Chapter 85: Chapter 85

A small, frail boy was surrounded by his peers. One of them approached and drove his raised knee into the boy's abdomen.

The boy clutched his stomach and collapsed on the ground. Clear spit dribbled from his mouth.

"They say your murderer dad was beheaded, and your whore mom died with her whole body decayed!"

"Why were you even born, you cursed bastard!"

Immature children reject anything that is 'not me' or different.

Dario had too many things that set him apart from ordinary kids.

Getting beaten, being pointed at, getting teased—these became part of his daily life.

At first, dario had tried to shake off the shadow of violence that tried to consume him.

Persuasion, appeasement, humiliation, submission, despair, anger, resignation.

'What comes after resignation?'

Suddenly, dario became curious about that.

From behind the group of boys, a desperate voice rang out.

"A Priest is coming!"

"What? Priest Domenico came by earlier, didn't he?"

"It's not Priest Domenico! It's someone new! First time I've seen him!"

"Damn it. Dario, you got lucky? That's it for today, ptoo!"

The kids scattered. Being a daycare center funded by the Holy Church, they feared priests much more than the caretakers.

Dario lay completely still as if dead and only lifted his head when things were quiet again.

He wiped spit off the crown of his head. The stench was awful.

Absentmindedly, dario looked ahead.

He let out a small gasp without realizing.

An old man bathed in white light was approaching. The light was like freshly fallen snow.

"Oh dear, you're not a lost puppy, are you? What are you doing sitting there like that? Heh heh."

This was the first meeting of the limping boy Dario and Priest Arcangelo.

Twelve-year-old Dario was sweeping the church courtyard.

The church bell rang out clearly.

Dario stopped sweeping and gazed up at the sky. The noble sound of the bell, the noonday sun, the warmth of the Holy Spirit.

He closed his eyes and inhaled slowly through his nose. He wished he could remain in this moment forever.

"Oh, priest Arcangelo!"

The boy dashed over to the old priest.

"How many times have you been sweeping today, just today?"

"Uh, well. Once at dawn, once in the morning, and this is the third time!"

"You'll wear it out, you rascal."

The priest tousled the boy's light brown hair. The two walked down the corridor together.

"How are things these days? Are your peers still giving you a hard time?"

Children at the daycare center could earn the chance to become apprentice priests if they wished.

But it wasn't just other daycare kids who bullied Dario.

"Don't worry about it, father. I know why. They're just jealous because you love me best."

Dario withstood the priest's suddenly pitying gaze with cheerful defiance. In his pupil, a faint, pure white light enveloped the priest's body.

Almost entranced, dario murmured,

"Your divinity is brimming with warmth again today, father."

At the low voice, dario flinched as if he'd been caught stealing, rapidly bowing his head.

"I'm sorry, father. I didn't mean to—?"

"Haven't I always warned you to watch what you say?"

The priest bent down, meeting Dario's eyes. Both hands rested gently on the boy's shoulders.

"Don't assume what your eyes see is truly divine. If you judge people by the presence of light alone, what makes you any different from other children? Contemplate quietly and keep searching, without ceasing. Do not let pride take you before you understand why the Lord gave you this ability."

"? I will remember that."

Dario linked pinkies with him.

They continued walking, exchanging small talk. Soon, their steps stopped inside the chapel.

To one side of the neatly lined pews sat a large man.

He was a famous Northman who had long ago crossed to the mainland after falling under a curse.

"Binut!" New ɴᴏᴠᴇʟ ᴄhapters are published on novel fire.net

Binut just glanced over and then pressed his forehead to his clasped hands again.

Smiling broadly, dario approached and spoke in Northlandic.

"Binut. The weather's nice outside. Let's go for a walk together today. Yes?"

Dario felt a sense of kinship with Binut, since both quietly walked the path of faith despite being shunned and despised.

Dario learned some Northlandic from Binut and could hold simple conversations with him.

He did not learn the language for any special reason. Binut always seemed quietly pleased when teaching him words. Dario simply liked to see it.

'Even though the color and warmth are different, I can see light around Binut, too.'

Dario kept that to himself; somehow, he felt he should.

Several more seasons passed.

Dario shed his boyishness and grew up to be a rather dignified young man. His faith deepened, and his theological knowledge widened.

There was another change: his relationship with Binut. At some point, Binut, already reserved, became completely devoid of emotion, and their bond grew distant.

Dario didn't mind much. He had found a new ambition.

'I'll become a bishop. I'll fill the world with the Lord's grace.'

The day before he was to be ordained as an official priest.

That was also the day High Priest Arcangelo became Dario's godfather.

Tragedy struck without warning.

The flames of civil war reached even this small church on the borders.

The once peaceful church became hell on earth in an instant. Blood covered all the holy objects; screams and cries echoed everywhere.

Dario was swept up in the crowd, running frantically down the corridor. Behind him, liberation Army intruders gave chase.

High Priest Arcangelo threw open a side door in the corridor wall. It was a storage room filled with teaching materials used in theology classes.

Arcangelo urgently pressed down on Dario's shoulder. There was a crawlspace in the floor.

Dario resisted. The crawlspace was barely big enough for one person.

"Hurry! There's no time!"

The aging high priest cupped Dario's cheeks and spoke quickly.

"Listen well, dario. There are people who are born with little chance of ever being loved. But that never means they don't deserve love. Revealing that truth is your duty."

Tears streamed from Dario's eyes.

Arcangelo kissed Dario's forehead.

"I love you, my son."

Dario forced his way into the crawlspace. Arcangelo knelt, opened his Bible reverently.

Soon after, the Liberation Army intruders entered.

Dario covered his ears.

Through his limited view, he saw High Priest Arcangelo struck down by an intruder's blade.

The glazed pupils of his father were right in front of him.

He wanted to shout but couldn't. Dario clamped his hand over his own mouth. He couldn't even breathe properly. His vision blurred, his mind clouded.

In the end, he buried his face in the floor, sobbing and refusing to face the end his father met.

An eternity seemed to pass for Dario.

Screaming never stopped, then quieted, then the sound of blades clashing rang out, then it went silent again.

This repeated several times.

How much time had passed?

A stranger's voice came from outside.

"Your name from now on is Hank. Hank the Butcher."

Dario's eyes snapped open at the voice. But he did not have the courage to go out.

He took a deep breath, crawled forward on his elbows, and peeked out.

Where his father had fallen, the body was gone. Somehow, he felt certain the chaos was now over.

"Hey, what's this? There's someone here!"

As Dario crawled out, boys around his age came into his view.

A boy with a jet-black face and a strange hairstyle grabbed Dario's wrist and pulled him up.

Dario couldn't even stand properly. It felt like he was breathing air for the first time in ages.

"You're alive, actually alive. Thank goodness. I'm Peco. What's your name?"

Dario looked to where Arcangelo had fallen. Guilt and the strange relief of having survived overwhelmed him at once.

Next moment, his path in life seemed suddenly clear.

Through sobs, he spoke.

"Arcan? Arcan, gelo."

"Arcangelo? Yikes. Hey! Corbinian! Over here! Another kid with a hard-to-pronounce name like yours!"

A blond, blue-eyed boy, standing at a distance, strode rapidly over. The closer he got, the more Dario's face contorted. Corbinian was visibly radiating killing intent.

Dario's head snapped to the side as he was slapped. There was no time to stop it. Corbinian's beating was one-sided.

A chilling voice came through gritted teeth.

"Arcangelo? Is that your church name?"

"Uh—uh?? Wh-what is this all of a sudden?"

"Why aren't you dead, why are you alive?"

"Spit it out. Are you a priest?"

Corbinian mercilessly stomped on the cowering Dario.

After his head hit the floor several times, his whole skull shook. He thought he really might die .

"M-my real name is Dario! I-I'm not an ordained priest yet?!"

Finally, the kicking stopped.

Corbinian spat on the floor.

"This is what you get for pretending to be a priest, you idiot."

The tears he'd shed from grief now shifted to tears of misery. Old nightmares came flooding back.

Dario, choking back tears, watched as Corbinian walked away.

He saw light around him too. This dazzling yellow light was greater in quantity than Arcangelo's.

Dario's face turned ashen.

His trembling gaze landed on a man leaning against the wall. He looked like a vicious bandit.

Compared to Arcangelo, or even all the priests he'd ever seen, the massive pure white light enveloping this man was beyond comparison.

The man grinned at Dario. Even his smile looked wicked. Dario flinched.

With those words, the man left.

"Oh, a new brother. Welcome, dario!"

"Um, wh-who is that, that man??"

"That's Zima. He's our father. You call him father too."

Dario's wet lashes trembled.

Peco helped Dario to his feet.

"Let's get along. Oh, by the way, a couple of our brothers really hate members of the Holy Church, so be careful, okay?"

His body, hit by a fist, slammed into the wall.

Dario slumped to the ground weakly.

Other boys' punches he could endure to some degree now.

Eden was the only exception. His bare fists were like iron.

"Wow, dario! Your endurance has really improved!"

Dario's nose bone had been struck. He wiped at the nosebleed with his hand and struggled to his feet.

Eden grabbed Dario by the chin.

"Dario, you should be used to this by now, right? Why do you keep causing trouble?"

"? Wh-what did I do?"

"Man, why do you keep running your mouth to the kids about nonsense? I warned you, no funny business."

"What's so bad about all of us studying the Lord's word together??"

"There's no religion in Zima's family. The only things we trust are ourselves, and our brothers. That's our rule."

"Th-the Lord loves us. You guys, too—?"

His ears were ringing. Eden's words drifted in the air, but he could hardly hear.

Even so, dario gritted his teeth.

"? Eden. I see light around you, too. Please, just—?"

Before he could finish, Corbinian ran in from behind kicked his shin.

His vision spun, and the gloomy sky swam into view. His back felt as if it had been ripped off. He couldn't even groan.

"Whine away, see where it gets you. You just keep getting beat. Pray hard, I'm curious too—if your Lord will save you before you kick the bucket."

Corbinian raised his foot, ready to stomp down.

"Hey, both of you, that's enough. Assembly time."

Royce, appearing from the corner, intervened. Eden and Corbinian shrugged and turned away.

Royce gave Dario a disinterested look, then followed after the others.

All the boys gathered.

Zima stood at the center and explained the operation.

With civil war raging, there was plenty of work to go around. Missions like tracking prisoners or mopping up remnants—tasks awkward to assign to regular soldiers—were given to mercenaries. In the theater where Zima was stationed, practically all such requests were monopolized by him.

"The operation is simple. We wipe out the detachment isolated in the mountains. The Emperor's troops have them surrounded, so their escape is already cut off."

"Father, if that's the case, can't we just leave them to starve to death?"

"Wouldn't it be more merciful to end their lives before then? Besides, the officers are complaining about their backs itching. Let's scratch it for them."

The boys snickered. Dario frowned.

'What's so funny about any of this?'

Nausea welled up. They looked less like people and more like beasts. If there was one thing he couldn't get used to, it was this kind of atmosphere, where human life was as cheap as marbles.

"Attention. But, there's a warning. There are two rather troublesome snipers out there."

The boys fell silent again. The Liberation Army's, particularly the demons' crossbowmen, were notorious. They were even called the 'Emperor's Army's Nightmare.'

Zima unrolled a large piece of parchment and sketched a rough map.

The boys followed Zima's pointer stick with serious eyes.

"One bit of luck—they foolishly set up their position inside an area surrounded by hills."

Zima drew a large arc and made a rough circle in the center. Next to the circle, he dotted four small points and pointed at them.

"They even put up watchtowers to scan the hills. If they're bold enough to do that in the middle of their base, it means they're prepared for a last stand."

Dario secretly scanned the nearly fifty children.

'They raise the kids under the pretense of caring for them and use them as mercenaries. This is madness!'

All from ages fifteen to eighteen; they exuded a vibe one shouldn't see at their age.

A few core boys, raised by Zima since they were very young, had fighting ability on par with grown soldiers.

They were called Zima's family's hunting dogs, or boy killing machines.

He met eyes with Royce, one of them. He felt like Royce had been watching him for a while.

Dario quickly looked away.

Zima's explanation continued.

"We take out the snipers in the watchtower first. The rest we can manage somehow."

"Father, there's no guarantee that the snipers are actually in the watchtower, right?"

"Renard, sharp question. Armand!"

Armand stood up, left, and soon returned, leading people bound together with chains.

Dario knew who they were. Recently captured, these were notorious bandit brothers who'd looted villages and assaulted women.

"We'll put them on donkeys and send them toward the enemy camp. But, the enemy won't act recklessly. If their infantry steps out to intercept, Armand, you take them with your bow. The sniper will move then."

The moment the enemy sniper took the bait, their own hidden shooter would locate the sniper's position and eliminate him—a so-called bait operation.

Zima pointed at Royce.

"Then, our crack shot Royce will take care of the rest."

The most important thing in a bait operation was the skill of the friendly sniper. Not only extraordinary marksmanship, but also immense focus, dynamic vision, and resolute nerve—exceptional talent was needed.

Every time you failed, not only did the bait's life, but your own, hang in the balance.