Chapter 237: The Trap
What lay ahead was a trap.
Corleon knew very well—it was a trap. A trap laid by Original Sin and the God of the Fishmen.
The Patriarch of the Theocracy was powerful, immensely powerful. A demi-god’s body, the blessing of the Earth Veins of the Theocracy, a Holy Relic imbued with the power of the Morning Star and White Star in hand, and the Armor capable of imprisoning Original Sin—these allowed him to defy the wills of both Original Sin and the God of the Fishmen.
Such a Patriarch could even slay the incarnated God of the Fishmen.
But in the end, he was still human. He was the Patriarch of the Theocracy. Original Sin and the God of the Fishmen would never fight him head-on. They drowned the Theocracy using Original Sin Knights and Fishmen, stripped the Earth Veins away, consumed every person, and used sheer numbers to exhaust the Holy Relics of the Patriarch. If ten thousand Fishmen weren't enough, then a hundred thousand. If a hundred thousand weren't enough, then a million. If a million still weren't enough, then ten million. One day, they would wear the Patriarch down.
Of course, the Patriarch could flee. But the Theocracy was the future left behind by Saint Zezel, and it was also everything he had. How could he possibly flee?
Unless Corleon descended to erase the will of Original Sin and drive away the God of the Fishmen, the Theocracy would inevitably fall into history.
But that was precisely their goal. That entire region had already been completely surrounded. The moment Corleon dared to set foot, his will would be imprisoned.
So then, would he uphold the principle of “The Lord Loves All” and take the risk of partial imprisonment, or would he turn a blind eye to the destruction of the Theocracy?
It was as though Original Sin and the God of the Fishmen were posing a question to Corleon.
But the Theocracy had long made its choice—to become the bait.
They chose the future.
The Three Sages had already foreseen the end of the Theocracy, and so they chose to send the future of the Theocracy to the Church of the Sanctuary.
That was their decision, and their only plea to the Lord.
…
“The little guy's surprisingly quiet.” Melia poked the face of the one-year-old child. The child stared blankly at her, neither crying nor fussing.
“If you like kids that much, go have one yourself. Stop playing with Phil all the time.” Agamemnon was busy writing personnel records for the Church.
With the Church's staff growing over the past two years, it became necessary to compile personnel files to help the headquarters coordinate members across regions. Agamemnon was currently the one responsible for that.
“I’d love to, but I haven’t found the right person,” Melia said, counting on her fingers. “They’re either too dumb or too old.”
Without looking up, Agamemnon said, “Richard in Marl’s region is twenty-five, and he’s a Dragon-Eagle Knight. I think you should give it a try.”
Melia snorted. “You mean that Richard who got seventy-three women pregnant last year?”
Agamemnon replied, “No, it was actually one hundred and thirty-seven women. Among them, twenty-four were twins.”
Melia’s eye twitched. “He *really* loves making babies.”
Agamemnon shook his head and said, “No. Actually, it wasn’t until after last year’s New Year’s Bells that he managed to get anyone pregnant. Before that, he’d been trying to pass on his bloodline but never succeeded.”
“You know the New Year’s Reform disperses the curse of infertility.”
That had become an open secret. So, Richard, previously infertile, rang the bell and followed his usual routine. When the first signs of pregnancy began to show, there were already more than thirty cases. Elated, he went on a spree. By the time the first child was born, he realized how much trouble babies were, and only then did he stop. But by that time, one hundred and thirty-seven women were pregnant.
When Richard quietly told Bishop Marl and asked for help, the already overworked Marl nearly fainted with rage.
It wasn’t that he wasn’t allowed to have children, but *one hundred and thirty-seven* pregnant women? Wasn’t he worried that when the kids grew up, they’d tear his territory apart?
Before him, even Bevan—considered the most fertile—only managed to impregnate around thirty women before stopping.
Yet after the initial fury, Marl still cleaned up the mess.
Bevan had chosen to give those women a sum of gold and let them marry other men, spreading his bloodline through society. But Marl couldn’t do that.
He simply gathered all the children these women gave birth to and handed them over to Church headquarters.
Two years ago, the Glory Fortress had begun accepting babies of pure backgrounds—those whose parents were devout believers with no illness history and who already had other children.
Richard’s offspring fit perfectly. So, Marl sent the children to the Glory Fortress in batches.
Melia said, “Hmmph, while I understand that not being able to have children is a blow to a man’s confidence, his approach to spreading his bloodline isn’t what I’d call reliable.”
Agamemnon put down his pen, looked at her, and said, “He’s not like Councilor Bevan, who spread his bloodline on purpose. Richard was just… curious.”
Melia stared at Agamemnon. “You’re getting to that age too. So… are you curious?”
The baby blinked and also looked over with a blank stare.
Agamemnon fell silent, then said, “Grandmother has already arranged a marriage for me—with the daughter of a local gentry. Once I come of age, I’ll marry her.”
Melia said, “The Bishop decreed that male Church members can’t marry until eighteen.”
Agamemnon replied, “By then, I won’t be a Church member anymore.”
Melia asked, “Why do you *have* to go back? Isn’t staying in the Church nice?”
Agamemnon answered, “It’s my responsibility, Melia.”
“That’s a responsibility you’ve forced on yourself.”
“No, it’s the responsibility I *chose* myself.”
Before Melia could retort, Agamemnon added, “Mr. Nyx hoped you’d have a perfect family.”
The mention of Nyx dimmed Melia’s gaze. She idly played with the baby’s face. “That was just his wish…”
Agamemnon stood, sighed, and said, “Maybe you should go out more. You’ve been in the Church since you were fourteen. Everyone here is top-tier. Even the ones you think are dumb are considered elites outside.”
Melia shrank down, burying her nose and mouth in her arms. Her muffled voice said, “In front of the pure White Star, even the brightest stars seem dim.”
Her eyes carried a quiet sadness.
She was already eighteen. Normally, girls started thinking about marriage at fourteen. She was four years past that. At this age, if she didn’t form a family soon, in two more years she’d be considered a wandering woman.
Of course, with her Church background, she wouldn’t be lumped in with others. But she was still a girl. She watched Alice’s belly swell, watched her give birth.
Melia felt that when Alice cradled her child, wearing an expression she’d never seen before, an unbridgeable gap opened between them.
Perhaps she’d never understand Alice again—not since that day.
Like when she tried to persuade Alice not to return to the Theocracy, warning how dangerous it was. Yet Alice resolutely left baby Phil behind and set off.
How could she not be curious—or even envious? Yet whenever she tried to get to know a man, she found herself involuntarily comparing him to *that* person.
Agamemnon, noticing her sorrow, suddenly said, “So if one day Piero comes asking you to play a pure maiden again, would you do it?”
With a *whoosh*, Melia hurled the baby like a weapon at Agamemnon.
The baby remained calm mid-air, merely adjusting its arms before Agamemnon caught it.
Melia’s face turned bright red. “I already said, don’t let him come to the third floor of the Monastery again! And don’t tell me there’s not one pure maiden in all of York Territory?!”
The Monastery had recently added two annexes. The third floor of the original building was her office.
Agamemnon calmly replied, “There really isn’t. I prayed to the Lord for guidance—among the three dioceses of York Territory, you’re the only pure maiden.”
He paused, then added, “Maybe next year he won’t come again. Right now, ‘maiden’ is defined as thirteen to eighteen.”
Melia snapped, “What about your fiancée then?!”
Agamemnon said plainly, “I’m eleven. She’s ten.”
Melia deflated, collapsing into a chair.
Agamemnon looked at her and said, “I suggest you go travel. Don’t stay cooped up in the Church.”
“Whether you want to start a family or dedicate yourself to the Lord forever, that’s your choice. We bless every path you choose.”
“But you’ve been inside the Monastery for far too long. Ever since Mr. Nyx passed, you haven’t stepped outside. Your world is just the few of us here.”
“This world is vast, Melia.”
Agamemnon spoke like an elder.
Moved, Melia asked, “…But if I leave, what about Church duties?”
Agamemnon smiled. “It’s not like before. There are people to take over now.”
The Monastery had trained quite a few who could manage. And if needed, Agamemnon and the scholars could step in.
Melia asked, “Then where should I go? South to meet the miraculous Count Richard? Or north to see the Northern Warriors? I hear there are remnants of dragons there.”
Agamemnon said, “If you don’t have a goal, you can go visit George.”
Melia lit up. “He recovered?”
Agamemnon shook his head. “Not completely. He can eat and clean himself now, but mentally… still dull.”
George’s will had been shattered into over a thousand pieces. He nearly lost his own consciousness. But with time and healing, he had slowly recovered some.
Melia’s expression fell. “Then what’s the point? He probably doesn’t even recognize me.”
Agamemnon said, “The Lever Town he and those rescued people built has slowly regained life since last year. They’ve given birth to a new will. Under the guidance of the local administrator, a group of female warriors has formed. You could teach them combat techniques suitable for women.”
Melia stared wide-eyed. “You sly dog. You just wanted me to help with work all along, didn’t you?!”
Agamemnon said calmly, “You’re free to choose somewhere else.”
Melia fell silent. After a pause, she said, “Then I’ll go take a look.”
Agamemnon said, “Seven days from now, Guardian Knights Leo and Vito will head to the Diocese of Rod with the warriors trained over the past two years. They’ll pass through to reach the Northern Kingdom. You can go with them.”
Melia asked, “Isn’t Rod Diocese chaotic? Are Leo and Vito going to preach like Knight Wolf and Bishop Marl did?”
Agamemnon shook his head. “Just passing through. Their faith wouldn’t allow such things.”
Melia sighed. “If Knight Wolf were still around, opening up Rod Diocese would be so easy—we wouldn’t have to jump through so many hoops.”
Knight Wolf had been Nyx’s friend. After Nyx’s death, he was the person Melia was closest to.
Agamemnon hesitated, then finally said, “Councilor Bevan will be returning soon. When he does, he’ll bring back Knight Wolf’s body… and his Holy Relic.”
Melia froze.