Chapter 577: The Massacre of Faith (1)
At the summit of the City of Eternal Night—Nocthera—in the oldest temple of all, where the golden World Tree rose, the battle against the Church had reached its final turns.
Three youths, not yet twenty, had managed to topple an order with countless followers that had endured for centuries. In the face of those three, everything seemed poised to end swiftly—especially after Aegon Valerion dealt the finishing stroke himself, drawing one of the bishops to his side.
Though the fight looked over, the air said otherwise.
Aegon stepped back a pace while Calistes stood before him. Blattier still lay on the ground, a gaping crater in his chest and a severed hand—his control over the War Angels gone. In other words, he had lost every weapon he possessed. Platini, too, was of no use; he had been soundly beaten by Snow Lionheart.
As for Snow, he sided with Frey Starlight. Silence pressed in.
The sharpest tension in the room came from Frey himself, his face hidden behind that mask; there was no way to know what moved in his mind, or what his next step would be. The Empire’s side was supposed to have won—but that was not the truth. The only winner today was Aegon, and no one else.
Left as things were, he would lay claim to the entire Church and gain even more power—enough not only to sit the Empire’s throne, but to stand astride the world. Absorb the Church, then crush the Ultrus... at this rate, it would not be strange to see that young man at the peak of the world before long.
Neither Frey nor Snow looked the least bit satisfied with that outcome, and blood could spill at any moment.
In that heavy air, Platini crawled, inch by inch, trying to reach Blattier.
"Master Blattier..."
Staring at the man he had followed all his life, Platini’s face twisted with pain as he watched everything they had built collapse before their eyes. The shock was great for him—and greater still for Blattier.
Eyes bloodshot, Blattier stared at the floor beneath him, straining to keep himself alive. His breaths came ragged; blood pooled and spread across the stone, proof that his efforts were already failing.
Before him, a clash could erupt at any second among his enemies—over the Church and its future. Would it end under Aegon’s control, or be erased entirely by Frey?
Either way, the battle no longer included him. He had lost—completely, and easily. His enemies gave him no heed. He was nothing now but a pitiful loser, unable to accomplish a thing.
"The Church... the Church I safeguarded all these years, the one I built until it became what it is..."
With blood-filled eyes, Blattier dragged himself forward. In those eyes flickered scene after scene, the storms that had battered him through the years—rises and falls, victories and defeats. He had bowed his head countless times, swallowed humiliation again and again to pursue his ends. He had lived his entire life inside the Church.
"My Church... this is my Church," Blattier forced out, spitting blood.
He had schemed and lied to make it what it was, killed and sacrificed thousands, endured degradation and defeat dozens of times. He had poured out his life here—and now he watched it being taken from his hands with ease.
I knew the Lord of Light abandoned us long ago. I know that. I know the Lord of Light is no god...
Decades ago, the young Bishop Joseph Blattier rose—becoming the youngest in history. Back then he was a bright youth, overflowing with faith. He believed in the cause; he believed in the Lord of Light. He was devout to the core, dedicating life and body to the faith.
But with the bishop’s seat came truth—the knowledge few possessed.
The Church was not the noble body people imagined. It was a religion built on a lie. A great lie.
The Lord of Light had never even acknowledged their existence; all that mattered to him was his chosen champion—and nothing else. That realization shocked Blattier, and the shock deepened as he uncovered further secrets.
True, the Lord of Light did not own them—but he had left things upon the earth, things that helped make them what they were. He left a great tree that bore a mysterious power—enough to fill an entire island with life. From that tree came the sacred sword Vermithor. Alongside it, the Lord of Light left strange runes—meaningless scrawls no one understood.
After long and exhaustive study, over many years, the Church discovered those runes were tied to sacrifice.
"The Path of Sacrifices..."
Etching those cursed letters would allow the Awakened to grow stronger as the number of those who died for them increased. But absolute faith was required to trigger the path; the one sacrificed had to believe wholly in the person for whom they offered their life.
If the conditions were met, one could obtain a power great enough to break one’s limits—the very power Blattier had relied upon and wagered everything on.
The Church was built on a lie, and the rope of lies is short. The day truth exploded and everything collapsed was fated to come. But Blattier held the line—he kept this edifice standing, right up to the end.
It was said that the first saint who had marched with Kazis Valerion in the ancient war also possessed a certain connection to the Lord of Light—but she, too, vanished long ago. To preserve her legacy, the Church tried to pass down her blood and power through candidate after candidate, hoping another saint of equal stature would appear.
All their attempts failed. Not a single saintess has broken past SS+, and every one of them dies young, unable to bear the alien power forced into their bodies.
The Church that tortured so many...
the Church built on blood and sacrifice, on lies and slander—
it was rotten to the core. And yet, in the end...
Blattier succeeded in keeping it alive. He delved into that filth and with his own hands committed enough sins to drown himself, until he, too, became rotten to the core.
He wanted his Church to reign. He wanted the lie he once believed to harden into a truth the whole world would accept.
To achieve that, he went too far—far beyond any return.
He had sacrificed so much, and now he was losing everything.
"So easily... so simply..."
Aegon Valerion. Frey Starlight.
They were taking it from him—stealing it right out of his hands.
Blattier clenched his teeth until they creaked, weeping blood while a furnace of feeling burned inside him—boundless rage, a madness that swallowed his exhausted mind. The pain was great, but the fire that scorched him from within was greater.
Without warning, Blattier began to scream—wild, unhinged screams that swung every gaze back to him. He tried to speak, but coughed up nothing but the blood filling his throat.