Asura followed behind Mel steadily, his broad frame moving through the ornate marble halls with quiet reluctance. No matter how often he walked these corridors, he could never grow comfortable with the Temple's lavishness. He preferred the old cathedral in the old man's town, which was worn and wooden but warm and familiar. Despite both places being dressed in gold, the wood made the Cathedral feel like a cozy cabin. Here, the sterile marble and stone offered no comfort, only cold grandeur.
White marble walls gleamed under relentless gold trim, their brilliance almost painful. The reflective surfaces turned light into a blinding assault on the eyes. Even the candlelight, set in elaborate gold sconces, seemed unnaturally bright, illuminating every expansive chamber, every corner of the hallway.
"How come you guys use so many candles? Ever heard of lights?" Asura muttered.
Mel rolled her eyes. "We can't." She waved her hand as she spoke at the sconces hanging above. "Electricity fails whenever monsters interfere. When Jormungandr attacked, the entire power grid went down. We think the…-" Mel paused as if contemplating her words. "-quotidian mana field disrupts everything. Candles are more reliable."
"Huh," Asura remarked as the thought never crossed his mind. "I thought y'all were just old."
His gaze swept the walls and floor. Not a single speck of dust marred the surface. The entire place gleamed with a perfection that felt unnatural, like the building itself rejected impurity.
"Who cleans this place?" he asked.
"What?" Mel replied, raising a brow.
Asura waved his hand toward the expansive halls that weaved their way through the building. "Who's the poor soul stuck cleaning every inch of this marble paradise?" He asked.
"We don't," she said casually. "It cleans itself."
Asura paused, frowning. His eyes scanned every corner, squinting at crevices as if expecting to catch the building in the act.
"What can't your guys' mana do?" He grumbled. It felt wrong to use mana for such mundane tasks. To think they wasted their precious angelic mana on chores. "It cleans, it repairs clothes and buildings, it heals people, it can be made into a weapon and shit. Unfair if you ask me." Asura said, his voice dripping with disbelief.
Mel smirked. "It can't make you shut up." She remarked, giggling to herself underneath her words.
Asura spat out a puff of white mana-flame in mock irritation, its hiss echoing through the corridor. Nearby priests cast sharp glares his way, disgust radiating from every expression. None of them even tried to hide it. Their hatred was etched deep, cultivated over generations.
"I saved all of your asses, and I'm still the biggest villain to all of ya." Asura said, muttering under his breath.
The ogre returned their glares, daring them to act. He'd fought to protect them, and although many began to respect him, if they ever raised a hand, he wouldn't hesitate to return the favor. It was survival of the fittest after all. These people strutted around like saints, but their belief in their superiority was built on a fragile foundation of a time when the Kings were least ambitious.
"Well," Mel said quietly, "your kind has killed thousands. Saving a city doesn't erase centuries of suffering."
"You keep saying my kind like you've ever met another ogre, orc, or any of my family. I ain't a dragon, or a damn shadow, or some fallen. Racist-."
Mel's expression softened, her voice catching for a moment. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. I meant…" She exhaled slowly, steadying herself. "Monsters in general. They've caused so much pain."
Her gaze drifted forward, unfocused. She wasn't looking at the marble halls anymore—Asura recognized that distant stare. It was the look of someone sifting through memories they'd rather forget.
"My parents spent their lives developing weapons to help people during this never-ending war." A light flickered in Mel's eyes as she uttered her last words. "We've buried too many neighbors not to be cautious."
She was trying, but years of fear and prejudice didn't vanish overnight. He was the reason the city still stood. If she kept hating him, she'd be hating her own savior. He may be annoying, she thought, but he's done more for us than most ever will.
Mel sighed, eyes drifting down the corridor where more priests approached. Their expressions twisted in open disgust as they passed Asura.
If they hated him just because he's annoying, I could live with that, she thought bitterly. Mary had spread the lie that Asura was under Temple control, but that never stopped the abuse. They spat in his food. Tossed it on the ground. Demanded he eat like a dog. And still, he stayed. He still worked, he still fought, like a supporting pillar, he stood strong against the weather beating against his strong core, unwilling to give way.
The first time it happened, Mel sat frozen in disbelief, eyes locked on the ogre seated beside her, Lydia, and Wain at the long dining table. A sour stench of sweat and onions drifted into the room as a figure drew close, standing above Asura. A man in his late twenties or older stood beside him, heavily breathing as if out of breath. Short, greasy black hair clung to his scalp, and his uneven brown eyes narrowed as he loomed over Asura. His sharp jaw clenched tight with disdain.
"Eat it off the ground," the priest commanded.
His voice was deep but marred by a faint whistle that slipped through the gap in his front teeth. Each word grated on Mel's ears, both in tone and content. He stood too close, his body language dripping with superiority.
Mel set down her spoon and exhaled slowly. Here we go again, she thought, already feeling the simmer of anger rising.
"Go on," the priest sneered. "Eat it like the dog you are. Stop pretending you belong at the table. Get on the floor."
Asura stared down at the food scattered across the stone floor of the dining hall. A perfectly cooked salmon, seared with golden skin and delicate herbs, was now crushed beneath the priest's boot. Grilled vegetables followed, mashed into a colorful pulp as the man ground them underfoot, laughing cruelly.
"What are you doing, beast? I told you." The priest commanded as he smacked the side of Asura's head. "Get on your hands and knees and lick it off the floor. Can't you hear me? I-"
Asura's fists clenched. Rage simmered in his chest, his vision narrowing as fury blurred the edges of his sight. The priest leaned in to shove him, but Asura didn't budge. He sat like a stone. The man recoiled, wincing as his wrist twisted awkwardly on impact.
"Agh! Get on the floor!" the priest barked, his voice rising in frustration.
Asura's patience cracked. He'd endured the hatred. The slurs. The humiliation. All to stay near Lydia and the others. But that leash was fraying fast. They all watched as the man raised his balled fist into the air.
His voice came low, trembling with restrained fury. "I'm going to hurt you so badly that not even holy mana will fix your twig-ass when I'm done." Asura lifted his head just enough for his eyes to be seen underneath his brow. Their white blazing light burned within the void of his darkened face. "Ever been folded into a pretzel?"
Wain stood quickly, trying to defuse the moment before it exploded. "Calm down, Asura. Here you can have my food." Wain tried to slide his food over to Asura. "We can't start-"
It was too late. The priest's arrogance was now tinged with fear as his eyes met Asura's glowing white predatory gaze.
"Y-you can't hurt me," the priest stammered. "I am a servant of The Temple. You're nothing but a rat underneath our boot! Now sit down and—"
Before the man could finish, a fist collided with his face, sharp and decisive. The priest crumpled to the ground with a stunned yelp, blood from a split lip staining the floor. Gasps echoed around the hall as the thud of a fist smacking against flesh echoed.
Lydia stood over him, knuckles still tight from the blow, her blue eyes blazing. "To think the priests have become so confident to talk to a Paladin's monster like that," she spat. "Did you really believe I'd sit back while you tormented what belongs to me?"
She turned to the room, a voice whipping them all to attention. "Anyone else want to state their opinion on my ogre?"
The room averted their eyes, tucking their heads down as they ate their food silently. Those watching with smiles on their faces and excited anticipation quickly turned to flushed, scared expressions. Lydia spun like a gladiator in a colosseum, declaring their dominance and awaiting a challenger.
"Anyone else?" She said, calling for a challenge. "No?"
Lydia's gaze swept the room like a blade, finally settling on a squat, round-faced priest at a nearby table—brown hair, green eyes, and a face that had earlier worn just a little too much amusement. Now, he looked down quickly, pretending to study his meal, but it was too late. Lydia had already seen the smug grin he wore during the altercation.
He wore the same black robes as the other priest, elegant with gold embroidery tracing across the sleeves and chest. Ornate. Undeserved.
"You," Lydia said coldly, pointing. "You must be his friend, right? Take him to the infirmary before my temper decides to take you there instead." She gestured at the man crumpled beneath her feet.
A pulse of mana rolled off her in violent flashes like striking lightning from a storm. The man jolted up without protest, his instincts screaming not to test her. Wordless, he bent to collect the crumpled priest, dragging the limp body across the floor. The crushed salmon and vegetables were smeared beneath him, streaking the stone with oil and crushed herbs.
Lydia exhaled and dropped back into her seat with a groan. She slid her tray toward Asura with a half-hearted smile. "Sorry for the whole 'property' thing. I know you hate it, but Mary's breathing down my neck." Lydia sighed as she rubbed her forehead. "If the Temple thinks you're free, they'll act. Hard."
Asura's lips curled into a wide, wicked grin, sharp teeth gleaming. "It's fine. I don't mind being owned." He bowed in his seat, somewhat awkwardly shifting forward. "Miss Owner. My liege. Master?"
Lydia laughed, loud and sudden, rubbing a hand over her face. "Be serious."
Across the table, Wain blinked in disbelief. He'd known Asura long enough to recognize the signs. That smile wasn't surrender. He's going to hunt that man to his grave, Wain thought grimly. Wain groaned internally as he thought about another storm of mischief approaching.
"Please, Asura," Wain said, voice low and pleading. "Just let it go this time."
Asura glanced his way, already lifting a chunk of salmon from Lydia's plate and popping it into his mouth. "Alright, alright. Don't get your tidy-whities in a twist. I'll let it go."
"Really?" Wain leaned in, studying him. "No way you're serious," he muttered under his breath.
Asura flashed him a lazy grin. "Yeah. I'll let it be."
"Seriously, dude." Wain eyed the ogre with suspicion.
With an exaggerated eye roll, Asura took another bite, savoring the flavor like it was the only thing that mattered in the world. But Wain knew better. Wain crossed his arms as Asura raised his hands in an act to defend himself.
"I'm being serious. I won't hunt the guy down." He mumbled as he chewed. "I won't hang him from his feet while I punch him like a punching bag." The ogre pointed at Wain as he grabbed another bite. "Or strip him and throw him out into the street, forcing him to run around for a while and streak through the city." Asura nodded in satisfaction as he swallowed his next bite.
"When he finally returns to the cathedral, I won't grab him and hang his ankle from the chandelier to display him in the main entrance like a piñata," Asura said, reaching for the plate again, a grin tugging at his lips. But Lydia slid it away just as his fingers neared it. He paused, confused, hand still in the air like a scolded child.
His brows knitted as he studied her face. The tension was unmistakable. Her forehead was creased, with furrowed brows, and those piercing blue eyes locked onto his with quiet urgency.
"Please," Lydia said softly. "Don't do that."
The ogre groaned and flopped back into his chair, throwing his hands in the air. "I won't! Okay? You have my word." He grumbled while poking at the table. "I will not retaliate over this situation, but if he does this shit again, I'll end his life." His voice was stern as he spoke the last four words.
He shifted his gaze between Lydia and Wain, as if waiting for their approval or understanding. Wain dragged a hand down his face with an audible sigh as Lydia gave a dry smile back.
"Can I have my food back now?" Asura asked, his voice deadpan.
A new voice cut through the tension, startling both Lydia and Wain. "If you even think about it, my sister's gonna lecture you for days." Mel, who had been quietly sitting across from them the entire time, met Asura's gaze head-on. They stared at one another in mutual recognition, not of friendship, but of shared suffering. Mary is the enemy. They both acknowledged the thought.
Mel and Asura rarely agreed on anything. They argued constantly. But when it came to Mary, they stood united in dread. Her endless lectures on virtue, conduct, mana usage, public image, and "true Paladin behavior" were a special kind of torment. Whenever one lecture ended, another began as if he had acquired a debt of lecturing that grew with interest. Mary didn't teach, she preached, on a loop that felt eternal. Her expectations were saintlike. Her patience was not.
Asura gave a solemn nod. "Yeah, okay, that'll do it for me. I won't hurt him."
Mel returned the nod. She wouldn't wish her sister's scolding on her worst enemy, even if that enemy was Asura.
Lydia slid the plate back in front of the ogre with a smile on her face, "I'm glad it's all sorted out then."
"Yeah, yeah, whatever." Asura dug in again, shoveling a bite of salmon into his mouth.
Wain rested his head in his hands. "Man, dealing with you is exhausting."
"What can I say?" Asura mumbled between mouthfuls. "I'm high maintenance."
Wain shot him a look of pure exasperation. Asura just laughed and kept eating, savoring both the food and the brief, chaotic peace.
Mel was lost in thought, trapped in the memory, until Asura's voice suddenly broke through, making her flinch in surprise.
"So your parents made weapons to fight monsters?" He asked.
Mel stopped walking, her body going still. The question hit harder than he probably meant it to. Heat rushed through her chest as anger surged—her fists clenched, her mouth half-open to lash out. But she caught herself. You brought them up, she reminded herself. She took a shaky breath.
Behind her, Asura stumbled to a stop, barely avoiding bumping into her.
"Why'd you stop like that?" he asked, blinking.
"Sorry," Mel muttered, trying to steady her voice. "You startled me. Talking about my parents like that."
"You mentioned them first." Asura said, raising a brow.
"I know." She recalled her words before she got lost in her thoughts. "It still threw me off."
A heavy silence followed. Memories rushed in like a flood. Her mother's screams, the warm spray of blood, the way it clung to her skin when she was just eleven. Her mother's death was slow, brutal, and loud. Her brother's was worse as he was ripped apart in front of her as she stood frozen. The demon's face was a blur now, but its laugh was unforgettable like a jester's: shrill, manic, with an eerie distortion like a corrupted broadcast through a broken radio. And then came her father… turned into a puppet. His strong, comforting hands now reached to strangle her. His eyes were blank. His mouth was silent. Just a puppet to mock her one last time.
It forced her father's body toward her, puppet-like, knowing full well the torment it would bring—to die at the hands of the one she trusted most for safety and love. As he drew closer, his face hollow and unrecognizable, she whispered through trembling lips, "Daddy."
If it hadn't been for Mary, Mel wouldn't have survived, but she often wondered what it cost her sister to end their father's life. She never blamed Mary, not once, but the memory still haunted her. The moment his body erupted in a flash of divine light, consumed by her sister's blessing.
Mel tried to speak, but her throat tightened. Tears shimmered at the corners of her eyes.
Asura shifted uncomfortably. "If it's that bad… sorry I asked." He grabbed the back of his head, rubbing it as he awkwardly took a step back. "Didn't mean to kick off a sob story."
She cleared her throat, then continued, voice steadier now. "My parents were pioneers. The first to develop mundane weapons infused with holy mana, which kicked off an entire revolution and an era of innovation. Guns, swords, maces, cannons… they built it all."
Asura's eyes widened. "That's sick! Then why don't people use them then?"
"The melee weapons were the issue," she said with a sigh. "They broke too easily against real monsters. The materials just couldn't hold up—not compared to the divine weapons blessed by Hephestine."
"What about the guns?" He eagerly asked, unable to hide his enthusiasm.
"The guns work perfectly, to The Temple's surprise," Mel said, her reply stunning Asura. "It's the bullets that caused issues. The lengthy process took months to produce even one artillery shell, and bullets are even worse due to their small size."
"First, you carve enchantments onto the metal casing, which takes forever, and then you start the infusing process, pumping mana into the grains of gunpowder inside," Mel said, her voice monotonous as if recalling a blueprint drilled into her mind. "Everything has to be perfect. Otherwise, it doesn't work." She cast a glance back at Asura. "Fail somewhere in the assembly line, the metal or gunpowder is garbage."
Asura looked like a kid hearing a bedtime story for the first time. The ogre clans prided themselves on invention, and although Asura didn't have mana himself, his brother Brontes had enough to create incredible weaponry that all of the kingdoms coveted.
"And your mom and father invented this?" Asura said, imagining a gun in his hands. "That's wicked!"
Mel allowed a small smile. "My mom was fanatical about making new weird tools. My father just directed her craziness." She paused as she recalled her brother. "My older brother was her assistant, who helped her with the Frankenstein contraptions. While Mary and I had no interest in the trade."
"Why not?" Asura asked, genuinely curious.
Mel shrugged. "We just wanted normal lives. Before everything happened, we didn't care about the Temple or magic. I wanted to be a baker." She continued, giggling with her words. "Mary was into fitness—thought she'd open her own gym or something."
"Oh. That's... boring." Asura frowned at the thought of a life without fighting.
Mel shot him a glance. "Not everyone dreams of nearly dying every day or watching people they love get torn apart." She said.
"Hm," Asura mused, his tone dipping into something darker. "Guess that's why I don't mind it. No one left to mourn for."
Mel turned to him, brows furrowed. He still wore that mischievous grin, like none of this bothered him in the slightest. You say things like that so casually… It's disturbing. She thought.
"Is there really no one left?" she asked.
"Not that I know of," Asura replied, still smiling, though his voice softened. "Other than the king. But I'm not exactly on speaking terms with that asshole."
"What happened?" She asked, mildly curious.
The light drained from his expression. His white eyes darkened, no longer playful but filled with bitterness. His voice was low and slow, each word laced with venom. "I don't remember much of the past, but... he killed them all." His voice drifted. "I'm the only one left..."
Mel's eyes widened. "You don't remember?"
"Details get fuzzy." Asura said, scratching at his head as if uncomfortable with his own words. "If I try to think too hard, it's like my brain's being crushed in a vice."
"Then why would he leave you alive?" She asked as they continued their walk.
Asura smirked faintly. "Probably cause I'd kick his ass."
"Really?" Mel said. The thought of a monster king fearing Asura was unbelievable. Their power was vast and crushing.
"Nah. He'd kill me in a heartbeat." His smile faded again. "Kings aren't beings you can play around with."
Mel watched him closely. There wasn't a hint of jest in his tone. For someone like Asura, who was confident and willing to put his life on the line for a good fight, to speak with such a weight when describing the kings. He talked as if they were absolutes in the world.
"Is there a reason he killed everyone?" She asked, hesitant as if the door to the conversation would close.
His gaze dropped. His jaw clenched, and when he spoke, it came out as a low growl. "I'm done talking about it."
The shift in his voice was unmistakable. A warning. Asura's past was a mystery, and he wanted to keep it that way. Mel knew better than to push. Still, her mind swirled with questions. Everything about him felt like a contradiction. A monster allowed to live in a holy place that should've burned him alive. Gifted holy mana by an Archangel, an act that bordered on heresy.
How was he even summoned in the first place? she wondered, biting her tongue, resisting the urge to dig deeper. But as they walked down the hallway, the doors to the library came into view.
Down the hall stood two towering slabs of dark, polished mahogany. Candlelight danced along the intricate golden frames and hinges, making the entire entrance shimmer with a quiet, reverent glow. Etched into the wood were delicate runes, winding in elegant patterns across the panels, forming an unbroken flow from one side to the other. At the center of each door rested an ornate knob, shaped like a crown entwined with twisting vines.
Asura let out a low whistle, clearly impressed. "The humans love their grand displays, huh?"
He stepped closer, eyes scanning the doorframe with genuine appreciation. Every line was symmetrical. Every carving, flawless. "If the doors are this elaborate," he murmured, "the knowledge behind them must be worth a fortune."
"Who makes these?" he asked, still admiring the craftsmanship.
"Makes what?" She asked back.
"All of it. The doors, the statues, the engravings. Who does this kind of work?"
"Oh." Mel shrugged slightly. "If you're talking about the sculptor and carpenter we rely on, it's Hephestine's daughter."
Asura froze, head snapping toward her. His jaw slackened. "I, uh. That has to be wrong."
Mel raised an eyebrow at his reaction, one hand outstretched in mock confusion while the other settled on her hip. "What would be the reason I lied about something like this?
"Then you are serious?" He asked, stunned. "Hephestine committed one of the worst acts an Angel has done. Betrayed Judex and fell from their grace to earth. She had a daughter?"
Mel blinked, then her expression softened as realization set in. "Ohhh. No, not like that." Mel shook her head as if to correct her mistake. "She's not actually her daughter. It's just a nickname. She's the most gifted artisan anyone's ever seen—so good it's almost unnatural."
She waved toward the doors that displayed the Paladin's craftsmanship. "People started calling her Hephestine's daughter out of respect… or maybe superstition."
Asura exhaled slowly. "Oh. Okay, I was gonna say that's crazy since I saw her in a garden."
Mel gave him a sideways look, her expression of disbelief."I still can't believe she let you live after you invaded Judex Divinum's garden."
"Are you saying you wanted her to kill me?" Asura said, a brow raised.
"A little," Mel replied with a devious smirk and a glint in her eyes.
She grinned and rolled her eyes as Asura scoffed. With a dramatic flourish, she placed both hands on the towering library doors. "Well," she said, smirking, "let's see if she still feels generous enough to give you a weapon after that stunt."