After parting ways with Arthur, Yuriel entered the prayer room alone.
Since it had been hastily assembled, the makeshift chapel was quite simple inside. However, the statue of God that had originally stood in the Papal Hall remained in place.
It had a few cracks, likely sustained when the Vatican collapsed, but all things considered, it was still relatively intact.
Yuriel felt relieved by that—yet at the same time, uneasy.
Though God was said to have no form, praying before this statue felt strangely awkward.
‘No… I shouldn’t be thinking like this.’
God knows all.
Which means, of course, he should offer thanks and pray to be protected as a helpless lamb…
“…Protected.”
Yuriel muttered the word before he realized.
“Was I… ever truly protected?”
He looked down at the hands he had folded in prayer.
By now, he must’ve prayed to God tens of thousands of times. Upon waking, before meals, during every action, and before sleep… his daily life was saturated with gratitude toward God.
But what was the result?
Did God ever protect him?
Was it God who kept him safe?
‘It wasn’t God who protected me.’
Yuriel knew this was blasphemous to think in a prayer room, but he couldn’t stop the flow of his thoughts.
‘…It was the demons. They’re the ones who helped me.’
His hands now fully lowered, Yuriel murmured quietly.
‘My life wasn’t saved by God. It was saved by demons…’
He looked down at his calloused palms, scarred and worn. He remembered the countless hours he’d wielded a sword to spread God’s will.
The thought made him feel sick.
“I can’t do this anymore.”
A bitter smile crept onto Yuriel’s lips.
He looked up at the statue of God entwined in a crown of thorns and whispered.
“I’m sorry.”
Of course, there was no reply.
Yuriel had already known that God wouldn’t respond—but still, it left a bitter taste. His chest felt heavy, like a weight had been tied to his heart.
‘I should get up.’
Yuriel slowly tried to stand.
Or rather, he meant to—until,
“Where do you think you’re going?!”
“Ugh!”
Someone suddenly jumped him, pinning his back and seizing both his arms.
“Your prayer was short. Do you think it’s enough to greet God so half-heartedly?”
The voice was deep and unfamiliar—one Yuriel had never heard before.
“Wh-Who are you?!”
“Does it matter?”
The man grabbed a fistful of Yuriel’s hair and yanked his head back roughly.
“What matters is—you’re not leaving this place.”
Yuriel felt a chill against his neck. A cold, razor-sharp blade was pressed to his throat, threatening to cut into flesh at any moment.
“So if you want to live—stay quiet.”
The man gagged Yuriel and began dragging him further into the prayer room.
***
There was something like a subterranean passage at the back of the prayer room.
It was quite spacious—suggesting that it had been planned from the beginning, when the makeshift prayer room was first constructed within the imperial palace. With his mouth gagged and hands bound, Yuriel couldn’t do much, so he darted his eyes around, trying to memorize the layout.
But—
“Look at this little rat rolling his eyes. And what do you expect to see?”
“Mmgh! Mmph!”
“I already told you. You’re not getting out of here.”
Yuriel’s face paled. This can’t be happening… If I go missing, then the papal election proceedings will—wait…
It was then that Yuriel started to suspect who had orchestrated his abduction. No way…
Crash!
Yuriel was thrown bodily onto a pile of stones shaped like an altar.
“Urgh…”
His entire body slammed painfully against the hard surface. He writhed with a groan, but the ropes binding him showed no signs of loosening.
“I brought him like I promised. Now pay up. Tch, kidnapping a priest… what lousy luck.”
The man addressed someone hidden in the shadows. Only then did Yuriel realize there were others present. One, two… four in total. The exact number of participants in the papal election.
“Indeed. You deserve your payment.”
A middle-aged man emerged from the darkness.
Yuriel recognized him immediately—it was the High Priest of the Western Temple.
“As promised, fifty silver coins.”
Yuriel’s face grew even paler.
No, no…! If he pays him, that man will—!
Yuriel shut his eyes tightly. In the High Priest’s hand, a weapon unfolded, shaped like a set of claws.
Squelch!
The High Priest swung it mercilessly.
“That should be enough for your ferry fare.”
The kidnapper’s head was severed cleanly. The High Priest casually tossed silver coins over the corpse and shook the blood from his hands.
Then, slowly, he turned to face Yuriel.
“It’s been a while.”
“Mmgh!”
Yuriel screamed through the gag, biting down hard, but the High Priest’s lips twisted into a mocking smile.
“I was quite surprised to hear you were participating in the papal election. I even checked to see if the North was truly that devoid of talent.”
“Mmph! Mmm!”
“I heard you even joined hands with the Count’s household.”
The High Priest approached Yuriel and brushed a hand through his hair.
“You always acted so noble, so disinterested in power. In the end, you’re just like the rest.”
Rip!
The gag was removed. Yuriel gasped and immediately burst out.
“No! I—I didn’t do it for something so petty! Y-you don’t understand a thing, any of you!”
“Petty?”
The High Priest’s brow furrowed.
“Did you hear that? Apparently, we’re all moved by something so ‘petty’ as power. That we’ve become beasts who kill for it.”
“Silence him. I’ve heard enough.”
A voice from the shadows responded. The High Priest flicked his hand, and Yuriel’s mouth was covered once more. Yuriel clenched his eyes shut, realizing just how powerless he truly was.
“Do you have any idea how much can be gained from something so ‘petty’?”
The High Priest tapped Yuriel’s chin with his fingers.
“Not that a fool like you would ever understand.”
He had always thought of him as nothing more than a greedy man, obsessed with climbing higher.
Still, he believed they would never cross paths—he was in the West, and he in the North.
He had erased him from his memory, but now… here they were.
Yuriel clenched his fist tightly.
“Of course, we’re not planning to kill you.”
It wasn’t that they didn’t plan to kill him—they couldn’t.
Priests cannot kill other priests. If those with divine power raise swords against one another, all of them would lose their power.
But the High Priest spoke with a look of magnanimity, as if he were truly sparing Yuriel’s life.
“We only intend to prevent you from taking the exam.”
He pulled out a small vial from his robes.
“You know that contact with demonic energy causes one to lose their divine power.”
Inside the vial swirled a darkness so sinister that just looking at it sent chills down the spine. Yuriel’s eyes trembled.
“Don’t worry. You’ll just become… an ordinary human.”
The High Priest laughed cruelly as he waved the vial in front of Yuriel.
“That’s what your life was meant to be anyway. You’ve got nothing to resent.”
Yuriel turned pale. In his heart, he screamed.
Sir Arthur…
Lady Shekina…
Dehan…
Please come.
Come quickly.
As soon as you can!
***
Through the system window, Shekina confirmed Yuriel had been taken.
She let out a deep sigh, then sharply lifted her head.
“First of all.”
Arthur and Dehan turned to her.
“The priests can’t kill Yuriel. And they’re not allowed to either. So…”
Shekina spoke calmly, as if nothing were wrong.
“Let’s eat. I’m starving.”
“……”
It kind of felt like Yuriel might be crying somewhere.
Must be his imagination?
Arthur, trying to ignore the twinge of guilt poking at his conscience, quietly followed after Shekina.
~~~
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