I began to believe in new gods without stopping.

Until that day.

What kind of day was it? I’ve forgotten.

I only remember that on that day, by my help, that little girl who had finally realized her wish blossomed into a smiling red flower—and there, by her side, I heard my Lord’s answer with utter clarity.

He said to me:

【Love.】

...

...

"Hm?"

Muen’s brows suddenly furrowed.

Because the priest before him became wrong again.

"It’s not over yet! I still have a trump card!"

"I still have... the Last Lord!"

It was impossible to say what expression the priest wore now—like a hodgepodge stew—fervor, madness, sincerity, devotion—several utterly opposite expressions tangled across his face.

But no matter how his face changed, Muen read only one meaning.

He wanted to make trouble.

And it was already too late to stop it.

【Prayer.】

A solemn reading rang out, and the whole world fell silent.

Muen’s breath hitched, because he could clearly feel that as those two words left the priest’s mouth, a dreadful gaze from a higher plane had fallen upon this place.

Damn it. This familiar plot, this intense déjà vu...

A bad sense of crisis flooded his mind. Muen was already thinking about how to kneel and beg the Black Book for help in a posture that wouldn’t look too shameful.

【With all my faith, with all my grace, I beseech Your favor】

【Please, toward this ignorant one before me, descend Your love.】

【My most exalted Lord, great... Lord Love God.】

Huh?

Who?

Muen’s eyes bulged. While he was still digesting the content of the priest’s prayer, as the prayer ended, the change... began.

On that face of tangled expressions, flesh and blood began to writhe violently, and in the end, on the side of that face, a new visage surfaced.

The face was identical to the priest’s, only the veins writhed as if countless earthworms were tunneling beneath the skin—brimming with a feral, grim malice.

At the same time, ethereal hymnody sounded, and white feathers drifted down from the void.

Thump. Thump.

That face gulped down the graces and faith belonging to other gods, showing a satisfied expression. Yet still unsated, it opened its pitch-black eyes and looked toward another tender lamb.

And then It beheld a dumb face.

A familiar dumb face.

Big eyes staring into small eyes.

"Holy shit!"

After a brief beat of silence, Muen finally came back to himself and nearly jumped, blurting in shock:

"Love God—why is it you?"

What in the hell?

How did we go from fighting to the Love God popping out?

This plot... doesn’t seem very continuous.

Or has the priest’s faith gotten so fancy that he wouldn’t even spare the Love God?

【......】

In those black eyes, it was rare to see a reflection of the ant before It. Previous memories surfaced, and through the strand of will within the priest’s body, It turned furious and feral in an instant.

You again!

You, the ant who keeps ruining My affairs—again!

This time—this time, see if I don’t...

Hm?

The pitch-black eyes suddenly tightened.

Because It saw the flames now burning upon Muen.

Naturally the Alchemy Domain could not bar Its gaze. With only a single glance It recognized the origin of those crimson flames.

【......】

Big eyes stared into big eyes again.

"Haha, I feel it! I feel my Lord’s love!"

The priest, utterly oblivious to the weird air, opened his arms and cried fanatically:

"Ah, the gods truly love the world! My Lord, my exalted Lord, please kill this damned fellow before me. Please show me even more of Your love!

Please—eh?"

The priest’s cry cut off at once.

Because he once more sensed a change—a bad one for him.

As if time were rewinding, his face writhed again. The black eyes closed; the malice-twisted visage squirmed and melted back into his flesh.

Feathers vanished; holy radiance ebbed.

And that fullness of feeling—the love of a god—vanished without a trace in an instant.

The Love God...

Was gone.

Gone without a shred of lingering mud or water.

As for the things It had just swallowed—naturally they would not be spat back out.

So there stood only a priest completely and utterly returned to being an ordinary man, dumbstruck, blank with despair.

"Eh? My Lord?"

"Where is Your love?"