OLD-WORLD EXTRA-Chapter 500: Sinner

A slap echoed through a small area where rows of gray headstones stretched across all directions.

The source of that slap was just before one of those seemingly newly placed headstones.

There, one could see a man with his head tilted ever so slightly to the side, while a woman with a reddened hand huffed and puffed in front of him, barely containing her anger.

That man was Emir, and yes, he had gotten slapped.

His cheek barely stung; he almost didn't feel it, but that didn't matter to those around him. Kiera and her people, eyes burning with grief, moved forward to take her away.

But they were stopped by a single raised hand.

Emir's hand.

"Back off."

His cold voice made them think that he was about to kill the poor woman.

And the way he looked at her-empty, detached-could've broken anyone, brought them to their knees.

Yet, even in the face of death, she didn't step back.

"My son... my only son."

Her chest heaved, breaths coming in gasps as if the weight of her own words would suffocate her.

"You promised. You said they'd be safe, that you'd-"

"I did."

Emir interrupted, each syllable sharp, cutting.

"And I buried them. They're safe down there. Your boy doesn't need to suffer anymore; he'll sleep knowing that you'll be taken care of."

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Her eyes widened, and her anger wavered, morphed into something more fragile... more confused.

Then, tears, which momentarily stopped, spilled freely once more, tracing lines down her weathered skin.

"Do not make me dig another grave.'

The threat was a whisper, and it silenced her more effectively than a shout ever could.

She finally staggered back, her knees threatening to buckle.

Emir watched her, saw the shift from fury to defeat.

The fight was gone.

She was just a mother, broken and empty.

"Leave."

This time, she did.

She turned on shaky legs, the grief making her stumble as she walked away.

People like her were the reason Emir had only brought Kiera and her crew.

He didn't want his blood family to see such sights.

In other circumstances, he would've killed her for that, no matter the reason behind that slap, but this... this, no. Not with family.

All those around him recognized that, making the silence after she left feel all the more heavy, suffocating.

But this funeral was not for him; it was for the people who had trusted him, for their grieving families who now stared at the ground or wept silently.

So he stepped away, giving them the space they likely needed.

Once he was distant enough, he stood under a tree and took in the faces of the mourners, the ones left behind.

He could see their thoughts in the way they looked at him-resentment, trust, fear, hope.

They expected something, anything, from him.

A young widow approaching the graves met his eyes, her gaze searching, lost.

He nodded once, lightly.

She looked down, a silent tear slipping free.

Loss was inevitable, a tax on power, but respect for the fallen was what kept the living loyal.

And that was what Emir valued most: loyalty.

He looked up at the artificial darkening sky and closed his eyes, listening to the sobs and sniffles of those around him.

Emir almost felt sad for them, but that was all; there was no space for weakness here, not in this Graveyard, not in his world.

"Sir."

Hearing Kiera's voice, he calmly fluttered his eyes open and watched as she and her people lowered their heads.

"Please. Make us stronger."

His little smile widened.

'I'll have their debt dectuple~.'

Coughing softly, he reined in his excitement and nodded.

"Great timing. Meet me at base in a few hours... I have somewhere to go first."

***

A church loomed over the narrow streets of the Lower District, its gothic spires piercing the gray, cloud-strewn sky.

Arthur stood before it, the stone walls almost breathing with a history that hadn't existed before yesterday.

Templar worked fast.

Within a day, yes, a day, they had raised a monument that seemed like it had stood for

centuries.

It was almost unbelievable.

He stepped inside, and what met him there instantly surprised him.

Besides the expected row of chairs and beautiful chancel, there were long-spanning murals

on both sides of the church.

Both depicted strange scenes-radiant Knights driving back shadows and swords raised toward a golden eye wrapped in branches.

At the center was a long queue, leading to a statue that Emir was familiar with, a cross

entwined by a tree, with an eye carved near its peak.

Arthur joined the line, awkwardly glancing around.

He felt out of place, like an intruder in someone else's home.

In his mind, a voice chuckled-Yagami, sounding as casual as ever:

[You've never really been in a place like this, huh?]

[No... not really.]

He could feel Yagami smirking, and that irked him to a degree he couldn't explain even if he

tried.

[Places like this hold no power. Faith cannot be built in a day.]

Arthur sighed, glancing back at the detailed murals, the carvings, the symbols etched into

every surface.

[But it was, though. It was built in a day. And now, it's the only recognized religion on Earth...

Or w-well, in the West at least.]

[That's strange, though...]

Yagami thought aloud.

[In the Old World, religion was fragmented. My world was the same. Many beliefs, many Gods... it was chaos compared to this. To see a single faith dominating everything-]

Arthur interrupted with a frown:

[You mean... there was nothing like this before?]

[Not really. I believe four religions dominated, but to be honest, I don't even know how.]

[W-What do you mean? Wasn't there anything like major names of Gods or, uh, prophets?] [There were no 'holy texts' or figures of note. Even the Gods are vague... But don't think this information was tampered with, I'm a hundred percent sure that everything was just that,

incomplete.]

The old man scoffed.

[Were those old world lot retarded then? Not even the demonic bastards in my realm are this

stupid.]

[You had religion in your world old man?]

[Of course. Every realm has one.]

[Huh... Didn't think of it like that before... Old man-actually, I don't know why I never asked

this, but what the hell is your name?]

Chuckles resounded in Arthur's mind.

[There's no need. It's too foreign for you to remember.]

Clicking his tongue, Arthur lashed out at him like a child:

[Tell me! I wanna know!]

[Bahhh~! Fine... you can call me Fang. Now enough about that; answer me, Yagami.]

He shrugged his shoulders.

[Can't say; all I know is that this world was like this from the outset.]

Arthur shivered.

He didn't understand why exactly but that information gave him the creeps.

So, stopping himself from thinking about it anymore, he focused back on what was happening

around him, noticing that he was about to reach the front of the line.

A priest in flowing white robes stood there, eyes shadowed under a hood.

He raised a hand, gesturing him forward.

"Step beyond this line, young one. From here, no eyes will follow, and no ears will listen. It is

you and the Creator."

Arthur nodded, a bit too fast, and stepped forward.

The moment he stepped past the line, murmurs behind him faded, devoured by the silence.

He stood awkwardly, glancing at the towering statue.

The eye at the top seemed to look directly at him, almost judging, seeing every weakness,

every fear.

He swallowed hard.

What was he doing here?... He didn't believe in this.

It was absurd, a desperate attempt to chase something that didn't exist.

Yet, there he was, trembling before an altar, feeling small, broken, and powerless.

Was he that desperate for power that he came to beg some inanimate object?

'I shouldn't be here...'

He took a step back, deciding to leave.

But then, as he was about to turn around, he slipped and fell to his knees.

Arthur had no idea how that happened, how his muscles malfunctioned as such.

But none of that mattered at that moment.

He was kneeling.

He was kneeling to the Creator.

Whether this Creator forced him to, or if it was due to his own 'wretched' luck, he was

kneeling.

That wouldn't change.

It had happened.

So...

'F-Fuck it, I might as well.'

Arthur took that as an excuse and bowed his head, fists clenched, nails digging into his palms.

The silence stretched, pressing down on him.

He couldn't hold it anymore.

"I-If you're out there... Creator, God, anything... please..."

His voice cracked as he spoke, first a whisper, then louder, spilling out everything that

festered inside him:

"Please, bring him down. Emir... I can't... I can't stand him. He has everything! Everything I ever wanted, everything I could never have..."

Tears fell, burning his skin as they carved paths down his face.

"I'm nothing. Just a disappointment... even to my enemies. I envy that bastard. I hate him! He

stands so high, above everyone, above me, and I'm left down here, weak, goddamn weak!

Even Sofia! That bastard took her from me!"

He swallowed a sob, his final words a stuttering mess:

"E-Emir left me nothing.... Just end it. End HIM. Please..."

Arthur looked up at the eye.

"Bring him down."

It was an utterly pathetic request.

He was pathetic. But he didn't care.

[Endure your powerlessness.]

The phrase cut through the storm in his mind, Yagami's calm voice merging with Fang's.

Unknowingly, or perhaps knowingly to the two, that was Emir's favorite saying.

It would've worked on him, but Arthur certainly wasn't him.

"No!"

His scream shattered the silence, his voice bouncing back at him.

The tears fell faster, mixing with the blood on his palms.

He was nothing.

Nothing at all compared to Emir.

He bowed his head, again, defeated. Sobbing like a child who had lost everything.

That was when the air shifted.

A low, thrumming hum rippled through the silence, vibrating around him.

Arthur's tear-streaked face snapped up, his breath hitching.

His eyes, red and swollen, locked onto the statue.

It hadn't moved, but the space around it felt... different.

Faint threads of Aether began to stir, coiling in the air before him.

They twisted, forming a swirling vortex that pulsed with power.

He watched, frozen, as the strands wove together, faster and faster, taking shape into

something tangible.

Something real.

An Aether Core.

It hung there, in the center, bright, almost blinding.

The last of Arthur's sobs faded, swallowed by the impossible sight.

Slowly, he reached out, hand trembling, toward the core.

And then, as if answering his wordless plea, the vortex unraveled.

The core drifted into his palm.

Warm. Alive.

Arthur's lips quivered, his breath uneven.

He brought the core to his chest and bowed for the third time.

"Thank you, God."

At that moment, something broke and reformed inside him.

He was no longer a boy.

He was a fanatic.