Vol 4 Chapter 91: “Promise” (Vol 4: The Otherworldly Battlefield Arc)

Darkness.

That was all that stretched out before Sukui’s eyes.

Was it miasma from death magic?

Or blindness brought on by madness?

Neither.

“As I thought.”

His vision had been stolen.

In that moment, Sukui understood.

It wasn’t just his vision that was taken.

All five senses.

Sight, hearing, touch, and smell.

Taste had always been irrelevant in battle.

In short, Sukui could see nothing, hear nothing, and couldn’t even tell if he was standing.

Normally, anyone in this situation would immediately collapse, reduced to crawling aimlessly.

But this was not normal.

Even with his five senses stripped away, Sukui charged forward without hesitation. The cleric could only gape in disbelief.

A thief’s skill is to take.

Holy magic, while boosting physical and magical resistance, couldn’t counteract the suicidal nature of remaining in this death magic.

Then, the cleric switched tactics—to drain Sukui’s mana instead.

But before he could act—

Sukui was already there.

“So, you’re here.”

Was it a sixth sense?

No. Sukui had simply calculated the cleric’s position based on his location before losing his senses.

Yet his precise aim in reaching for the knife felt impossible to explain with skill alone.

The cleric could only assume there was something more at work.

With a sharp motion, Sukui’s knife was back in his hand.

And with it, the death magic dissipated.

“Please… stop.”

Now armed, Sukui regained clarity, realizing his mana had been completely drained.

But it didn’t matter.

Sukui’s strength didn’t rely on mana.

His death magic required none, and even without it, he could wipe out the Peine family with ease.

The cleric understood this and could only plead.

“Why?”

Sukui knew the cleric’s words weren’t irrational.

Morality was a luxury.

The people in this place lacked it, but it wasn’t entirely their fault.

Still, it didn’t matter.

If anything, that was why the wicked deserved liberation.

Death gave meaning to their lives.

“There must be plenty of wicked people here.”

The cleric faltered, unable to respond.

The damage from Sukui’s death magic should not have been this severe.

But Sukui’s magic was overwhelmingly strong.

Magic grows more powerful the closer it aligns with its user’s concept.

Sukui’s death magic could never be called weak.

However, the miasma wasn’t so dense that it would cause unbearable suffering for a cleric who spent a short time within it.

Yet, the cleric had a gaping hole in their stomach.

They had stolen Sukui’s death magic, compressed it, and released it into their own abdomen.

Even for a cleric, the condensed death magic was too much, tearing a massive wound into their stomach.

Although holy magic gave them enough vitality to heal, it left them incapable of immediate movement.

“There are people who cannot be forgiven. And many deeds that cannot be excused.”

Choking on blood, enduring the pain, the cleric continued.

“People make mistakes. Some small, some great—some with reasons, some without. If you refuse to forgive every one of them, no one can live.”

They wanted Sukui to understand.

No one is purely good.

Killing all evildoers would not create a world of only good people.

It would create a world with no one in it.

“That is why we forgive. So the righteous can live rightly, and the unrighteous have a chance to live rightly too.”

Not people, but environments must change.

To save the world.

Sukui could have dismissed the cleric’s words with ease.

He could kill them. He had already judged that.

The cleric’s stealing magic could never be a decisive blow against Sukui’s undead body.

And it was clear they were already weakened.

“And do you think such a world, where everyone is happy, will actually come?”

Still, Sukui answered.

The cleric hadn’t needed to steal Sukui’s death magic.

If they had taken his mana instead, Sukui would’ve been unable to sustain the miasma, and it would have dissipated on its own.

It wasn’t strong enough to harm the nearby area.

But the cleric had chosen to steal the death magic directly.

Even without being told, Sukui understood their intention.

They had shown resolve.

They had staked their life to confront Sukui’s conviction head-on.

And because of that, Sukui felt the weight of their words more than any other he had heard before.

It was akin to the madness Sukui himself exuded when speaking of death.

A near-fanatical resolve.

“It will come,” the cleric said firmly.

They answered Sukui’s question as if the pain had been forgotten.

The tone of their words, once lighthearted and optimistic, now carried an unmistakable gravity.

“That’s why I ask you, please don’t kill them.”

The Peine family’s misdeeds would be kept in check, the cleric promised.

For now, they pleaded, let this fight end.

To save them.

Words born of belief carry the weight of the speaker’s experiences.

And as someone who shared a similar faith in salvation, Sukui couldn’t deny the cleric’s past—or the weight of their conviction.

“I see.”

It was nothing short of extraordinary.

How had the cleric’s words reached the madness within Sukui?

“Very well, let us make a promise,” Sukui said to the cleric.

“Here in your city, with the weight of the words you’ve spoken…”

“For now, I’ll accept them.”

“I will believe in what you’ve said—this once. But…”

If there ever comes a time when your conviction wavers—

“It’s fine,” the cleric interrupted with their usual smile, wiping the blood from their mouth.

“I will bring happiness to the people of this city.”

They promised.

And as if no longer feeling any pain, the cleric smiled again—a smile as innocent as that of a young girl.