#752 (Patreon)

God’s Will (3)

“It’s been a while, Ms. Paladin.”

Oliver, holding a small sun in his burned right hand, greeted her as he walked through the deep darkness.

“······.”

Embarrassingly, Joanna couldn’t respond to his greeting and just stared at him blankly.

Seeing Oliver’s face brought a whirlwind of emotions within her.

The first emotions she felt were relief and joy.

In a desperate crisis, seeing Oliver gave her relief and joy because he was someone who always resolved any danger that arose.

But soon after, a feeling of disgust followed. It was directed at her weak self, who was about to rely on him again, despite all the sacrifices he had already made.

Even after absorbing the holy blood, this was the best she could manage.

She hated herself so much that she wanted to end it all. However, she couldn’t just yet.

There was something she had to tell him.

That he needed to leave this place. He really had to leave.

Just as Joanna was about to speak, overwhelmed by a mix of disgust, fear, and concern,

“It’s okay.”

Oliver spoke a beat quicker.

He said it was okay. That she didn’t need to worry.

“······.”

Joanna still couldn’t respond.

Perhaps it was because of the sun he held in his hand—it was simply too dazzling.

“Please wait a moment.”

Oliver asked for her understanding as he slightly raised the arm holding the sun.

Surprisingly, the right arm that created the small sun was so badly burned that just looking at it was painful.

It seemed as though it might break with just a little pressure.

As if to confirm this, Oliver gently lowered the arm, then suddenly swung it, throwing the small sun high into the sky.

Fwoosh—!

The small sun soared into the sky, and when it reached its peak, it grew, spitting out the darkness that had swallowed the world.

Remarkably, the white sun Oliver created emitted a vast amount of light, enough to dispel the ninth omen, yet it wasn’t hot or blinding.

It was simply bright and warm, illuminating the ground and the people on it.

“Shadow.”

Oliver called out to his shadow.

The shadow responded by opening multiple eyes and extending sideways to encircle the burnt-down royal palace.

An infinitely expanding band of shadow.

In that state, Oliver forcibly opened the wound on his left hand, grasped his quarterstaff, and placed it on the sprawling shadow.

Snap!

Oliver’s red blood flowed down the quarterstaff and seeped into the shadow.

At that moment— 

Fwoosh!

Flames rose once again from the buildings of the capital and the royal palace, now reduced to ash.

Kwahahahahaha────!!!

Hellish flames, blending shades of yellow, orange, and crimson, roared violently, as if they didn’t belong to this world.

Crack······.

A sound of something cracking could be heard from somewhere.

The hellish flames, with their overwhelming heat capable of distorting space, were attempting to burn and shatter the fabric of reality.

As vibrations, distinct from those of an earthquake, reverberated all around, Oliver spoke calmly.

“Old man on horseback. Help me.”

Oliver called upon a demon.

At that moment, the rattling sound of chains echoed from deep below, and countless arms emerged from beneath Oliver’s shadow.

[Ah······!]

With groans of pain, the arms surfaced, each bound with chains around their wrists, bearing marks of prolonged torment and starvation.

Joanna, upon seeing those arms, instinctively understood.

The owners of those arms were slaves of the old man on horseback, one of the 72 demons who ruled Hell.

[Ahhhhh········!!]

The slaves, groaning in even greater agony than before, began to gather around Oliver’s quarterstaff.

The arms moved rhythmically, almost dancing, repeating a specific gesture as if in worship.

Then, Oliver’s shadow, in contact with the quarterstaff, climbed upward following the trail of blood flowing along it and transformed into a massive scythe made of shadows.

The same Oliver who had created the sacred white sun now wielded a blasphemous scythe of Hell.

No one knew how to react to this contradictory scene.

Kwahahahaha──── Snap!

The deafening roar of flames, which had been scorching not just the air but the very fabric of space, suddenly ceased, and all the fires in the capital began to make an inexplicable sound as they were sucked into the royal palace.

Whooo······.

A deep inhalation sound came from the flames within the palace, which had absorbed all the fires of the capital.

Screech!

Oliver lifted the scythe borrowed from the old man on horseback high into the air.

Hoo.

As the flames in the royal palace exhaled, a massive wave of fire connected the ground and sky, surging outward in all directions.

Oliver walked toward the approaching wave of flames, raising the scythe high above his head.

Slash──!

He brought it down with a swift strike.

The flames, which had been set to bring death to every firstborn, seemed to split in two and, as if losing their vitality, were unable to cross the shadowy barrier that Oliver had cast and eventually dissipated.

In the place where the enormous wave of fire had subsided, a majestic column of smoke rose high into the sky.

Before that smoke stood Oliver.

“Cough······!”

Oliver coughed heavily, and upon closer look, smoke was rising from his body.

It was only natural—he had confronted a wave of fire that reached from the ground to the heavens head-on.

Smoke rose from Oliver’s body as if he had been burned, and he staggered as Joanna, alarmed, tried to rush to him.

Clap. Clap. Clap.

The sound of applause echoed through the majestic smoke as someone emerged.

It was Burnt One.

He stepped forward, appearing before Oliver, emerging from the ashes of the royal palace, which had been completely consumed and collapsed into ruins.

[It has been a while, noble one.]

Amidst the smoke rising from the center of the capital, Burnt One emerged from the ashen ruins of the royal palace and greeted them.

Everyone froze at his appearance—Joanna, the Paladins, and even the citizens who hadn’t managed to escape.

Only Oliver remained calm as he greeted him.

“It has been a while for me too, Burned One. You look a bit different from the last time I saw you.”

He spoke in a friendly tone, as if meeting an old acquaintance. However, despite his tone, Oliver’s words were accurate.

Burnt One, who had descended upon the capital of the kingdom, looked quite different from the last time they met in the New World.

When he appeared in the New World, he had looked like charred firewood, utterly burned and brittle.

He was emaciated and cracked, like wood that had nothing left to burn.

But now, it was different.

Though his blackened skin was still split as if struck by lightning, his body was robust, resembling that of a well-trained man.

Beneath the skin that resembled charred wood, there was a vitality akin to flames burning brightly.

The most significant change, however, was the ring of fire slowly rotating above his head.

It was the power bestowed upon him by God.

The coexistence of profanity and divinity in his appearance made Oliver describe him as having changed “a bit.”

Burnt One responded.

[You have changed as well, noble one.]

“Is that a compliment?”

Oliver joked lightly, adding a touch of humor.

Compared to before, his transformation was remarkable.

Burnt One gazed intently at the transformed Oliver.

[Yes, it is a compliment, noble one.]

“Thank you. I do enjoy compliments. You’re quite kind. Though, I’d be even happier if you didn’t call me ‘noble one’ at the end of every sentence. What do you think?”

[However, there is something about you that has not changed. What a waste. You’ve used something that could only be borrowed once.]

Something that could only be borrowed once—Oliver wasn’t sure what he meant, but he soon understood.

The scythe of shadows surrounding the quarterstaff began to melt away and disappear.

The powerful weapon that had blocked the final, tenth omen was vanishing at the moment it was most needed.

[If you intended to stand before me, you should not have used it now.]

“It’s a matter of perspective. I thought this was the moment when it was most needed, so I used it without regret. Regardless, thank you for your concern. You truly are kind.”

[······.]

“Since you’ve been kind twice, could I ask you to show kindness just one more time? Let’s make it three, shall we?”

[Speak your request.]

“Could you let those people go as well?”

Oliver gestured toward Joanna and the Paladins behind her, as well as the people in the capital who hadn’t managed to evacuate.

[There seem to be too many to simply let them go.]

“Isn’t that a matter of perspective? They’ve been working hard to evacuate, so there aren’t as many as there were at first.”

[Who do you claim has evacuated?]

“What?”

As Oliver tried to respond, Burnt One flicked his fingers.

At his gesture, flames rose again from the ashen remains of buildings where fires had previously burned.

Fwoosh.

And it wasn’t just the buildings.

A massive wall of fire emerged on the outskirts of the capital, stretching beyond the horizon, isolating the city.

Moments later, a colossal burst of flames swept across the entire capital.

Fwoooooosh────!!

The scale was absurdly overwhelming, almost unreasonable. Yet, oddly, none of the few people swept up by the flames turned to ash or disappeared.

In fact, the opposite happened.

When the flames passed, countless people stood in place, their faces frozen in shock.

“······.”

They were the evacuated citizens of the capital and those who had helped them—the Kel Liberation Army, the Anti-Development Committee, the Fighter Crew, and the Chosen ones.

Those who had desperately escaped through the path of flames Oliver had opened during the descent of doom had now been forcibly returned to the capital.

All their efforts up until now had been rendered meaningless.

The people, believing they had escaped from hell, were thrown back into it. They all wore expressions of indignation and directed their resentful gazes toward Oliver.

“I made a mistake. I shouldn’t have used flames as a medium for escape.”

Amid the multitude of accusing stares and the futility of their efforts, Oliver calmly analyzed the situation.

He deduced that using spatial magic linked to flames, amidst the descent of Burnt One—king of fire and darkness—had caused the problem.

Those who left through fire had returned through fire.

[An interesting hypothesis, but incorrect. Their return to this land is not due to my power but to the natural order of things.]

“Natural order?”

[My descent is neither a disaster nor a calamity but a punishment for sins that have exceeded all bounds and reached the heavens. A punishment permitted by God.]

“······.”

[In the case of disasters or calamities, escape is possible. But punishment cannot be escaped.]

A murmur of unease began to ripple through the people who had been returned to the capital.

All of them looked bewildered, unsure of what to make of the situation.

It was understandable.

In just one day, they had faced the crown prince’s attempt to sacrifice them, encountered surreal omens, received aid from the Kel Liberation Army—whom they considered enemies—and evacuated to a safe place.

Their understanding of the world had been flipped upside down two or three times in a single day.

And now, just when they thought they were finally safe, they had been swept up in flames and returned to where they started.

Here, they faced an otherworldly being—Burnt One—and were told this was not a calamity but divine punishment.  

That, too, permitted by God. It was an utterly unacceptable story.

[You seem to feel wronged.]

Burnt One looked at the many people standing behind Oliver and asked.

[You all wear the expression of ‘What sin have we committed?’]

Just as when he had descended upon the New World, Burnt One could see straight into people's hearts.

[It’s the same with everyone. Like a script, their reactions are all identical.]

No one could respond to Burnt One’s words. They simply breathed, unable to refute him, though they wanted to.

[You only resent my descent, but you don’t even think about why I descended. Then again, if you were capable of such thought, I wouldn’t have needed to come here in the first place.]

Overwhelmed by his presence and the power imbued in his words, no one dared to speak.

[Just as fire requires wood to burn, my descent requires the fuel of sin. So don’t misunderstand. It’s not that I came to find you. You called me here.]

The citizens of the capital still said nothing, but in the depths of their hearts, they protested their innocence.

Burnt One, reading their emotions, smiled bitterly and spoke again.

[Are you curious? Do you want to know what sins you’ve committed? If you wish, I can show you.]

As his words ended, shapes resembling human figures began to crawl out of the majestic smoke that still lingered.

They were children sculpted from ash.

These were the countless orphans sacrificed at the hands of frenzied citizens during the chaos that gripped the city.

“······!”

Faced with their sins, the citizens screamed silently.

[It hurts! It hurts!!]

[It wasn’t me! I swear!]

[We were just nearby. Please believe me!]

[Mommy… I want my mommy!]

[At least spare my little brother! I did it, so please······.]

The ghastly ash-formed children crawled not only from the smoke surrounding Burnt One but also from the fires erupting across the city, clinging to people and pleading desperately.

They begged for forgiveness, cried for mercy, and claimed their innocence.

The citizens of the capital, now confronted with their own sins, stared at the ash-children with pale faces, unable to do anything.

All they could do was sweat coldly and utter incomprehensible sounds, unable to push the children away or seek forgiveness.

Soon, new human forms began to emerge.

[Save us. It hurts.]

[This is our land.]

[My lord, I’d rather be whipped—just leave the land alone!]

[Where are we supposed to go now!?]

These were victims sacrificed for the glory of the United Kingdom.

Like the natives who perished to establish the colonial city of First Step in the New World, they were countless individuals who suffered to create what the United Kingdom had become.

They were those who had unjustly lost their nations, had their freedoms and rights stripped away, their properties stolen, exploited, and their dignity trampled.

These figures crawled out of the fires across the city, starting from the smoke surrounding Burnt One, and clung to the citizens, asking why they were made to suffer so much.

Like the shadowy natives Oliver had seen in the New World, these too came from a place of deep injustice.

Squeeze.

Just as back then, some of them clung to Oliver, pleading for his help.

[Help us.]

[We’re cold. And hungry.]

[It hurts. It hurts so much.]

[We’re scared.]

[I want to see my mommy.]

Factory workers, newspaper delivery boys, pickpockets, orphans, beggars—children of every kind filled the world, clinging to Oliver and begging for help.

[Noble one, have you prepared your answer to my question?]

“······.”

Oliver did not answer. Instead, he looked at the ash-formed children holding onto him.

[How can we relieve the grievances of victims without judging the sinners burdened by inextinguishable sins? How can accumulated sins be resolved? I believe I’ve given you ample time. Now, answer me.]

Burnt One pressed Oliver for a response.

Yet Oliver still did not answer.

However, Burnt One did not urge him further.

It was because Oliver had embraced the ash-children clinging to his clothes.

“I’m sorry.”