A massive bell mounted above the upper gate began to ring, its deafening clang echoing like a declaration of war. The sound rolled across the mountain, spilling down the cliffs and into the valleys below, warning every living soul on the island that intruders had been spotted.
The bell did not ring once or twice.
It kept ringing.
The vibrations traveled through stone and air alike, crawling into my chest and making my heart pound in uneasy rhythm. Moments later, loudspeakers hidden throughout the church grounds crackled to life, their sharp echoes spreading through every corridor, every stairway, every hidden corner of the mountain.
Until now, we hadn't seen any real settlement. But as I glanced downward, past the edge of the elevated church grounds, I noticed it—a small town resting beneath the mountain, tucked safely below the holy structure. The church towered over it like a watchful god, built high above the world, untouched by modern noise or technology.
We had approached from the forest side, climbing endless stone stairs carved into the mountain itself.
Now, those same stairs were filling with steel.
Crusaders poured in from every direction.
They surrounded us swiftly and efficiently, forming a tight circle outside the church gate. Nearly seventy-five men stood ready, their bodies muscular and hardened, clad in heavy crusader armor that gleamed beneath the pale sky. Spears and swords were raised, shields locked into formation, their stance disciplined and unmistakably trained.
For a moment, it felt as though we had stepped out of the twenty-first century and into a medieval battlefield.
The air was thick with tension.
I swallowed hard and glanced at Erza, then at Grandpa, silently pleading with my eyes. This wasn't how I imagined our first step toward the Gilgal test. I didn't want blood, didn't want chaos—not here, not now.
Erza didn't respond to my look.
Instead, her gaze shifted calmly toward Allen.
He stood motionless within the encirclement, his posture relaxed, his presence unnervingly quiet. His shadow clung to the ground beneath him as if it were alive, stretching unnaturally despite the light above. His eyes moved slowly, calculating distances, numbers, angles—already planning outcomes none of us wanted to witness.
The moment Allen met Erza's eyes, he nodded.
A slow, knowing smile tugged at his lips.
He clenched his fist once, the sound of his knuckles cracking sharp in the tense silence, and then spoke in a voice so calm it chilled me far more than anger ever could.
"Looks like these disgusting humans need a lesson today."
He turned slightly toward Erza almost like executioner, his tone respectful, obedient, yet laced with anticipation.
"Shall I, my mistress?"
Erza's aura shifted—subtle, dangerous, like ice forming beneath still water. She didn't hesitate.
"You may do whatever you want, servant," she said coldly.
My heart dropped.
"Wait—no, no, no!" I shouted, stepping forward instinctively, panic spilling into my voice. "That's my order. Don't kill anyone!"
The crusaders tightened their formation.
Allen's smile widened just a fraction.
The crusaders were ready to strike at any moment.
Swords and spears were raised, their sharp edges catching the light, while above us—on the watchtowers flanking the massive gate—several figures stood with rifles and mounted guns, their barrels already aimed downward. One wrong movement, one misunderstood breath, and this place would turn into a battlefield soaked in blood.
Our side was no less dangerous.
Erza stood with her arms crossed, her posture calm yet absolute, as if this entire army was nothing more than an inconvenience. Grandpa watched in silence, his sharp gaze missing nothing, weighing every soul present as though he could already see their endings. Allen stood still, unnaturally still, restraining himself only because of my order—though I could feel the violence boiling beneath his calm exterior.
Elena… well, Elena was Elena.
She looked around with sparkling eyes, clearly fascinated by the armor, the weapons, and the sheer number of people, as if she were watching some grand parade instead of standing in the middle of a potential massacre.
And then there was me.
Panicking.
The air grew heavy—oppressively so. A suffocating silence settled over the courtyard, the kind that pressed against your ears until even your heartbeat felt too loud. It was the sort of silence where death waited patiently, just one spark away.
Then—
"Cough… cough."
The sound was soft. Gentle. Almost awkward.
Yet it cut through the tension like a blade through silk.
Every head turned at once.
The crusaders stiffened. Erza's eyes shifted. Grandpa narrowed his gaze. Allen froze mid-breath. Even I forgot to panic for a moment.
Standing beside the long stone staircase was a man dressed in the robes of a bishop. His posture was relaxed, his hands resting calmly at his sides, his presence quiet—yet unmistakably commanding. He hadn't raised his voice, hadn't demanded attention, and yet the entire battlefield seemed to bend toward him.
The crusaders reacted instantly.
"Protect Father Nelson!" one of them shouted.
"Shield him from the Satan worshippers!"
Several guards rushed forward, placing themselves between us and the man, their weapons trembling slightly despite their training.
Father Nelson raised a hand.
"Stop," he said gently.
The word carried no force—yet every crusader halted as if bound by invisible chains. Confusion spread across their faces as they looked at one another, unsure whether they had truly heard him correctly.
Father Nelson's expression darkened, though his voice remained calm.
"How dare you," he said quietly, "raise weapons against guests."
The courtyard fell into stunned silence.
"G-Guests…?" one crusader whispered, disbelief heavy in his voice.
The crusaders exchanged glances with one another.
Then, almost instinctively, their eyes shifted to their Captain.
There was no shouted command. No signal given.
Yet in the very next moment, steel rang against stone.
Swords and spears slipped from their hands and fell to the ground in perfect unison. One after another, seventy-five armored men dropped to one knee, armor clashing softly as they bowed their heads.
Their voices rose together.
"We apologize, dear guests. We have committed a sin under the Heaven."
The words were spoken in flawless synchronization—every tone, every pause, every breath aligned as if they shared a single will. It wasn't fear alone that drove them to kneel. It was discipline. Faith. Absolute obedience to their creed.
The tension vanished instantly.
Erza's rage evaporated like mist under sunlight. The oppressive pressure surrounding her faded, replaced by a faint, amused smile. Grandpa exhaled slowly, running a hand through his long beard, his expression one of genuine admiration.
"…Impressive," he murmured, clearly pleased by their discipline.
Elena, on the other hand, stared in wide-eyed amazement before breaking into laughter.
"Papa!" she said, tugging at my sleeve. "They all said the exact same words at the same time!"
I couldn't respond.
I was too stunned.
This didn't feel like the modern world I knew. It felt like I had stepped straight into history itself—into a living medieval era where faith ruled stronger than law, and discipline was etched into the soul. The sound of kneeling armor, the unity in their voices—it was unreal.
Erza and Grandpa noticed it, of course.
To them, this kind of loyalty and order was normal. Natural. Something they had grown up with in their own world.
But for me—
Seeing it here, on Earth?
It was unsettling.
And strangely awe-inspiring.
Father Nelson stepped forward from the line of soldiers.
He appeared to be a man in his mid-forties, wearing a long bishop's robe. A silver cross hung around his neck, resting calmly against his chest. There was nothing threatening about him, yet his presence carried a strange weight, as if the air itself had grown quieter around him.
He walked straight toward me.
The instant our eyes met, a sharp, unbearable pain exploded behind my eyes.
My vision blurred, burning like fire had been poured directly into my skull. I cried out before I could stop myself and dropped to my knees, clutching my face as the pain worsened with every breath.
"Ah—!"
"Yuuta!" Erza rushed to my side immediately, her voice filled with panic.
She didn't understand what was happening. None of us did. Allen reacted a moment later, his expression darkening as he turned toward the soldiers, convinced someone had used some kind of spell or weapon on me.
But I didn't know why it hurt.
I only knew that it burned.
Father Nelson's voice cut through the chaos, calm and steady.
"Be calm, Yuuta," he said. "The more you struggle, the more intense the pain will become. Fear is what feeds it."
He knelt in front of me and slowly raised his hand.
Erza moved at once to stop him, her eyes sharp with suspicion, but Grandpa caught her wrist and gently shook his head.
"Let him," Grandpa said. "He means no harm."
Father Nelson placed his hand over my eyes.
"Close them," he instructed softly.
I followed his words, forcing myself to breathe and letting my eyes shut.
The pain vanished.
Not gradually—instantly.
A few quiet seconds passed.
"Now," Father Nelson said, "open your eyes. Slowly."
I did as he said.
My vision returned, clear and calm, as though nothing had ever happened. The burning was gone completely, leaving behind only a faint echo of confusion.
Father Nelson leaned closer, studying my eyes with something close to reverence.
"Such beautiful eyes," he said quietly. "It has been a very long time since I have seen something like this."
Before I could react, Father Nelson gently held my face, his gaze fixed on my eyes as if he were examining a rare artifact. There was no lust or malice in his expression—only a deep, almost sorrowful admiration.
"This beauty," he continued, his voice low, "is not from this world. If it were, it would have been devoured long ago."
"Huh?"
I pulled myself free at once and stood up, brushing the dirt from my clothes in confusion.
"What does that even mean?" I asked.
From the corner of my eye, I could see Erza barely restraining herself. Her expression was calm on the surface, but I knew her well enough to sense the storm beneath it. Whether she was angry at his words—or simply at the fact that someone had dared to touch me—I wasn't sure.
Father Nelson took a step back and bowed deeply.
"I offer my sincerest apologies to the Konuari family," he said. "I should have prepared my guards properly for your arrival."
I shook my head immediately.
"You don't have to do that, Father Nelson," I said. "We are unworthy of such respect."
He looked up, then turned his gaze toward Erza and Grandpa.
"No," he said gently. "It is I who am unworthy to stand before such great people in my temple. Today, this place has been blessed."
He straightened and looked toward Erza and Grandpa once more.
"Please," he added, "do not harbor any hatred toward my men or this holy place."
Erza replied coldly, her voice sharp enough to cut steel.
"I would have slaughtered your guards if you hadn't stepped in, Father. Be grateful for that."
A ripple of anger passed through the crusaders. Their hands tightened around their weapons, and murmurs spread among them—but none dared to speak out loud.
Father Nelson remained calm, as if he had expected no other response.
"Please," he said, turning toward us, "come with me into the church. We will speak of this later."
I frowned.
"What do you mean into the church?" I asked. "This is the church. We're standing right in it."
Father Nelson laughed softly.
"Guards," he said with a gentle smile, "open the gate."
The heavy doors behind him slowly began to move, stone grinding against stone. As the gap widened, my eyes followed the path beyond—and my heart sank.
Stairs.
Not just a few.
Thousands of stone steps spiraled upward along the mountain, disappearing into the mist above.
Before I could even complain, Elena burst into giggles.
"Papa, look!" she said, pointing excitedly. "There are more steps to walk!"
Erza stared upward, disbelief flashing across her face.
"What in the world is this?" she said. "Are you telling me everything we saw—the scriptures, the statues—none of that was even the church?"
Father Nelson smiled calmly, as if this were the most natural thing in the world.
"Merely the gate," he said.
Grandpa, on the other hand, looked thrilled. His eyes gleamed as he examined the carvings and statues lining the stairway.
"So much craftsmanship," he murmured, stroking his beard. "Remarkable."
I lifted my hand and pointed weakly toward the mountain.
"…Do I really have to climb all the way up there again?" I asked.
"Yes," Father Nelson replied with a light laugh.
I groaned.
"Then what were all those scriptures and statues before we reached the ground level?" I asked. "Just for show?"
"They mark the Gateway of the Church," he explained. "Where the guards are stationed."
I let out a long sigh.
"So… I really do have to climb again."
"Yay!" Elena cheered, raising both her hands toward me. "Let's go! You have to carry me again, Papa!"
From behind us, Allen spoke in his usual calm, infuriatingly helpful tone.
"My master, this will be good for your health. It will strengthen your muscles."
I shot him a glare.
Erza remained silent.
Her violet eyes never left Father Nelson, sharp and unreadable, as if she were sensing something hidden beneath his calm expression. There was no hostility in her gaze—only caution. The kind born from instinct, not doubt.
The mountain air felt heavier than before, pressing against my chest.
Father Nelson turned toward me, his steps measured, his presence suddenly overwhelming. The gentle warmth he carried earlier faded, replaced by a solemn stillness that made even the crusaders straighten their backs.
"Before we proceed," he said calmly, "there is something I must make clear."
The silence deepened.
"I will allow you to be married in this church," he continued, "without requiring you to take any test."
For a moment, no one reacted.
Then—
"What?"
Erza's voice cut through the stillness, sharp with disbelief.
The crusaders gasped. Several of them stiffened as if struck by lightning. Murmurs spread instantly, panic flickering across disciplined faces.
One guard stepped forward, fear shaking his voice.
"Father Nelson… this church has never permitted marriage," he said. "This is the Center of the Earth Church. The scriptures forbid it."
Another crusader lowered his head.
"This is the place where the Son of God shall descend," he whispered. "Where judgment shall be passed upon the world."
My breath caught in my throat.
I knew this place.
Above us—far beyond the gates—stood the throne spoken of in ancient texts. A throne of gold and sacred jewels, prepared not for kings or emperors, but for the Son of God himself.
This was not merely a church.
It was a waiting ground for heaven.
And marriage here—
My legs felt weak.
No ruler in history had ever been granted such a privilege. Not kings. Not saints. Not even those who claimed divine favor.
And yet… us?
Tears slipped from my eyes without warning. I didn't even realize I was crying until my vision blurred. My heart pounded painfully against my ribs, overwhelmed by something too large to name.
I looked at Erza.
She stood frozen, her expression caught between shock and disbelief, her usual composure shattered for the first time since we arrived.
Elena stared wide-eyed, not fully understanding—but sensing the weight of the moment.
Even Grandpa was silent.
Then Father Nelson spoke again.
"But," he said gently, "before that, I must speak with you alone."
The word struck me harder than anything else.
"…Alone?" I asked.
"Yes," he replied, his gaze unwavering. "I must ensure that you are truly worthy of this marriage."
His voice lowered.
"There is more to you than you realize," he continued. "More than you understand about yourself. I need to confirm what lies within you—so that I may be certain my decision is not a mistake."
A chill ran through my spine.
"What do you mean?" I asked quietly.
Father Nelson looked at me then—not with fear like the guards, but not with warmth either.
It was the look of a man standing at the edge of a truth he could not yet name.
And for the first time since meeting him, his eyes held doubt.
To be continued.