"This world should not permit the notion that merely refusing to believe in the Lord is cause enough for censure, condemnation, and punishment."
"Caubac. Though you are a Dead Apostle, you have served the Church since the days of Pope Novia, and you were even one of the compilers of the Holy Scripture. As long as you remain obedient, your sins may yet be pardoned."
"...And Mabel? That woman has not shown herself since the Millennial City. Where is she? What is she doing now?!"
"Our Lord has declared: from this day forth, those who deny Him shall be defined as Dead Apostles in human form. Thus, to suppress, persecute, or slaughter them is not in violation of Church doctrine."
"You are all utterly mad..."
"So you remain obstinate. Very well. I hereby declare: Caubac Alcatraz—spy of the Dead Apostles who infiltrated the Church for decades, thief who sought to steal the Holy Scripture, demon to be purged by the Church, the Burial Agency, and the Order of Heretical Knights alike. You are now entered into the Eighth Sacrament's kill-list. Men, strike him down."
The Church's blades turned toward him. Yet Caubac did not resist. He simply lifted his gaze to the figure above. Though he knew the past was long gone, he still narrowed his eyes in a devout reverence.
"There are many forms of sin. To deceive others. To ensnare others. To envy others. To steal away life. All of these are evils borne by mankind alone—poisons that afflict only humanity. And yet... this one is the oldest of sins: the crime of rejecting Revelation."
Within the sacred hall, now plunged into blackness, the marble effigy smiled. Bathed in a shaft of eternal sunlight, it shone with a pale silvery radiance.
"One day, prayers will turn into cries of summoning. Your sins shall be recorded in full detail. All of you—remember. Do not forget."
At his words, the assembled clergy fell into a troubled silence, as if perplexed.
Caubac's heart ached. He had spoken nothing but the simplest truths—yet confusion was all they showed. These were words they should have learned by heart in their catechism.
"That, too, is one of your greatest sins. And one of your few salvations. It bears a name—"
The weight of memory seized him. Hope for the future flickered anew, and Caubac returned to himself.
Before him stood a silver-haired man, smiling. For a moment he doubted his own eyes. Could he have mistaken him? But no—the thought was cast away almost immediately.
This man was truly here. Standing before him.
"—Novia."
"It has been hard on you, Caubac."
"Caubac, what's wrong with you? Why do you suddenly look like you're about to weep, like when our teacher ascended to the heavens—"
The Marshal of Magecraft—Kischur—was at a loss seeing his junior's tears. But before he could finish speaking, a sudden sound rang out. Chains lashed through the air, striking and binding him before he could react.
On the surface they seemed ordinary, but in truth they were restraints upon the spirit itself.
"Kischur, you're as tough as iron, and you've lived far too long. This won't do you any harm."
"What? Don't tell me you're still holding a grudge over that bottle of wine I swindled from you eight hundred years ago? Easy now! Don't tie them so tight!"
"Be at ease. There is no longer any danger... this one can no longer move."
Ignoring the Marshal's protests, Caubac turned to Avia instead.
"Kischur. How do you rate Crimson Moon's strength?"
Avia's voice was calm, tranquil.
"Oh? The King of the Moon? Without the planet's support, she cannot possibly be my equal—even if I could no longer call upon the Second Magic."
"You really dare say that."
Caubac muttered under his breath. Kischur pretended not to hear, his expression unchanging as he locked eyes with the silver-haired youth.
From his junior's sudden change of demeanor—and the name he had just spoken—the old Marshal pieced everything together instantly.
This man. Avia. Without a doubt, he was Novia, the one who had united the faithful in the first century and founded the Holy Church itself...
Kischur's curiosity stirred. He had long assumed such a man would have departed this world, just as their teacher had. Yet here he stood again, returning to confront the Church. Perhaps it was only fitting—after all, it was because of him that the Church had grown so powerful.
"Then the matter is simple. If Crimson Moon intends to revive through the one she deems a 'failure'—Arcueid's sister Altrouge—then we need only unite and destroy her once more. She is a calamity. Leaving her be benefits no one. It is best for all if we resolve it quickly."
Avia's lips carried a smile. His tone was as gentle as it had been in the past. And yet, to Kischur, there was an inexplicable weight beneath it.
Dare he truly suggest it? That they unite once more? As though it were still the age three centuries past, when Dead Apostles, True Ancestors, and magi had gathered as one to strike down Crimson Moon? Even now, when Dead Apostles, True Ancestors, and his own mages were still locked in battle just outside?
The old Marshal scoffed inwardly... but then reconsidered.
It was true. Altrouge was no perfected being like Arcueid yet to be born, and in this age she could not wield the planet's full blessing through her vessel. The more he thought on it, the more sound it seemed.
Perhaps that was why his voice suddenly grew more animated:
"Still, Van-Fem is manageable. But White Wing Lord—like his brother the Black Wing—was a loyal servant of Crimson Moon. Weak though he may be, he's an irritant once he stirs up trouble."
"I've already sent the Black and White Knights, along with Cathie, to intercept him. If they can kill him, all the better. In any case, the true leader of the Dead Apostles is Altrouge. Van-Fem has already given his approval."
"Ha! Those three obey you so readily? Each of them is utterly devoted to Altrouge—hardly anyone else could move them. Black Wing, White Wing, the twin Knights... Well, well. Perhaps I was right to send little Rougie to Britain all those years ago."
"Kischur. I know your temperament, but this is not the time. Be serious."
"Yes, yes. But really, at my age, could you loosen these chains a bit? They're terribly uncomfortable."
His words were frivolous, but his gaze remained fixed on Avia. The silver-haired man, however, kept his eyes upon the gate ahead, answering casually:
"I do not know. I have never thought about it."
"Is that so... Well then, I think now is the time to start. Perhaps you'll come upon something splendid. Something truly entertaining."
Avia smiled faintly.
"Perhaps."
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