TWD - Chapter 554: Does the God You Believe In Really Exist? (Patreon)

“I do.”

The Pope narrowed his eyes slightly. “Go on.”

Victor took a deep breath and turned to look at the crowd of Reapers.

“Listen, everyone.” His voice was weak but firm. “I know you’re scared, too.”

A few faces in the crowd changed.

“You’re afraid of dying. Afraid of pain. Afraid that any day now, you might be the ones tied up and burned alive.”

Xavier frowned. He wanted to interrupt, but the Pope raised a hand to stop him, curious to hear what else Victor had to say.

Victor continued, “I’m afraid, too. I’ve always been afraid. But then I met someone.”

His eyes brightened a little. “A priest. He told me the Lord commanded us to love our neighbors as ourselves. Not to kill, but to love.”

The Pope’s expression changed.

“He told me about a place called Rock Fortress. They have electricity, water, and food. You don’t have to live in fear there. You don’t have to keep killing people.”

His voice grew weaker, but every word seemed to sink deep into the crowd. “I want to take you there. I want all of you to survive. To really live!”

The crowd fell deathly silent. Cyrus stood among them with his fists clenched, watching some lower their heads while others exchanged glances.

The Pope stood there, motionless. He gave Victor a pitying smile and spoke gently, as though coaxing a child who didn’t know any better. “Victor, do you really think what you’ve seen is real?”

Victor stared him down.

“That so-called Rock Fortress, that so-called priest, those so-called living people.” The Pope stepped forward. “Do you know what they really are?”

Victor said nothing.

The Pope said coldly, “They are false gods, creations of Satan, traps designed to deceive lost sheep like you!”

His voice rose until he was almost shouting. “They make you believe you can be saved without suffering!

“They make you believe you can live without shedding blood!

“They make you believe the Lord is love, not punishment!

“Those are all lies!”

The accusation struck the crowd like a thunderclap.

“The Lord is fire! The Lord is judgment! The Lord is purification!” The Pope stretched out his hand in agitation, pointing at the pit of fire. “Only those baptized by fire are the chosen ones! Only those who have been burned by fire can be saved!”

Fanaticism blazed in the Pope’s eyes. “You! Every last one of you! The flames have chosen you! You suffer, bleed, kill, and burn here for the glory of the Lord!”

He turned to Victor. “A servant of that false god has led you astray.”

The Pope narrowed his eyes, his voice softening again. “But the Lord is merciful. He is giving you another chance. Tell us where that place is. Tell us where to find those who deceived you. Then return to us and accept purification.”

Victor shook his head. “I won’t say a word. They’re good people. They came to save lives, not to take them.”

He turned and looked at the crowd. “If you want to go, follow me. If you don’t, then I’ll go alone!”

The Pope’s expression hardened. He stepped back. “Fine. Fine! Then you can make that journey alone!”

He raised his hand. “Tie him up!”

Xavier and another man rushed forward, dragging Victor to his feet and binding his hands behind his back to an iron post.

The rope cut into his flesh, leaving bloody gashes. Victor kept his head down, gasping for breath.

The Pope walked up to him, his calmness terrifying. “One last question. Where are those people?”

Victor looked at him, then grinned, baring his teeth. “I’m not telling you!”

The Pope’s face turned ashen with rage. He waved his hand dismissively. “Light the fire.”

A stir ran through the crowd. Someone took a step forward, as if to speak, but then retreated. Mika went deathly pale. His lips trembled, and when he tried to step forward, Samuel caught him by the arm.

Most of the others simply stood there watching.

Cyrus stood in the crowd, his hands clenched into fists, his fingernails digging into his flesh. Blood seeped through the gaps between his fingers, but he felt no pain.

Why weren’t they coming yet?

The flames leapt higher. Victor could already feel the searing heat rising behind him from the iron post.

He raised his head to the sky and recited, “...Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me... Your rod and your staff, they comfort me...”

The Pope watched impassively, while the priest beside him stood deep in thought.

Cyrus stood motionless among the crowd, waiting for a miracle.

The flames were already licking at Victor’s feet, yet his voice continued: “…You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies…”

Suddenly, a scream rang out from the distance.

Xavier spun around sharply, looking toward the source of the sound. “What’s going on?!”

On the watchtower, a sentry stood at the top, hands braced against the railing, his face turned toward the ruins in the distance.

He opened his mouth and screamed again. “Walkers! Walkers! They’re everywhere!”

Then the sentry scrambled down, stumbling as he ran down the ladder and nearly slipping several times. His eyes were bulging out of their sockets, and he looked as if he’d seen a ghost.

He reached the base of the tower, his legs gave out, and he collapsed to his knees. “Xavier! Xavier!”

Xavier rushed over and grabbed him by the collar. “What the hell are you talking about?!”

The sentry raised a finger and pointed into the distance. Xavier followed the direction of his finger, and his expression changed.

In the distance, at the edge of the ruins, something was moving.

Not a handful. Not even dozens. An enormous black tide of walkers was pouring in from every direction.

The Pope’s expression also changed. He turned to look at Victor, who was still reciting a prayer: “You anoint my head with oil. My cup overflows…”

The Pope clenched his teeth. “Damn it, deal with the walkers first!”

Xavier led his men toward the wall, and more and more people followed, like startled ants, rapidly gathering in the direction of the wall.

Gunfire erupted in response, growing denser and louder by the moment.

Only the Pope, the priest, Cyrus, and Victor, still tied to the iron post, remained beside the fire pit.

In addition, there were a few die-hard Reapers standing around the Pope.

They stood helplessly, looking between the approaching walker horde and the Pope, uncertain whether to run or stay and protect him and the priest.

A deafening roar reached Cyrus, as though thousands of feet were pounding the ground at once. It was as if the gates of hell had opened.

So this was the “solution” Calista had mentioned. He was finally witnessing a miracle!

The black tide in the distance grew clearer and clearer.

Those twisted figures seemed to be drawn by some force, surging out from the ruins in all directions and flooding toward the shipyard.

Cyrus heard someone shout:

“There are too many! We can’t take them all!”

“Jesus Christ! Where the hell did these things come from?!”

“Xavier! Xavier! What do we do?!”

Xavier’s voice was hoarse and furious: “Shoot! Shoot them! Keep shooting until they’re all dead!”

The gunfire intensified, but the walkers kept coming.

Cyrus stood where he was, staring at the tide of walkers.

He heard the Pope’s voice behind him: “Interesting.”

Cyrus spun around abruptly. The Pope was staring at the tide of walkers in the distance, a strange expression on his face.

“Interesting,” he repeated, then turned to Victor. “Victor, is this what you’ve been waiting for?”

Victor slowly raised his head. “Yes.”

The Pope walked toward the wall. After a few steps, he glanced back at Victor. “We’ll continue once those things are dealt with.”

He left, taking the guards with him.

By the fire pit, only Victor, Cyrus, and the priest remained.

Cyrus rushed over, ignoring the stunned priest, and quickly untied the ropes.

Victor, his eyes swollen, looked at Cyrus. “Cyrus, don’t worry about me. You need to get out of here.”

Cyrus didn’t stop. “I’m not leaving you behind.”

The ropes were finally cut. Victor’s body lurched forward, and he nearly fell, but Cyrus caught him and led him away from the fire pit. “Let’s go!”

The situation at the wall was deteriorating. The Reapers were fierce fighters, but they were hopelessly outnumbered and running low on ammunition. Once it was gone, they would have nothing left but their bayonets.

“There are too many of them!” someone shouted. “We can’t take them all on! We have to retreat!”

At that moment, the Pope raised his hands. His voice was high-pitched, cutting through the gunfire and roars: “The Lord is testing us! This is the trial the Lord has given us!”

The crowd settled down slightly.

The Pope stood by the wall, spreading his arms wide in the posture of Jesus on the cross. “The Lord is watching! The Lord is waiting! Waiting for us to prove our faith!”

Some began to shout, “Amen!”

Then more joined in: “Amen!”

The fear remained, but within that fear, a touch of fervor had emerged.

The next moment, a deep, gentle voice rang out, carrying a strange magnetism. The voice came from the pile of scrap metal beside the fire pit, as if speaking directly into everyone’s ear,

“Does the Lord you believe in really exist?”

...

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