Noon.

Morien, his heart uneasy, headed toward the newly constructed purification chamber.

As he walked along the white marble corridor, a sigh slipped from his lips.

"...Haa."

Now that the great name of the Order had spread across the entire continent,

the Grand Temple of Sercanos had become a place no one could enter, not even with a bribe.

And so, the fact that he had been recognized at a young age as a wielder of holy power,

that he had made a favorable impression on one of the cardinals at a recent prayer service,

and that, in the end, he had been ordained as the youngest bishop to serve God in the Grand Temple of Sercanos—

all of it should have been cause for joy.

"Y-Your Holiness...."

At the sound of a groan coming from inside, Morien—who had been about to open the door—froze.

Swallowing, he peered through the narrow gap.

Inside was something that sent a chill down his spine.

Two starkly contrasting colors.

The gleaming white, immaculate stone floor of the purification chamber.

And the black blood spreading across it.

"I see, Omen."

The Pope, who was hearing the confession of an unknown priest, spoke.

"Your sins are so grave and vile that even purification will take a long time."

As if he had already sensed Morien’s arrival, the Pope turned his head toward the door.

Morien flinched, stepped inside, and hurriedly bowed his head.

Approaching Pope Luciano, he caught a faint smile on the man’s face.

"Quickly."

Lowering himself further, Morien held out what he had brought.

The moment Luciano took the item, Morien stepped back two paces.

But for some reason, the Pope did not release him immediately.

Instead, he said:

"By the way, Morien, this is your first time seeing this, isn’t it?"

"Yes?"

"You’ve been at the Grand Temple of Sercanos for a year now. But you’ve never seen me purify fallen priests."

Morien fell silent.

His gaze naturally dropped to the small vial in the Pope’s hand.

What he had just brought—holy water known as Angel’s Tears.

‘Holy water is only its name... in truth....’

Just as he swallowed, the Pope opened the vial.

And the holy water, spilling free, slowly rose and hovered in the air.

"Watch closely."

A golden holy power extended from the Pope’s hand.

With a faint crackling sound, the droplet split into thousands of particles.

Like mist, they scattered over the back of the prostrated priest.

"Y-Your Holi—kh...!"

As if it were a deadly poison, the old priest’s entire body convulsed.

From the way his fists clenched, it was clear how much he was suffering.

The Pope spoke softly:

"When the mark of the contract vanished, you said time had been distorted, Omen."

The old priest lifted his face, twisted with pain.

Morien flinched as he recognized him.

Forgetting even to maintain composure before the Pope, he gasped:

"N-Nordix... Grandpa...?"

At that, the dim eyes slowly turned toward him.

"Morien...?"

"So, you know each other."

The Pope murmured quietly, still holding the vial.

Morien looked back and forth between Nordix and the Pope in confusion.

"It was Omen who noticed your holy power when you were dying in the orphanage, and brought you into the Order."

Scenes from the past surfaced in Morien’s mind.

The ruined orphanage.

The director had fled, and the remaining children survived on rotten food.

‘This will be your home now.’

The man who had taken those children in and given them shelter.

And more than that—who had given Morien the chance to become an apprentice when his holy power manifested.

"H-how could this... happen to Nordix...."

And that very benefactor was now undergoing “purification” at the hands of the Pope.

"...It is tragic and regrettable."

said the Pope.

With a face as though he himself were in pain, he continued:

"Morien. Even if Omen was once your benefactor, he has now become a sinner who rejected the will of God. Though perhaps he was a sinner from the very beginning."

Morien’s lips trembled as he looked at the Pope.

"I did not entrust him with much. Yet he proved so incompetent that he could not even manage that."

Nordix, drained of strength, let his head fall to the floor.

The Pope slowly knelt before him.

He lifted his chin and forced him to look up.

"Tell me. What task did I assign you?"

Nordix’s lips trembled.

In a barely audible voice, he whispered:

"To monitor the mark of the contract... the trace of the black dragon...."

"Correct. That black dragon is heresy among heresies."

The Pope’s face turned cold.

"When its presence suddenly disappeared, you dared to claim it was related to time magic."

"...."

"I was furious. That heretic dared to use time magic to slip out of my grasp."

The Pope’s eyes gleamed coldly.

"But then, one day, its trace appeared again. And you said—it had returned from another dimension."

The hand holding Nordix’s chin began to glow.

And from Nordix’s mouth, black liquid poured out once more.

Tears streamed from his wrinkled eyes.

"Look at this evil, Omen. Look at this utter uselessness."

The Pope clicked his tongue as he watched the dripping liquid.

"I gave you chance after chance. Yet you failed even to establish the connection between the black dragon and the King of the Dead. You yourself said—their auras were similar."

"Your... Your Holiness...."

"And that is not all. Even the plan to eliminate everyone connected to him in the Clock Tower failed. Because you could not carry it out."

"...."

"In the end, I had to make an unpleasant and undignified decision."

The Pope released his chin with visible disgust.

"I had to lure them here."

Nordix collapsed to the floor.

The Pope flicked his hand as if brushing something off.

"Looking at you reminds me of those I executed—the six guardians of the World Tree."

Morien flinched.

The defilement of the World Tree.

And the execution of all six of its guardians.

Every priest knew of it.

But it had already become history.

"I did not leave you alive out of mercy, Omen."

Morien stared at Nordix in horror.

Gray hair.

An emaciated body.

The marks of age.

He had never once revealed his age.

‘So that’s why....’

"I left you alive because I believed you could still serve God."

The Pope clasped his hands together.

"But now I begin to think we were both mistaken."

He lowered his gaze.

"You said the power of the King of the Dead does not come from the black dragon?"

Nordix nodded with difficulty.

"Y-yes... they are not connected...."

"In your words, he is merely the first dark mage of this world. His aura only resembles it because of a shared connection to the afterlife."

"Yes... exactly...."

"But it does not matter what he is."

The Pope lifted his chin slightly.

"Everything only has meaning as long as it remains under my control."

Nordix fell silent.

The Pope turned away.

"If you cannot control it—destroy it."

"Your Holiness...?"

"You told me to keep him alive. That it would ◆ Nоvеlіgһt ◆ (Only on Nоvеlіgһt) be better to use him than to kill him."

"...."

"But I no longer trust your judgment. Evil should have been uprooted from the start."

The Pope walked toward the exit.

The doors of the purification chamber opened on their own.

"You no longer need to return to the King of the Dead. Stay here and watch."

He stopped.

"How my net will suffocate them."

Bang—

The door slammed shut.