Chapter 587: The One Who Blocks the Way

The night wind blew.

A thin white mist drifted in from the Gulein River into the streets—like a young girl’s gauze veil—softening the night scenery. But before it could fully blur that heavy red of blood, it was scattered by dense silver threads striking down from the sky.

“It’s raining.”

An aged hand reached out from within a carriage, feeling the deep-spring rain in the air.

Watching rain alone at night—there was a certain refined charm to it.

But the one watching the rain at night wasn’t just this one person.

There were many.

With the creak of old doors, figures emerged from houses one after another and stepped into the pattering rain.

Spring rain at night was still bone-cold, especially once it soaked through cloth and pressed against skin. For someone ordinarily weak, a rain like this could make them seriously ill.

But these people seemed not to feel the cold at all.

Their clothes were worn and ragged—clearly the poorest wretches living in the lower city—yet now, they wore blissful smiles. They walked to open spaces, singing and dancing, happily welcoming the arrival of the rain.

Far away, there were occasional flashes and booms of explosions—desperate sobbing and furious roars—but it was as if none of it could touch these people.

They danced and danced and danced and danced...

Until the rainwater pooling around their feet, at some point, turned blood-red.

The blood swirled, rippling into eddies, as if it were gradually about to carry these singing, dancing, blissful people along to someplace even more blissful...

Bang.

From an unremarkable house not far away, a dull sound suddenly rang out.

Then another.

And another.

As if something was being smashed to pieces—directly, violently.

There wasn’t even time for a cry of despair or pain to escape.

The wavering blood-red ripples stopped dead. The dancers halted, panting, staring around in confusion, clearly unable to understand what was happening.

“Go back to sleep.”

From within the carriage not far away, that aged voice sounded again.

That carriage had been here the whole time, yet it was as if no one had ever noticed it. Even now it was the same—though the voice coming from it was deep and perfectly clear, not a single person’s attention turned toward the carriage.

A faint sacred glow spread from the signet ring on the outstretched hand. The cold and fatigue inside each person was cleared away. They yawned and walked back into their homes.

As if nothing had ever happened.

Presumably, after a night’s sleep, they would be able to greet a new day.

“Archbishop.”

Sister Therese emerged from the shadows.

“Everyone’s been dealt with. We didn’t let a single one go.”

“Good work.”

The Archbishop of Canterbury lifted the carriage curtain. His hand paused, and he let out a small sigh.

“Sister Therese.”

“Hm? What is it, Archbishop?”

“As a nun who serves the Goddess, you should pay a little attention to your bearing in ordinary times.”

“Ah, I’m very sorry.”

Sister Therese—covered in blood—flushed slightly. She quickly hid behind her back a head she was holding at some unknown point, the face still twisted in terror, and said shyly,

“It’s just... back when I was by the former Saint, I never had the chance to personally purify this many heretics. I got a little too excited.”

“It seems you still need some time to adapt to this place.”

The Archbishop of Canterbury shook his head, not pursuing the matter. After all, the most devout faith often fermented the most terrifying madness, and within the Church, “oddities” like Sister Therese were far from rare.

Stepping over the courtyard wall that had been brutally destroyed, the Archbishop of Canterbury lifted his eyes to look within. The scene inside looked as if it had been ravaged by wild beasts. Counting by the number of severed limbs, he realized the number of heretics who had died here was even greater than he’d expected.

“After the Silent Moon incident, Berland carried out a full purge of heretics. I thought it would stay clean for a long while. I didn’t expect so much filth to accumulate again this quickly.”

The Archbishop of Canterbury shook his head.

“And of all times, those useless idiots in the Silence Mechanism had their attention tied up by the outer god incident, and we still have to wipe their asses. This feeling of being the backup who has to step up... it’s infuriating for no reason.”

“It’s not that many, is it?”

Sister Therese tapped her lips, cute as could be.

“Since a few bangs and it was all gone.”

“...”

Canterbury rubbed his temple and waved his hand as if he couldn’t take it anymore.

“The support work on the priest’s side is yours too, Sister.”

“Huh? Archbishop, you’re not going as well?”

“I’m not going.”

“Why not?”

“Because...”

The Archbishop of Canterbury looked into the distance.

“There’s an annoying acquaintance I absolutely have to see again.”

...

...

“Please don’t go any farther, all right?”

King Indra stopped.

It was silent all around. He lifted his head and looked toward the end of the road.

An old man in a pure-white priestly robe stood there, right in the drifting rain threads.

The old man had white beard and white hair, his aura deep and unfathomable. Sacred radiance gathered around him; the rain threads that fell into it became a faint mist that circled him, like a halo bestowed by the Goddess herself.

“You still came.”

King Indra’s face showed neither joy nor sorrow, as if he’d expected it.

“Why go this far?”

The Archbishop of Canterbury, who had just arrived, let out a helpless sigh.

“We talked so much before, yet you’re still stubborn to the end. It really troubles me.”

“And I told you before, didn’t I? It’s impossible for me to give her up.”

King Indra lowered his gaze. The wind and rain were icy, but warm memories surfaced in his mind.

He had found that tiny infant—no bigger than his palm—in a carriage that had been attacked by bandits. When he saved her, it had only been a whim of compassion.

But who would have thought that that tiny, adorable, tender little baby—whom he’d planned to revive and then give to some other family to raise—would take root in the depths of his heart like a seed, bringing a warmth he’d never known.

From awkwardness to familiarity.

From flustered fumbling to the practiced ease of changing a diaper within five seconds.

From crying night after night to that smile that was so hard to melt.

From the softness of swaddling to babbling, to toddling, to bouncing around with impish cleverness, to that radiant smile when she turned back.

All of it, all of it, kept corroding and shattering the hard shell deep inside him.

Perhaps, as an ascetic, being so attached to the warmth and beauty of life was destined to earn punishment from the heavens and the gods, but...

Even now, if he closed his eyes, he could still remember those scenes.

“Yy-yy...”

“Ya-ya...”

“Ba-ba...”

“Dad.”

“Please move.”

King Indra opened those cloudy eyes that looked as if they ➤ NоvеⅠight ➤ (Read more on our source) were blind.

“I’m going to save her!”

“That isn’t saving!”

The Archbishop of Canterbury’s expression abruptly sank.

“You’re only making a little girl carry the guilt you feel after your own powerlessness! If you really cared about her, you should’ve let her be freed long ago!”

“Shut up!”

True anger was rare for King Indra. Invisible ripples burst out from within him. The sky over the entire district looked as if it had been wiped clean by an eraser—countless rain threads vanished outright.

“Move, Canterbury!”

“I won’t!”

“This isn’t the Church. You can’t stop me. When it comes to saving people, I’m not as good as you—but when it comes to killing people, you’re not as good as me!”

“I’m saving people!”

“If you won’t move, then I’ll kill!”

Terrifying killing intent seemed ready to tear the entire district apart. King Indra merely stood there with his palms pressed together, and everything around him seemed to be sealed inside an extremely compressed bubble. Spiderweb cracks appeared in walls and ground; fragments of stone and dust floated up, completely violating physical law.

“Sigh. Why go this far? Since none of us are bad people, why not sit down and drink a cup of tea peacefully?”

Suddenly, a light, airy voice sounded. Yet it was like a small needle that popped this dreadful low pressure.

King Indra turned and looked to the other side.

It seemed to be an inn. A second-floor window had just been pushed open.

A dignified old gentleman stood by the window—well-dressed, posture impeccable, a red rose pinned to his chest, frost-white hair combed perfectly into place. He smiled as he looked down at this scene, and behind him, there seemed to be a slender shadow—someone scrambling to dress and flee.

Yet the old gentleman’s bearing wasn’t affected by that tiny blemish at all. If anything, he seemed even more at ease. He waved familiarly at King Indra.

“Long time no see, King Indra. Between us, there’s still a bit of karma that hasn’t been settled, isn’t there?”

“Adolf Lowis, the Stargazer?”

King Indra’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“You’re here too? You really are like a lingering ghost.”

“Sigh. Honestly, I don’t want to get involved in this mess either. After all, the Empire’s domestic affairs have nothing to do with a vice chairman of the Adventurers’ Association like me.”

Adolf—flashy as ever—flicked at his hair and smiled.

“But just like that unromantic white-bearded old man over there, someone offered too much. It’s hard not to be tempted.”

“Save that excuse for children.”

King Indra’s face didn’t change.

“I don’t believe the chips he can offer are something the other side can’t match. In the end, this is still your own choice.”

“Haha, that’s true. But that kid’s womanizing is on par with mine. Though when it comes to keeping himself untouched by a single leaf, he’s eight streets behind, so I’m a little worried he’ll end up getting chopped up by women someday...”

Adolf waggled his brows.

“But I owed his old man a huge favor once. Before he gets chopped up by women, I’ll lend a hand where I can.”

“And you?”

King Indra turned again, looking toward the fourth person who had been hidden here from the beginning.

“Is it because of that Lion King’s favor too?”

“Lion King? Even if the Lion King saw me, he’d have to properly call me Professor. How could it be called owing a favor?”

Tap.

A silver cane struck the flagstones.

From a place that had looked completely empty, a figure stepped out—someone who had been there all along.

Another old man. Aged, yet his spine was straight, his vitality still sharp and vigorous.

And when that severe, old-fashioned face appeared, all the magic in the surroundings that had been surging with momentum quieted at once, as if a ruler had arrived in person.

“Professor Plang.”

King Indra finally couldn’t help letting out a sigh.

“This is clearly just my private affair, yet even Saint Maria Academy has to stick its hand in?”

“Whether it’s your private affair or the Empire’s domestic affairs, the Academy has no intention of getting involved. I came here only out of a teacher’s worry for a student.”

“I don’t recall you being the type to dote on students.”

“Of course. The ‘teacher’ I meant isn’t me.”

Professor Plang coughed softly into his fist.

“You should also understand—if not for certain constraints, the one who came... wouldn’t have been me.”