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Chapter 43: The Name of the Morning Star (4)
The tide had turned in an instant.
With Yuren and Callios appearing, and Verheim unable to recover from his injuries, he was subdued by Callios with a sword to his throat.
Only after confirming this did Historia breathe a sigh of relief.
A sense of exhaustion wrapped around her entire body.
No—more than that, something heavier was pressing down on her shoulders.
Her vision blurred.
She had lost too much blood and expended too much divine power.
“Are you alright?”
Yuren approached and asked.
She couldn’t clearly see his expression.
Historia forced a smile.
“…Yes, I’m sorry. I was careless.”
“Let’s talk about that later.”
As Yuren began checking her injuries, guilt welled up inside Historia.
She had done all she could, but it still wasn’t perfect.
At least she had managed to hold out until the two of them arrived.
That fact alone, when she focused on the current situation, was something to be grateful for.
Now, only one thing concerned her.
“What about Verheim? Can he come back?”
She had spoken harshly to him during their fight.
She had pushed him, knowing that there was no reasoning with him in that state.
But that didn’t mean she had wanted him to die.
On the contrary.
“…Can the possession be broken?”
She hoped he would come to his senses.
Historia hadn’t given up on all possibilities yet.
Even if her life had to be the price… no, because of that, she hoped the outcome would be a hopeful one.
To that, Yuren replied:
“…We don’t know yet.”
That was, at the very least, a more hopeful answer than death.
A bitter relief curled at the corner of Historia’s lips.
BOOM!!!
Startled, Historia raised her head at the sound of an explosion.
Yuren clicked his tongue and muttered:
“Should’ve held him down better.”
Verheim was back on his feet.
He had shaken off Callios’s hold.
* * *
He couldn’t give up.
Verheim couldn’t fall like this.
“Not… not yet…!”
He detonated the remaining divine power in his body like a self-destruct mechanism.
It succeeded in throwing Callios off of him.
Callios stepped back, glaring at him with a grim expression.
Verheim also took a step back and began to heal his body.
As long as he was breathing, any wound could be healed.
That was what it meant to be a Holy Knight.
“Still want to continue? The result will be the same.”
But Verheim wasn’t listening.
It wasn’t that he wanted to.
He had to.
Only then could he save Rebecca.
“I must cure her.”
“…What?”
“You really knew nothing, huh.”
Verheim clicked his tongue.
What meaning was there in talking to someone like him?
Callios had always been someone who tried to win Rebecca over for his own satisfaction, not hers.
That was what made them different.
―I want everyone to smile. Got it? You have to help, Ver! You're a Holy One, a piece of the divine!
Verheim recalled her smiling face.
He was someone who could sacrifice everything for that alone.
‘A promise, our promise…’
His expression twisted.
His memory was hazy.
Had he lost too much blood?
Surely…
‘We were supposed to… smile together…’
That had been their promise.
Verheim pushed the thoughts away.
‘…Now’s not the time to dwell on that.’
Historia’s desperate resistance had worsened the situation.
But even in the worst moments, fortune could be found.
He had gained something from this.
With a growl, Verheim spoke to Callios.
“…Tell me. Where did you hide Rebecca?”
“Why ask me?”
“Because you’re the only one who could have. Otherwise, her disappearance makes no sense.”
Ambition, desire for control, arrogance—
Verheim knew how ugly Callios truly was.
The world might call that the qualities of a ruler.
But when such emotions were directed at an individual, they were nothing more than obsession.
That’s why—
When Rebecca disappeared and Callios had vanished beyond the capital’s borders during the demon summoning… it led to the inevitable conclusion: abduction.
And when Verheim suspected Yuren Pharos was involved—
And when he realized Historia had been investigating him—
The two of them were the first to come to mind.
Verheim’s gaze shifted coldly to Yuren, who was approaching.
“A nominal heir to a noble house. Were you that desperate for power?”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Filth joins filth. No wonder this happened.”
RUMBLE—
Verheim enhanced his body with divine power as he spoke.
“Return Rebecca. I’m the only one who can cure her illness.”
Callios’s brow furrowed.
“‘Illness’?”
“Yes, an illness. She’s infected by the demon. That’s why I must purify her…”
And at that moment—
“…Ha. So that’s what it was.”
Callios let out a dry laugh.
Verheim narrowed his eyes.
* * *
Callios had wrestled with many thoughts before coming here.
Most of all, he had wondered: if something inside him had been twisted by the demons, what was it?
That’s why he had used the forbidden tome—to understand.
And now, he finally had his answer.
“Demon. Illness.”
And the belief in a cure.
What more needed to be said?
The concept of demons had been rewritten by their schemes.
So then, what Verheim had been doing must have involved research into species… or perhaps souls.
Most likely the former.
‘He has already researched the types of forbidden tomes sealed in the vault.’
Callios’s eyes darkened.
“Didn’t you hear? She is a demon. As a saint, she must’ve told you that to persuade you.”
At this point, his thoughts turned to Historia.
If there was a confrontation, there must’ve been a process.
And in that situation, a woman who pleaded for understanding must’ve shared the truth.
Then why was this man still spewing nonsense?
He was about to conclude that thought when—
“I know. That’s why I must cure her. If I expel it, Rebecca will come back. With the power of fate and research, it’s possible!”
His shoulders trembled.
Callios was stunned by his reply.
His brow furrowed.
“I hope you’re not serious.”
What Callios felt was pure disdain.
A deluded certainty bordering on confirmation bias.
A principle of action rooted in fantasy.
His emotions took a dark, negative turn.
Callios’s expression went cold.
“…You seriously believe that? Even after researching forbidden magic? Even after facing demons?”
He couldn’t understand.
Perhaps that was only natural.
Callios had been born a ruler.
For the greater good, for a higher cause—
No matter how painful the sacrifice, Callios was someone who would endure it for the bigger picture.
That was why he had given up on Rebecca.
He could do it, so he assumed others could too.
But Verheim was different.
Callios tried to reason through it as rationally as possible.
But the more he tried, the more he came to an unavoidable conclusion.
A sigh escaped him.
“…So that’s what it was.”
What passed through his mind was a feeling close to hollow resignation.
His hand swept across his chin.
“You were lacking, after all. Just a dullard, nothing more.”
Callios lost his will.
He began to lose the need to persuade the man with reason any longer.
What should he say… Ah, yes.
“I didn’t know. I thought you might be different since they call you a saint, but there wasn’t even a shred of a superhuman in you.”
That was disappointment.
He had thought they might be different.
That only Beatrice was strange, and the others still retained some reason.
That’s why he hadn’t resisted the Saintess’s request too strongly, why she bothered to talk, why she sought a humanitarian solution.
But the response he received only awakened a part of Callios’s nature that no one yet knew—only Yuren did.
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“Thank you. For showing me your level. For allowing me to give up hope. So let me return the favor with a little information.”
A sense of superiority.
The overwhelming belief that because he alone was great, everything should go according to his will.
In other words, arrogance—and thus, confidence.
As this previously unknown trait swelled within him, Callios sighed and spoke indifferently.
“If it’s that woman you’re asking about, I sent her to your mother’s side.”
Verheim froze.
Then Callios deliberately added another sentence.
“Don’t you get it? I’m saying she’s no longer in this world.”
Callios now had no expectations for Verheim, nor for the remaining two.
* * *
In that moment, I found it oddly comforting to hear the crown prince’s vulgarity.
Suddenly, it came to mind.
His majesty as the crown prince, the expectations of those around him, and even his pride in himself—
So many elements made up who he was, but didn’t he also have a natural disposition hidden beneath them all?
Peel back just one layer, and you’d see it.
—Don’t you have a mother?
—Considering how yours ran off, sometimes I think it’s better not to.
—Hah, you son of a bitch. Let’s have a duel.
The crown prince wasn’t a man of good character to begin with.
His language was even worse.
That familiarity felt… nice.
Had the situation been just a little better, I might’ve enjoyed it more.
“…Nonsense.”
The saint’s eyes were bloodshot.
His gaze trembled, and his mind seemed far more shaken—there was no trace of reason left in his expression.
He began to mutter the same phrase.
“This is nonsense… How could this…!”
Thud!
Red holy power shook the space.
It seemed to be rampaging, out of control.
I commented casually.
“You really struck a nerve, huh.”
“Isn’t it more cruel to let someone keep believing their loved one’s alive?”
“Well, that’s true, but…”
Judging by the crown prince’s face—like he didn’t see the problem—I was sure this was the man I knew.
I was lost in that thought for a moment.
But—
“Aaaaaaaaah!”
Unfortunately, there wasn’t much time for leisure.
Verheim’s body began to twist.
I knew that phenomenon well.
Mutation?
So that’s the solution he chose?
“Getting awfully grotesque now.”
I let the words slip as I went over the situation in my head.
‘Historia is alive.’
She doesn’t look well, but as long as she’s alive, there are endless ways to save her.
Even if something terrible has happened, I won’t let her die here.
Even if I have to take more drastic measures… there were a few methods I had in mind.
But the saint.
The real issue was that he had tampered with mutation.
His madness in experimenting on his own body was one thing.
But the important part was that a worst-case scenario I had envisioned might now be unfolding.
“Did you bring reinforcements?”
“They’re blocking the front of the chapel and controlling the surrounding area. I figured it’s better if no one sees what’s happening inside.”
I looked at the transforming Verheim.
His bulk grew several times over, and coarse fur sprouted over his body.
A skull resembling a reindeer’s grew atop his head like a helmet.
The result looked like a giant werewolf clad in the bones of a stag.
‘Did the research succeed?’
No—that wasn’t it.
I saw something.
‘That’s not holy power.’
Entwined like leeches with the red holy power was a strange aura of the Sublime—a power I’d only seen a few times.
Remnants left behind by otherworldly gods that had no place on this land.
In other words, incompatible and unable to mix.
If it remains unblended, that foreign power will twist and become “corruption.”
And I knew better than anyone what that led to.
‘Explosive corruption.’
That’s how Historia met her end in the last life—self-destruction that transformed everything around her.
“You did well to evacuate the civilians. If that thing blows, it’ll be bad.”
“Can’t we just cut it down?”
“We’d all die. Or worse—neither dead nor alive.”
“Then what?”
There was a way.
“We have to cut it out. Just like that.”
I drew the Sacred Branch.
What surfaced were all the things I’d been pondering…
Thoughts about the worst-case scenario where the saint would carry out a terrorist attack on the Holy See itself.
I had spent time thinking about how to deal with it if it actually happened.
In the process, I had pinned some hope on the Sacred Branch.
The reason was Beatrice’s case.
‘A human who had fused with a demon was separated.’
That peculiar resonance I saw in that moment—it hadn’t restored her corrupted parts, but it had succeeded in tearing the demon away from Beatrice’s body.
It was nothing short of a miracle, fitting for something called a branch of the World Tree.
So why wouldn’t it work here?
If it could separate a demon from a human, couldn’t it also remove corruption from one?
Yes.
Corruption is, after all, a form of otherworldly power.
And here it was, unable to fuse, simply parasitizing the holy power.
That meant not only could it be cut out, it might even be separated.
If so, even if a terrorist attack happened, it might be possible to preserve the strength of the clergy.
That was enough of a reason for me to act.
That’s why I had been conducting experiments on the crown prince.
—Hey! Why do you always manage to slice just my mana? Huh? Wait! Is that technique real? You can selectively cut mana? Teach me… Ack!
I experimented with removing abilities from humans.
Practicing cutting away bound mana and returning that power to nature.
At first, it was hellishly difficult.
To see the texture of something as fluid as mana, and cut only that to separate it—it consumed as much effort as when I first devised spiritual slicing.
But the outcome?
—...My mana's all gone.
—Recharge it.
—I can’t, not easily. Gonna need some meditation...
It was possible to separate mana from a person.
It was possible to separate a person from holy power.
And now, it was time to test this:
[GRAAAHHH!]
The mutated saint formed a black-red spear and hurled it at us.
I swung the rod.
Chaaang!
As I cut the flying spear, it split into holy power and corruption, scattering into the air.
That was the conclusion.
‘Holy power and corruption can be separated.’
That was enough.
I steadied my stance.
The crown prince also drew his sword.
“Give the orders.”
I spoke.
“Just keep him from running.”
Let’s peel him apart, one layer at a time.
That was when—
BOOM!
The saint charged at us.
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[Translator - Night]
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