Chapter 161. The Diocese of Silence (3)
"Hmm-hmm-hm."
Glory of the Dead, White Bones Viola.
Using Invisibility, she hummed a tune as she flew through the sky. When her gaze shifted slightly downward, a vast field of blackened, dead grass stretched endlessly beneath her.
It was the nightmare wrought by the 7th-tier magic
Viola smirked.
"Pretty."
All life had vanished, leaving behind only death.
Unfortunately, there were no powerful Undead such as Wailing Knights or Elder Liches, only lesser kinds, so they would not last long.
At best, perhaps two to three thousand corpses.
Still, the sheer fact that thousands of Undead had been created at once was overwhelming enough to be worthy of 7th-tier magic.
"Ah, but it's annoying. I was planning to kill all those hypocrites in the diocese."
Viola had been infiltrating the diocese for the past two months, and the stress was immense.
Wearing the mask of a priest and praying to the God of Light, Luas, made her sick just to think about.
Though she had vented her frustration by toying with the traitor Warrens, after repeating it for several days, it had grown unbearably dull.
It was when she had reached her limit that new orders came down.
Due to a large-scale Undead outbreak, most of the diocese's forces had been dispatched south of the Kingdom.
Just as Nosa's plan dictated, the diocese was at its weakest. All Viola had to do was assassinate a bishop, take their identity, and seize the Orb of the Undead.
But of course, she was not satisfied with that alone.
'After all I've suffered, I deserve at least some reward, don't I?'
So Viola had made her own plan.
Before leaving, she intended to slaughter every hypocrite left in the diocese. But one bishop, staking his life in desperate resistance, had prevented her plan from fully succeeding.
Facing multiple bishops head-on without taking wounds was impossible. If she were injured, it could compromise the transport of the Orb of the Undead.
For the sake of Glory of the Dead, Viola sacrificed her own pleasure.
Still, upon reflection, it wasn't so bad.
For the hypocrites, missing the chance to catch the butcher right before their eyes would only fuel their rage.
"Ah, but it's a shame I won't get to see the paladins' reactions."
When they returned after tirelessly subjugating Undead, only to find the people they knew all gone—what would their faces look like?
Despair, or fury.
Hilarious.
The scriptures of the Church of Luas stated that life was the process of washing away filth.
Those who failed to wash away filth, who were tainted by evil, would never be saved, while those cleansed would join the side of the God of Light, Luas.
If that were true, why cling to life so desperately? They'd all meet Luas anyway, once they were dead.
Such contradictions.
"Come to think of it, I wonder. Will Luas accept hypocrites stained in blood as clean?"
Cackle, cackle, cackle.
Viola laughed at the Church of Luas as she quickened her speed.
With the Orb of the Undead in hand, she flew toward the place agreed upon with Nosa.
***
The diocese established in the Kingdom of Estiria resembled a small fortress-city.
Those who lived inside were priests, paladins, and apprentice believers of the Church of Luas. Ordinary civilians were not allowed residence, so the population barely exceeded the low hundreds.
Still, taking the diocese by force was no easy matter.
A holy barrier constantly protected the diocese, and the paladins, trained to the highest degree, were stronger than most knights.
Moreover, the Church of Luas was a world religion.
Even if war broke out between nations, none would dare harm the diocese. Any sane person would never choose enmity with a world religion.
Thus, the massacre that befell the diocese was almost impossible to believe.
"Th-the diocese…"
Gloss stared blankly at the streets.
Just days ago, the place had been filled with liveliness and devotion.
Now, before his eyes, instead of smiling believers, corpses lay scattered everywhere.
Each body lay in a small pool of blood, utterly devoid of life.
Slowly stepping forward, Gloss knelt, and gently lifted a fallen corpse.
An apprentice priest, Bel.
A man with whom he had exchanged farewells only thirteen days ago before leaving the diocese.
The others were the same.
They were people Gloss had lived alongside during his years stationed at the diocese.
Gloss lowered his head, offering a prayer for the repose of the dead.
"…May the light of Luas reach you."
Then, he reached out and closed Bel's lifeless eyes.
The paladins clenched their teeth, silently echoing Gloss's prayer in their own hearts.
Meanwhile, Verden and Calia's group examined the bodies. There might yet be survivors.
But tragically, none still drew breath.
And there arose a troubling question.
All the believers of the Church of Luas had died of excessive bleeding. Yet there were no external wounds at all. Not the faintest trace of weapons, or torn clothing.
'The bodies are unmarked, but the bleeding is severe. Doesn't look like poison either… hm?'
Verden's eyes stopped on the body of an elderly priest.
Something pale and white jutted out of his abdomen, the flesh around it stained crimson. A wound pierced from the inside out. Clearly the direct cause of death.
Upon closer inspection, the object protruding from the priest's belly was none other than a bone.
There existed black magic dealing with corpses, with skeletons.
So this had to be black magic as well. Yet he had never heard of a spell that implanted bones inside so many bodies and triggered a massacre all at once.
'Could it have been a Magus?'
It was a reasonable guess.
Perhaps some 5th-tier or higher black magic he had never heard of. Or perhaps the power of an artifact.
Whatever the case, it was dangerous.
It meant someone had secretly planted black magic in the very priests of the diocese and detonated it from within.
At that moment, Gloss rose to his feet.
He looked down at Bel's body one last time, and clenched his fist.
"…Honestly, I didn't believe it."
That Bishop Neviron had allied with an evil black mage. He had thought it an absurd presumption, even with circumstantial evidence.
The handwriting on the letters could have been forged, and confidential information known only to bishops and himself could have leaked for other reasons.
But seeing this carnage at the diocese, there could be no more doubt.
The priests and paladins had departed with the main force, and the massacre had occurred from within without any trace of outside invasion. Without a bishop's involvement, such a thing was impossible.
And the common link was Bishop Neviron.
Whether or not the killer was Neviron himself.
Gloss put aside past memories and resolved to see it with his own eyes.
Therefore—
"I will lead the way."
Shhhk.
Gloss drew his sword and stepped forward.
Their destination, the fortress-church at the heart of the diocese.
There, the Orb of the Undead was being purified.
In silence, all followed Gloss, treading through the Diocese of Silence.
***
The deeper they went, the fewer bodies they found.
Whether this was good or bad, no one knew. Tension sharpened as they quickened their pace toward the fortress-church.
At last, they reached the plaza before the church.
"…!"
The scene differed from before.
At the plaza's center, the statue of the holy cross lay shattered into pieces.
The ground was scarred and cracked, parts of buildings had collapsed entirely, whole floors blown away. Undeniable signs of battle.
Even the gates of the fortress-church were nearly torn apart.
It was as though a war had broken out here.
Clouds veiled the sunlight, shadows darkening the ruined diocese into utter gloom.
But there was still hope.
At the peak of the fortress-church, a luminous figure floated, sweeping away the shadows.
Its warm light caressed their skin.
Gloss and the paladins raised their eyes wide.
"That being…!"
Stern Guardian.
A servant of Luas, one who blocks encroaching darkness, a being that can only be summoned by a bishop of high rank or above. Not only did it possess formidable combat power, but it also constantly performed miracles of healing within its range, weakening and dispelling curses and deathly miasma, a guardian of light.
But what mattered most at this moment was this—
The fact that it still remained meant its summoner was still alive.
The Stern Guardian turned its gaze toward the group.
Then the light dispersed, and the Guardian vanished. Everyone understood without explanation what that meant.
At once, they all rushed toward the fortress-church.
Crossing the marble floor, they entered the main hall, where warm radiance welcomed them.
The clouds passed, sunlight once again streaming down through the stained glass ceiling.
The massive holy cross adorning the wall glowed golden, that light falling upon the statue of Luas standing just below.
A stone figure, draped fully in a robe that covered even the face.
Whether male or female, even the shape of the visage was unknown. Yet since ancient times it had been regarded as a goddess, the basis being the two slender arms extending from the robe, supporting her form.
A statue standing beneath the brilliant sun.
For all but Verden, who did not follow the Church of Luas, simply gazing upon it seemed to stir reverence and piety deep within their hearts.
And before that statue of Luas lay dozens of people.
Each of them garbed in the attire of the Church of Luas, their chests rising and falling faintly. Survivors of the diocese, without doubt.
Among them was an old man, leaning against the statue, bathed in sunlight.
The very one who had summoned the Stern Guardian.
Upon seeing him, Gloss cried out.
"Bishop Ronanderk!"
At his voice, the old man turned his head with effort.
"Gloss… I am glad you came earlier than expected."
As proof of his sincerity—
Tears welled in Bishop Ronanderk's eyes and fell.
***
Those who bore holy power naturally wielded the miracle of healing.
Of course, the paladins were no exception. They examined the survivors lying there, tending to their conditions, while the White Crest knights assisted them in relief.
Calia, Vespa, Verden.
And Bishop Ronanderk, Gloss, Kelsia—these six gathered in a small chamber within the main hall to speak.
"Bishop Ronanderk, what in the world happened here in the diocese?"
"What happened… Before I answer, let me ask you something. What of the Undead crisis?"
"I will explain."
Calia stepped forward and recounted briefly.
Bishop Neviron's false letter.
The trap at the mausoleum.
And their journey here to the diocese.
After hearing, Bishop Ronanderk groaned.
"Bishop Neviron, as I thought, he seems to be the cause of this calamity."
"Then that means the events here as well…"
"But it was not the Bishop Neviron we once knew who carried out such atrocities."
"What? What do you mean by that?"
To their questions, the bishop spoke of the massacre that had occurred.
"After dispatching forces to the kingdom's south, we four bishops sought a way to purify the Orb of the Undead. We already knew it was impossible with our strength alone, but we could not simply abandon it. Then Bishop Neviron proposed an idea—use the knowledge of the black mage Warrens of DarkWarton, to reinterpret the Orb of the Undead."
A collaboration of black mage and priest.
Unimaginable, yet because it had never been attempted, perhaps worth trying. Warrens's health had recovered somewhat as well.
Failure would cost nothing, so they had agreed to attempt it.
All the bishops consented.
"Since it was Bishop Neviron's suggestion, the process was left under his lead."
In a secret chamber of the fortress-church.
They encircled the Orb under his instructions, each suppressing its malice with their holy power.
And in the instant they were distracted, waiting for Neviron's direction—suddenly, they all sensed mana.
Not from Warrens, but from Bishop Neviron himself.
"Then Warrens suddenly pulled a dagger from his robes and stabbed it into Bishop Vaidelr's back."
The suddenness threw the bishops into confusion.
Their attention, drawn to the dagger piercing Bishop Vaidelr, slipped from the mana sensed in Neviron.
Too late.
Shhk.
From Bishop Neviron's hand, a bone-needle shot forth, piercing Bishop Feldarn's brow. No matter how high a bishop's miracles, in the end, they were only human.
Instant death.
—Plan successful, eh?
Recalling the scene, Bishop Ronanderk trembled.
"From Bishop Neviron's mouth came a chilling woman's voice. At that moment, I realized. That was not Neviron, but a black mage wearing his shell."
"A woman?"
A memory flickered through Verden's mind.
Warrens had once said—the leadership of Glory of the Dead consisted of one woman, and one old man.
To use unknown magic to wear a bishop's skin and infiltrate the diocese—this had to be one of them.
Bishop Ronanderk swallowed hard and continued.
"A battle erupted, and only I unwounded, with Bishop Vaidelr injured, resisted together. But the woman was strong, and her purpose was not merely to kill bishops. Did you see the believers outside?"
Verden answered.
"I saw bones erupting from their abdomens, piercing their organs."
"She herself said it. That she had slipped her bone-dust into meals, little by little, unnoticed. And when the unholy mana spread, screams rose throughout the diocese."
The dust within their organs had clustered, tearing them apart from within.
Even the bishops were no exception. Their abdomens writhed with indescribable agony.
But they did not die.
Because the bones created by her magic counted as a curse, suppressible and removable by holy power.
Realizing this, Bishop Ronanderk entrusted Bishop Vaidelr to buy time, and succeeded in summoning the Stern Guardian.
"Perhaps realizing the tide had turned, she fled. Bishop Vaidelr, having exerted too much, collapsed grievously wounded. I have stayed awake, fearing her return at any moment. But fortunately, you, Gloss, arrived first."
Bishop Ronanderk lowered his head, tears dripping from his eyes.
"I am sorry. I failed not only to protect the Orb of the Undead, but the people of the diocese as well."
"It is not your fault."
"No, it is. Had I captured her, at least we could have prevented this before it began. Now… there is nothing I can do."
He spoke truth.
The Orb of the Undead was stolen.
Glory of the Dead had vanished without a trace.
The devastation to the diocese and the kingdom's south was beyond imagination.
Even if they wished to pursue, there was not a clue.
All they could do was tremble, waiting to see what atrocities Glory of the Dead would commit with the Orb.
Then, Verden asked,
"What of Warrens?"
"Warrens is…"
Bishop Ronanderk wiped his tears and pointed beyond the door.
"There, in the corner. But his condition is grave. Even with the Stern Guardian's powers, he could not be healed. No matter what we tried, nothing worked."
"Excuse me a moment."
Verden stepped outside, seeking Warrens.
There he lay, staring blankly into the void, soulless. Verden ignored it, checking his body.
Around the heart, and the head.
'…As I thought.'
Soon, Verden found it, hidden within Warrens's hair.
A black magic circle etched with mana, designed to manipulate the mind.
A clue infused with the very power of the killer.