Chapter 47

Chapter 47

Sylvanas tightly shut his eyes. The reality before him was something he didn’t want to accept and he wanted to deny it. How could that man be made of the same flesh and blood as himself? Wasn’t it favoritism from the gods?

As that thought crossed his mind, the Demon King spoke.

“Bella’s life is hers to decide. No one has the right to claim authority over her.”

“…”

“Weak human. It’s hard to believe you are of Cyril’s blood. Pathetic, truly. With eyes that see the truth, why do you choose to blind yourself? Refusing to see won’t change what is.”

“What are you talking about…?”

“You know better than anyone what I mean. If you truly don’t, ask that wretch beside you. Just because you act blind doesn’t mean your ears don’t work.”

Sylvanas scowled at the Demon King’s cryptic words. He glanced sideways at Lawrence, who had fallen silent at some point, then looked back. In that brief moment, the air warped, and a dimensional gate appeared.

The Demon King, Lucifer, was already beginning to fade like a dark mirage. As Lucifer stared down, he seemed to remember something.

“Ah. I suppose I’ll leave you with one more thing.”

“…”

“The Hero’s wife… abandoned the gods of her own will.”

“…!!”

His lips curled in cruel amusement as he said something Sylvanas could hardly believe.

“I’ll spare you this time… for that familiar face of yours. Be grateful for it, weakling.”

With that, the Demon King vanished once again from the human realm. The strength left Sylvanas’ legs, and he collapsed to the ground. His head was in chaos.

“He’s totally mad…”

Only after the Demon King disappeared did the pressure vanish, and Lawrence finally groaned and pushed himself to his feet. Had it gone on any longer, he might’ve been crushed flat to the ground.

“Damn it, what the hell is going on here?!”

Lombard’s territory, once teeming with over a hundred people, had turned into a wasteland in an instant. Traces of destruction left deliberately behind only emphasized how thoroughly devastated the place was, it was a stark contrast to when they first arrived.

Compared to the utter ruin of four years ago when the Demon King had descended, this time the damage seemed minor. Perhaps it was because this land was already dead.

But unlike four years ago, this time the Demon King had killed everyone around him. Surviving amidst that death left a bitter taste. They should be grateful to the gods, but it didn’t feel that way.

“Damn it…”

Lawrence seemed to share the same sentiment, smacking the ground in frustration. They both knew it. Just as Lucifer had said before departing, it was he who had spared them.

There could only be one reason.

“That kid… is she really Arthur’s child? Are you sure?”

“You heard it yourself. Why are you asking me?”

“I just thought maybe my ears were playing tricks on me!”

“No doubt about it. Her eyes… they’re the same as Arthur’s. I thought it was odd, but never imagined it was real…”

“Sky-blue eyes like that aren’t exactly common. So if she is their child, then what’s with her hair color?”

Lawrence, inspecting a wound on his leg, voiced the question. If she were truly Arthur and Cyril’s child, her hair color was impossible. In fact, unless she was from Inphetera, black hair was nearly unheard of. 

Unless, of course, she really was the Demon King’s daughter.

‘That can’t be either’, Lawrence thought, shaking his head.

But Sylvanas, struck by a sudden thought, clenched his teeth. He tried to erase it by tightly closing his eyes, but once a theory formed, it wouldn’t let go.

‘The vision the gods gave me… it couldn’t have been just a clue to identify the child.’

They never made things that easy. There must be more to it, something deeper.

‘He said my sister… had abandoned the gods.’

Sylvanas’ heart sank. Could it be that Saint Cyril made a deal with the Demon King? It was said that those who bartered with demons always bore a mark on their body.

Perhaps that’s why Bella’s hair was black. Solving one puzzle only led to a greater one. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

Trying to steady his thoughts, Sylvanas slowly stood up. It hurt his pride to act on the Demon King’s words, but he could no longer remain blind.

“Lawrence, will you tell me… what really happened back then?”

“You wouldn’t listen when I said it before. But now one word from the Demon King changes your mind?”

“Bella is in his hands. Maybe my sister… maybe she really did hand the child to him… but we have to get her back.”

It sounded like a vow, but he wasn’t confident. Just like Lucifer said, he didn’t know if he had the right.

And…

The home Lawrence had taken him to bore signs of a struggle. There were traces of childbirth… and heavy bloodstains. So much blood that it would’ve killed any normal human.

There was no body, but there were undeniable signs that someone had died. And that someone was undoubtedly his sister. It was from an attack. And the culprit, without a doubt, was human. A being like the Demon King would never leave such clumsy evidence.

There could be no excuse.

‘If the attackers were… Alzahar’s men…’

Sylvanas clenched his jaw so hard it ached. He steadied his breathing, gritted his teeth, and slowly knelt. A divine light enveloped his hands, and Lawrence’s injured leg began to heal.

Though still grumbling, Lawrence didn’t push him away like before. He probably accepted that a working leg was necessary if they were to move. As the holy light worked its healing magic, Sylvanas quietly asked,

“Did… Alzahar really abandon us?”

His tone had changed now to be polite, even deferential. Lawrence scratched his tangled hair with irritation.

“He didn’t abandon us… Alzahar killed us.”

“…”

“He denied us the right to live under Tierra’s sky.”

“…”

“You already knew that. So stop pretending. Be honest for once, did you look away because you couldn’t bear to abandon your goddess, Tierra? Or because you couldn’t turn your back on the one who raised you, that Alzahar?”

“I… I don’t know…”

Sylvanas lowered his head, his expression troubled. Maybe it was neither or maybe it was both.

He searched his memories, thinking back to childhood. Thanks to Cyril, who had shown divine abilities early, he had lived at the temple from a very young age.

Alzahar had noticed her potential and, after a formal selection, designated her one of ‘Alzaharith’s Children.’ His sister Cyril was a remarkable woman. She was gentle and kind from birth, radiating holiness.

Her divine power had always been vast and unrivaled. And Alzahar cherished her dearly. And because of that, Sylvanas had enjoyed a privileged childhood. Even though he awakened later, once chosen as a potential high priest, he too received a life of luxury.

Though the intense training was difficult, it was a small price to pay. He never went hungry, and he had a warm, soft bed to sleep in. Most importantly, he had grown up with the other ‘Children of Alzaharith’ like true siblings.

Though they had no parents, he never felt alone. To Sylvanas, Cyril was both sister and mother. Because of the age difference, it felt even more so. And Arthur, whom he met later, had become like a brother and a father.

But the theology and faith drilled into his mind since childhood weren’t easily abandoned. Even if turning away from the temple meant turning away from the two people who had been like family. For Sylvanas, betraying the temple was not a simple matter.

That’s also why he had spent over two years avoiding the truth about the Hero’s death. He hadn’t chosen, he had simply delayed the decision.

“I don’t know what I should choose… or even if I can choose.”

Hearing Sylvanas bare his complicated heart, Lawrence scoffed.

“You idiot. You’re confusing what you should be comparing.”

“…What?”

“The one you believe in is the goddess Tierra. Not the temple and not Alzahar.”

“…What’s the difference?”

“The goddess never betrayed your faith. But the temple? They betrayed those who believed in them.”

“…”

“Tierra doesn’t abandon her children. Alzahar does and he kills them. Can’t you see the difference?”

Sylvanas furrowed his brow. Until now, he had never thought to separate his belief in the goddess from his obedience to the temple.

But Lawrence was telling him he must distinguish the two.

‘What is the difference…?’

The answer came to him rather quickly.

‘It’s the difference between a god… and a human.’

The goddess never betrayed his faith. Even if it was late, she always gave him answers like the vision of the Demon King. But her followers were human.

The priests who served her were human.

“Did… Alzahar distort the will of the goddess?”

“Only now you realize that?”

Could it really be? Could a priest truly twist the will of the gods?