Chapter 87: The Prophets of Baren (2)

I looked at the nobles.

Their eyes, gathered here to spread Faith as Prophets, flickered with greed.

The debt of dispelling Demonic Energy and comforting the soul.

I knew that was the power Baren needed more than anything.

I also understood that their greed was not mere base desire, but driven by a greater cause.

More than the vague talk of gods or religion, it was also understandable that they were chained to the tangible debt right before their eyes.

A desperate weapon to turn crisis into opportunity, it would look like a wolf ready to pounce on a Baren slowly falling into ruin.

“A fast and harsh path. Or a slow and comfortable one. Choose one.”

That was why I decided to help.

“Both will likely get you the results you want. The difference is only in speed—fast or slow.”

I also wished for the nobles before me to wield the light.

Because that was proof of becoming great Prophets.

Threads don’t follow needles without reason, but needles always pull threads along.

The Aura of a Prophet was just like that.

“What nonsense are you saying?”

The Trantis Marquess, who had been the most passionate in harshly criticizing me, asked.

Not knowing what to make of my unclear words, he slightly frowned.

“Exactly as I said. The two paths I proposed are your choices to be reborn as Prophets. Which will you choose?”

The nobles exchanged glances.

Then, as if after some consideration, they naturally said they would choose the fast and harsh path.

“So this is Noblesse Oblige. The sacrifice of the nobles for the suffering people—I’m deeply impressed.”

The faces of the nobles who had chosen the shortest, harshest course grew increasingly doubtful.

***

The Trantis Marquess bore a heavy heart full of righteousness.

Not only him, but all the nobles given the same mission did as well.

No matter how much they verbally opposed it or held skeptical thoughts, having to follow the king’s decision meant they had to treat Richard as the rightful master.

They knew this fact with their heads.

But their hearts were filled with rage.

“The fast and harsh path… you truly won’t regret it, right?”

That playful attitude and inscrutable gaze—it was already the third time he asked.

Knowing how desperate they were, it was just a string of empty words.

Demonic Energy twists a person’s insides. Nobles were not exempt.

Their pride and arrogance, said to be their spirit, were sharpened like blades before Demonic Energy.

The nobles had to suppress their sharpening spirits tightly, or they would have torn up the ground beneath their feet.

If they dared disturb Richard’s state of mind, everything could collapse.

“How can the people tremble and you choose the slow and comfortable path?”

The marquess answered with the most forced smile he could muster.

His intention was clearly to align with Richard’s stance.

With eyes that asked if this was the answer, the marquess looked at Richard.

But well—

Richard was standing there looking very gloomy.

“Hmm, since that is your will, I have no choice.”

Like a scoundrel hiding his hands behind his back.

“Then, let us begin.”

The nobles who saw him felt an inexplicable unease.

Click—!

For some reason, suddenly the Prophets raised the Banner of Faith and stepped forward.

The sense of unease thickened further.

The Prophets surrounded the largest room prepared for today’s meeting.

It was as if they were about to perform some strange ritual.

“Richard…”

The York Count, a noble with a fierce, bandit-like appearance, opened his mouth but immediately shut it again.

Richard had already approached the count.

Richard spoke.

“Do not call me Richard.”

“Eh?”

“Call me the Saint.”

Knock! Knock Knock!

The Prophets stomped their feet in unison, chanting,

“Call him the Saint!”

Though it was only a few stomps, the entire room seemed to tremble.

“What on earth are you doing! We didn’t come here to play games!”

Unable to contain his increasingly tense spirit, or pushed by unease, one noble suddenly hardened his expression and shouted.

If you’re going to help, then cooperate at once, he didn’t hesitate to say.

You fools!

The Trantis Marquess, dumbfounded, tried to clamp the noble’s mouth shut.

“I’m not joking.”

Richard smiled lightly.

“You are Prophets entrusted with spreading Faith to others. Isn’t it nonsense to say that those given such a grave duty have no Faith?”

“I believe! Such a brilliant debt can only be explained as a blessing from God!”

“We are already believers of the Hor Church. We just want to spread this Faith as soon as possible!”

The quick-witted Trantis Marquess and York Count hurriedly spoke.

But Richard shook his head firmly.

“No. You do not believe.”

The nobles were dumbfounded.

They claimed they believed, so how could he say they did not?

“I-I believe.”

“No, you do not.”

Richard shook his head and gestured toward Gide.

Immediately, Gide brought over a wooden Box.

“Do you know what my Faith is?”

Taking the Box, Richard opened a secret lock.

“People seek God when they are in trouble.”

He asked himself and then answered.

Caressing the Box as if it were a magic lamp from a fairy tale, he repeated,

“Since you seek debt before God, it means you are not truly in hardship. That’s why you chose the fast and harsh path.”

“P-please wait.”

“First, let us seek God and then talk.”

Click.

At Richard’s touch, the Box’s lid opened wide.

Screeeeeeeeeaaaak—!

***

“Ugh, hyaaack!”

The nobles each let out strange groans and collapsed.

The wailing of a hundred Ghosts at once shook even the souls.

I glanced down at the White Ghosts briefly and then at the Prophets.

Forewarned, they had spread their Aura and were somehow holding against the White Ghost’s Madness.

Even Gide, lacking Faith, was raising his will and holding them off.

Goooo—

I unleashed Faith with all my body.

The Ghosts shrieked in surprise and stopped their cries.

Only then did the nobles look at me with wide eyes filled with fear.

“W-what on earth is that…?”

“Do you know anything about the Cursed Sword, the White Ghost?”

I pulled out the pure white sword from the Box.

The wild Cursed Sword, not yet tamed, resisted fiercely; even gripping the hilt cut my hand painfully.

-Y-you, aah!

A pitiful, sorrowful wail hammered inside my head.

“A-ah! Lord Richard! You must not hold that sword!”

The Trantis Marquess shouted with a pale face.

The other nobles had already scattered to corners, but he alone trembled and came closer.

“Quick, put it down! The White Ghost is the most evil Cursed Sword that must never be touched!”

No wonder he was the gatekeeper—he knew well about the White Ghost.

“It’s fine. I bear the blessing of Hor.”

I gently freed the pale hand clutching my arm.

His desperate gaze burned into me.

It seemed he did not understand why I suddenly drew the Cursed Sword, nor why I remained calm holding it.

“The fast and harsh path will drive you to the cliff’s edge. God is there.”

I stabbed the White Ghost into the floor.

The pure white blade, worthy of its name, sliced through the solid marble floor as if it were paper.

-Screeeaaaak!

Faith still shimmered on the White Ghost.

Having swallowed ten thousand Faith, its Madness would be largely suppressed for the next several minutes.

That would be enough.

“Ugh!”

The pitiful cries escaped again, shaking the nobles.

The Trantis Marquess quickly ran off to the Prophets.

They were already besieged by Demonic Energy clinging to their bodies.

With Madness added on top, it was a living hell.

Commoners that they were could not even open their mouths from shock and fear.

They only clung desperately to the collars of the Prophets who radiated Aura.

The noble bodies filled with great cause had vanished; only weak, helpless humans remained.

Only now were they slowly beginning to seek God.

I did not have the disgusting pleasure of enjoying their suffering.

Neither then with Allen, nor now.

I was not doing this for fun.

“Wake up! Is this all the resolve you have?!”

I shouted and pulled out Faith.

The nobles shook themselves awake.

But soon they were driven to the brink of Madness.

-Kiiiiiiiaaaack—!

The White Ghost, ignited with ten thousand Faith, began spewing vicious Madness without filter.

I felt a demon might be born from this, so I drew the sword and clamped my mouth shut.

Silence fell, and fear lingered in the room.

The prepared Prophets muttered prayers with pale faces.

The nobles were even worse off.

“The Demonic Energy spreading from Polin Castle is far more terrifying than the special curse of this sword.”

I spoke, dispelling their fear with Faith.

“Did the brave knights of Riot Castle foolishly fall under a spell?”

I said I wouldn’t care about insults, but at least this could not be ignored.

The royal family had not seen it firsthand—how fiercely Riot Castle had fought.

So I informed them.

“Have you even begun to understand the mind of one standing at the source of fear?”

God, Hor, was not simple.

Because I was not a naive god, I knew well.

It was not God who protected Riot Castle.

Nor was it God who defeated the great darkness at Polin Castle.

All those were achievements of ‘me’ as Richard and the knights of Riot Castle.

The result of risking one’s life on a tiny hope called Faith.

I was not saying the ‘Hor’ wearing the ill-fitting cloak of ‘God’ was great and worthy of praise.

It was because the act itself held great power.

I had watched closely and knew.

A world overflowing with sanctity.

People casting off Demonic Energy in the name of Faith.

‘Hor’ was merely the focal point, and the debt of true Faith was just a tiny spark.

The real light, the true fire, was a Faith so solid that Demonic Energy could find no foothold.

To prepare for what lay ahead, I had to bring people together, whether I liked it or not.

Even if it meant using people’s fear as I did now, I had to become the focal point again.

At least until the Northern and Southern continents joined hands.