Vol 3 Chapter 66: Transformation

Horo, urged by Sukui to leave the scene, headed toward the church.

From the appearance of Deacon Martil, it was easy to deduce who was behind the destruction of the village.

If that were the case, Horo wanted to deal with the culprit before Sukui could.

Horo didn’t believe Sukui would lose to Deacon Martil, but she couldn’t ignore the instability of Sukui’s mental state.

The presence of the mastermind would only worsen Sukui’s condition, and Horo was determined to address it swiftly.

“I’m genuinely furious, you know.”

Seething with rage, Horo shot toward the church in the City of Onus.

“Are you looking for Priest Mistril? Yes, they’re here.”

At the entrance of the city’s largest church—the cathedral—Horo confirmed the presence of her target.

There were reasons she didn’t come here first, the main one being its isolated location outside the city.

Although it wasn’t an impossible distance to travel, much like Sukui’s village, the cathedral stood solitary in the middle of a vast plain, far removed from the bustling city.

“Shall I summon them for you?”

“No need.”

Ignoring the smiling follower of the Religion of Love, Horo stepped into the cathedral without hesitation.

“Just tell me where they are.”

Without so much as glancing at the follower, Horo curtly requested the information, and the adherent meekly gave directions to the room.

Naïve. Weak.

Horo questioned their lack of vigilance. However, it was unsurprising—followers of the Religion of Love were often overly trusting.

Their doctrine of self-sacrifice for the sake of others made them ill-suited to suspecting malice.

Horo, remembering she once shared that same mindset, walked on.

Without hesitation, she unleashed dozens of massive boulders into the room where Priest Mistril was said to be.

“You’ve graced me with your presence.”

As the door and walls collapsed and nearby people fled in panic, Priest Mistril calmly spoke through the destroyed entryway.

Though the room was in ruins from Horo’s attack, Priest Mistril sat comfortably in their chair, observing her as though nothing had happened.

“I expected Sukui-san to come instead.”

Horo didn’t respond. She had anticipated that such a simple ambush wouldn’t kill the priest.

“So, sending her elsewhere truly was a stroke of genius on my part.”

The priest’s mutterings were drowned out by a deafening roar. Horo, paying no heed to their words, began conjuring her next spell.

A barrage of fire-imbued boulders.

Ordinarily, Horo’s magic—launching massive boulders—was destructive enough on its own. Adding fire was merely a minor enhancement.

But that didn’t matter. If a straightforward attack failed, she’d simply try another method. Horo had learned this systematic approach to combat from Sukui.

“Now, now.”

“Calm yourself,” Priest Mistril said as dark mist began swirling around their body.

Horo realized the mist had nullified her magic.

She immediately began analyzing the spell.

The moment her magic touched the mist, it was dispelled.

It wasn’t destruction or defense. It was eradication. Perhaps collapse or transference.

“You’re unfamiliar with this magic, aren’t you?”

As Horo pondered the nature of the magic, Priest Mistril smiled mockingly.

Horo didn’t reply.

This person had killed the villagers.

This person had killed Mei and her father.

This person had caused Sukui’s suffering.

There was no need for dialogue.

“How simplistic.”

The priest, dark mist swirling lazily around them, muttered with an air of boredom.

“If it were Sukui-san, she would have analyzed my actions for inconsistencies and sought to gather information. But you? All you think about is killing.”

Perhaps that’s part of your doctrine, but how dull.

Those words brought an expression of outright disgust to Horo’s face.

“Don’t you dare speak of my master.”

Horo’s first words made Priest Mistril smile thinly.

Just as death was the key to Sukui, Sukui herself was the key to Horo.

If it concerned Sukui, Horo couldn’t ignore it.

She was aware of this and didn’t consider it a weakness.

“How refreshing. Genuine anger. It’s surprisingly rare to see someone so unreserved in expressing it.”

Especially someone so talented, the priest said as they turned their back to Horo.

“However, you understand nothing about Sukui-san.”

Take this magic, for example, Priest Mistril said, gesturing to the dark mist.

“Sukui-san can use this magic too.”

“My master?”

Shock.

Horo immediately realized she’d been drawn into a conversation.

But it was too late.

“Death magic. Magic that supposedly doesn’t exist. You’ve never heard of it, have you?”

Horo was clueless.

Of course. Sukui herself hadn’t understood her own magic.

Naturally, Horo couldn’t have known either.

However, Horo couldn’t ignore the fact that the person before her claimed to know something about Sukui that she didn’t.

Confirming Horo’s reaction, Priest Mistril turned away from her.

“Let’s talk for a bit.”

With those words, the priest used the dark mist to dissolve the rubble in the room, revealing a black hole—an entrance to an underground passage.

Without looking back, Priest Mistril stepped inside and began descending the stairs.

Horo followed immediately.

“Faith takes many forms.”

Priest Mistril began speaking as they descended the long staircase slowly.

“People often think it’s solely about devotion to gods, but upon closer consideration, faith can also be directed toward doctrine, concepts, or even other people.”

Priest Mistril was, by all accounts, a classic adherent to doctrinal faith—a model believer who viewed self-sacrifice as the ultimate means of achieving something greater.

“Sukui-san, on the other hand, adheres to a concept. She knows nothing of the God of Death, nor does she show interest in its magic. Rather, she harbors an unparalleled faith in the very notion of death itself.”

Horo’s thoughts betrayed her disbelief at this seemingly obvious statement, a reaction that did not escape Priest Mistril’s notice.

“They say those who mock the gods will be cast into the abyss.”

The priest chuckled, jokingly suggesting Sukui’s faith was so strong it could almost defy gravity.

“But you, Horo—I’m intrigued by you.”

What is your faith?

Priest Mistril’s question was pointed and direct.

“I’ve heard you’re a devout follower of the Religion of Love, yet through Sukui and your time as a slave, you’ve also come to revere death. I’d like to know the source of your faith.”

Even within the same belief system, faith is never uniform.

Just as followers of the Religion of Love differ in their interpretations, the nature of faith varies from person to person, its nuances shaped by individual experiences.

Faced with the question, Horo momentarily set aside her fury and thought deeply.

To maintain composure and reflect in such a tense situation, in the presence of her mortal enemy, was a testament to Horo’s earnestness about her faith.

Priest Mistril, recognizing this, regarded Horo’s piety with high esteem.

After a moment of consideration, Horo spoke slowly.

“If you put it that way, I suppose my faith as a follower of the Religion of Love aligns more with its doctrine.”

“Is that so?”

Priest Mistril’s reaction was one of mild surprise. They had expected Horo’s devotion to stem from her attachment to Sukui.

“During my time as a slave, in the depths of my suffering, I often thought about the teachings of the Religion of Love.”

Horo recounted how she had clung to the fragmented verses she had once read about the faith.

“Self-sacrifice is noble. I thought, if that’s true, then maybe my suffering and the hell I was enduring had meaning. Maybe it would all make sense someday. Thinking that way helped me endure the pain.”

“I see.”

Priest Mistril regarded this as a common mindset among believers.

Faith that validates one’s suffering is the ultimate solace for the afflicted.

This was precisely why the Religion of Love thrived in aristocratic societies. It dulled the rebellion of the masses and distracted them from the injustices of a stratified world.

“But nothing of the sort ever happened. I knew it wouldn’t. I was merely made to suffer, to the brink of death, and it was all utterly meaningless.”

Yet, there was something else.

“In those moments when I was close to death, my master reached out to me.”

She embraced me.

She smiled at me.

She acknowledged me.

She respected me.

“My suffering had no inherent meaning. The idea that enduring pain would lead to something was a lie.”

But Sukui gave it meaning.

“My master gave meaning to my suffering. That’s why, even if it’s all an illusion, I still appreciate this religion, I’m grateful to my master, and I even revere death.”

Faith in doctrine and faith in a person.

Even so—

“If I had to choose, my faith would ultimately rest in Sukui herself.”

“I believe so too,” Horo replied, nodding without hesitation.

She had no intention of averting her gaze from the truth. She understood that her salvation lay entirely in her unwavering affirmation of Sukui.

“Then, is your faith in death merely a reflection of Sukui-san’s faith?”

“No, that’s not the case.”

Horo shook her head.

The world is unjust.

The wicked laugh, while the virtuous are trampled upon.

Even now, somewhere, there are people suffering a pain worse than death just to survive.

And yet, Horo knew one thing for certain.

If Sukui were to die and vanish from her sight—

She could never find joy in that.

“My master said she would kill the wicked for me.”

“An excellent answer.”

Priest Mistril seemed satisfied with Horo’s response, falling silent for a moment.

From behind, Horo could not discern the priest’s expression.

Priest Mistril eventually broke the silence with an unexpectedly cheerful tone.

“As for my faith—”

Horo briefly wondered if the priest had wanted to share this all along, but she remained quiet and listened.

“It’s not tied to the past or philosophy like yours or Deacon Martil’s.”

Priest Mistril spoke with a peculiar sense of pride.

“My faith is simply in the Religion of Love’s god—the God of Love.”

Faith directed at the deity itself.

A simple, seemingly unimpeachable belief.

“I’ve mentioned before that self-sacrifice doesn’t resonate with me, nor do I care for the pomp and ritual of the religion. I follow it only because it’s what the religion prescribes.”

“Like wearing clothes that don’t suit you just to match someone else’s taste. I don’t worship the Religion of Love; I worship the God of Love.”

A subtle distinction.

Horo didn’t entirely agree.

But still—

“Why?”

After all, no one meets gods.

Even if their existence is taken as fact, no one alive has ever encountered them.

Well, it’s said heroes might have that privilege, but even that’s uncertain.

Gods only appear through the lens of religion.

To bypass that and direct one’s feelings solely toward the deity itself seemed strange to Horo.

Priest Mistril chuckled.

“To me, the people who get lost in the trappings of religion are the odd ones.”

“Think about it—this is a god we’re talking about. A being beyond human comprehension. It created the world, humanity, magic, and guides us with its wisdom. How could anyone not focus on the magnificence of such an existence?”

Magnificence, not benevolence.

Horo noted the choice of words.

“It’s not just the God of Love. Gods are terrifying and enthralling. Surely you understand that much.”

“Yes… I suppose.”

Horo answered cautiously.

To Priest Mistril, it seemed to be a form of admiration.

Like looking up to something infinitely greater than oneself—a feeling not unlike how Horo viewed Sukui.

But the gap between her and Sukui was nothing compared to the chasm between mortals and gods.

“That awe, that longing to know more, to get closer—that is my faith.”

Horo didn’t feel particularly moved.

It seemed ordinary. Many people probably held similar sentiments for those they respected.

“That’s why I sought guidance from divine prophecy.”

Horo’s lack of reaction quickly shifted as Priest Mistril continued.

“Guidance on how to become a god.”

Divine prophecy—an oracle from the gods.

“The answer was simple.”

Just one word.

Horo’s eyes widened. She already knew the answer.

“To bestow death.”

They arrived at a massive underground door.

Before Horo could even process the weight of the statement, Priest Mistril pushed it open.

The space beyond was vast, impossibly so.

The entire area beneath the cathedral grounds seemed to stretch out endlessly.

At its center stood a grand altar, upon which rested a magnificent, radiant mirror.

One glance was enough to understand—it was the tool for divine prophecy.

But Horo’s gaze didn’t linger there.

A mountain of corpses.

The enormous space was filled with bodies, carelessly strewn about or piled high in haphazard stacks.

Though a seasoned survivor of life-and-death battles, Horo instinctively fought back nausea.

“To bestow death. Understanding the meaning of those words took a tremendous amount of time and effort.”

Horo’s eyes scanned the grotesque scene: decomposing bodies, skeletal remains, dismembered flesh.

Among them, freshly killed, lay the Duke of Aquitaine.

Did Priest Mistril kill him? Why? Horo swallowed her questions.

Madness. There was no other word for it.

In an instant, her perception of the woman before her crumbled.

Ignoring the carnage, Priest Mistril continued.

“I’ve killed, collected corpses, experimented with methods of killing, even tampered with the bodies.”

She mentioned in passing, almost casually, that the slave traders who once held Horo were connected to her operations.

“Not only as patrons, but also as suppliers of bodies.”

So that’s how she knew Sukui had rescued Horo from the slavers.

The thought barely registered in Horo’s mind.

“Sukui-san may have destroyed that operation, but it was a minor setback.”

Fear gripped Horo.

At the same time, she realized her instincts had been right all along.

“Gods are magnificent. Of course. So why wouldn’t I want to become one?”

The key to understanding Priest Mistril lay in her madness.

“I’ve found a clue. Now I just need to experiment further.”

This deranged logic—a chaos akin to Sukui’s own—it revealed the priest’s true nature.

“For that, I’m willing to make sacrifices. Killing countless people to become a priest or a king might be deemed insane.”

“But this is for godhood.”

With that, Priest Mistril turned to face Horo.

In her eyes, Horo saw the same bottomless madness she had seen in Sukui.