A Dark Fantasy Spy

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Just as there cannot be two suns in the same sky, there cannot be more than one saint. This is evident even in the scriptures, which record the words of the heavenly gods and their bishops.

The twelve disciples served the heavenly gods, but the keys to heaven were entrusted only to the favored disciple. If God’s affection was such towards one disciple, then what must be the love He has for His children and what humans have for one another?

Thus, the evaluation of the two saints by the Holy See was starkly divided.

In terms of political standing, high proficiency, ability to handle the Holy Spirit, connections, and negotiation skills, Veronica excelled in several areas. However, the consensus is that she lagged significantly in personal qualities, especially in character and conduct.

It might also be due to her acting like a wild pony and attracting disapproval. After all, her successor is quite a solid and earnest individual.

On the other hand, Lucia was rated as lagging behind her predecessor in several aspects, yet her character and behavior were far superior. Even those who vehemently opposed her canonization nodded in agreement.

“Shut your mouth and drop dead.”

The moment a coarse curse slipped from the lips of the gentleman recognized by the Holy See, the air froze. Everyone simply gaped at the saint in disbelief.

Lucia, gripping a mace, trudged forward.

Her shabby appearance as she spat out obscenities was so incongruous it made her look like a completely different person. Struggling with the dissonance, a story I had heard long ago suddenly came to mind.

‘About Lucia. Our sister. To me, if she hadn’t become a saint, she could’ve made a name for herself as an inquisition officer or an exorcist.’

—

Episode 17 – The Tree That Drinks Blood

The saint’s cold reprimand was completely opposite to what I had heard. For a moment, I wondered if I mistook her for someone else.

The madman obsessed with cults lost his words.

“…….”

The woman before me, a despicable holy god fanatic, was famed for her gentle and docile nature. It was said that even when insulted, she wouldn’t get angry but would only smile. They called her a fool who only knew flowers and was oblivious to the ways of the world. But now…

What on earth is this?

Listen, to a voice sunk lower than the air of the slums.

Behold, a face devoid of even a trace of emotion. It was like a mask.

“…….”

Al Kair’s madman fixed his stern gaze on the woman.

Pink lips cracked, and the previously tightly sealed lips parted.

“Saint Paul said, ‘Let not the one who eats despise the one who does not eat, nor let the one who does not eat judge the one who eats. Why do you judge your brother? We will all stand before the judgment seat of God.'”

Slowly, her eyelids opened, and a faint breath followed.

The saint spoke.

“…The essence of faith is respect. All beliefs deserve respect, and no one has the right to despise or judge another. Let alone condemn one another.”

The saint’s shining eyes turned toward the madman.

“One, you are despising others. You are judging another. And right now, you are attempting to condemn.”

The saint admonished the madman. It was a chilling rebuke.

“Simply for not sharing your belief.”

“…….”

“Thus, your faith is not deserving of respect. Faith must spring from respect. Therefore, you are a heretic, a cultist. Now accept my mace.”

The saint beckoned as if she would strike him down without pain.

Her lips twisted into a grotesque shape. The brown crust that clung to her upper lip twisted and contorted with the flesh.

“A sinner seeks to judge another sinner!”

The old man spread his arms wide.

His skeletal arms, reminiscent of cracked twigs, protruded from torn sleeves.

“Your Holy See is no different than a den of iniquity.”

With that, his arms spread wide. A sinister voice cracked forth, followed by a sermon laced with madness.

With an arrogant gaze, he turned towards the saint.

“Did you act out of love to hang an innocent woman on the gallows? Did peace flow like a river to behead infidels? I have witnessed it. Under the guns of soldiers, my family fell slain. And the priest praying beside the butcher, even as they screamed for their lives, he prayed on. Although it has been over forty years, I remember it vividly.”

“…….”

“The essence of faith is respect? Then how healthy is your faith?”

“Was revenge your aim?”

The saint asked, and the old man replied.

“No. Once spilled, water cannot be gathered again. I did not come for revenge; I came to deliver salvation.”

The great mother sacrificed herself to create the earth. All life on this land stems from the children of the mother. Therefore, harming the earth is to harm the mother, an act of blasphemy against the divine order.

All life must return to the mother’s embrace.

Only that is the singular path to salvation, the way to seek forgiveness.

“Sinners must return to the embrace of the mother.”

The saint’s gaze shifted back. A body covered in a tarpaulin came into view.

“Is that what you mean by returning to nature?”

“Yes.”

The madman laughed. A grin tinged with pride spread across his face.

“When the holy tree reaches maturity, all humans on this earth shall embrace the mother. The exalted mother will separate the sinners and cast them into hell, guiding the righteous souls to heaven.”

“Judgment is for the dead. Forcing lives to the judgment seat is an ungodly thought.”

“Do not say they are dead. The mother of the universe has delivered the gospel with mercy and joy. Theirs is the kingdom of heaven. They shall eat the mother’s provisions and dwell beside her, living eternally and rejoicing. They are not truly dead.”

Her face was unbearably serene.

As if basking in the sunlight streaming through the window, gazing at the meadows in sweet repose. Deep wrinkles were soaked in ecstasy. Thus, it was all the more horrifying.

How many must die? How many must be killed? This is neither salvation nor forgiveness. Such a thing cannot be called salvation.

Taking a firm step forward, the saint spoke.

“I will stop it. The massacre will not happen, and your plan will fail.”

“This is not a massacre. This is peace.”

“Do you truly believe that peace obtained through the death of innocents is true peace?”

His head tilted down.

The madman looked down at the saint. With an expression of genuine confusion, he opened his mouth.

“What do you call the peace you speak of? Is it a pack of wolves setting a widow ablaze for her fortune, or a knight displaying infidels across the sea? Or is it standing idly by while those under military boots groan and supporting dictators who swear to follow the teachings of the heavenly gods?”

A question was posed.

Once a victim, now a perpetrator, the old man asked. The woman could not respond.

Then the old man continued.

“The Holy See delighted when Mauritania finally accepted heavenly gods. The converted power player and the cardinal met, laughing and chatting together. In that instance, the mother of this land lost her children twice. To the military dictator’s bullets, and the deceit of the holy faction. Is this the peace you know?”

“…….”

“Speechless, are you?”

Lucia closed her eyes.

Perhaps sensing something from her closed eyelids, the old man laughed heartily.

“Ha! Hahaha!”

He laughed as if the whole world could hear him.

“The gold in hand is something to be proud of, while the blood that soaked the gold is shameful!”

The woman closed her eyes, and the old man laughed. The face of the outraged and the one in anguish bore an astonishing resemblance.

A victorious smile rose. Eyes soaked in delight gazed up at the loathsome heavens.

“Love and truth have parted ways, and justice could not embrace peace. The Holy See has betrayed its own faith. Now, judgment shall come. The whole land will become sulfur and salt, barren and devoid of resolve. Lateran shall burn! Not even a blade of grass shall grow in the wrong land!”

The old man asked.

“What will you do now?”

It was not a question; it was mockery.

The softly closed eyelids slowly opened.

The pink lips parted, and Lucia spoke.

“…I acknowledge the mistakes made by the former cult. I bear the responsibility for the crimes committed in the name of God.”

The old man’s mouth fell shut. Tears brimmed in his eyes, capturing the moment.

“I know that behind the justifications of ‘restoration of the holy land’ and ‘purity of faith’ lay executions and torture, unwholesome motives akin to the profit festivals of merchants and the expansion of influence of priests. Moreover, I recognize that we turned a blind eye to countless priests and monks who lost their lives fighting oppression, failing to listen to the last cries of those stripped of their rights.”

“…….”

“Even if I am not the concerned party, I empathize with your pain. As a priest and as a human, I sincerely apologize for the crimes we committed that should never have been committed. Sinners will stand alive for trial, while the dead await judgment. I shall take full responsibility and rectify all of this.”

The wrinkled hand began to tremble. A dreadful light trickled from his tear-filled eyes.

Sight grew narrow and hazy. My ears were too numb to hear. It felt as if I had plunged into icy river water, my thoughts paralyzed. The old man, biting his lips, barely moved his trembling chin.

“…Words such as that—”

“One.”

His words were cut off. With a steadfast gaze, Lucia began to speak, looking directly at the old man.

“Nevertheless, you remain a sinner. Not because you misinterpreted the divine will or worshiped a false idol, but because you took innocent lives.”

Humans cannot judge or despise others. Not because God commanded it so, but because respect and compassion are the roots of all things.

So, you are a sinner. Lucia stated.

“Your rage may seem just in your eyes, but there is no righteous anger or just revenge in this world.”

“It is an insult! Do not mistake me for an old man blinded by vengefulness!”

“Even if your intent strays far from revenge, the moment you resolved to take innocent lives to realize your ideals, you became a sinner.”

The eyes that had always been calm and quiet were now mixed with shades of white and blue.

Eyes of unfathomable depth sparkled with a strange light.

“That is why I will stop you.”

The twain of white and blue, the clash of light colors hit the old man’s gaze.

Lucia looked at the old man, gripping a flanged mace in her hand.

The old man glared at her, raising his staff.

“O Mother of the Universe-!”

Flowers bloom and buds sprout. Just like hands meeting, green leaves gather. The great tree, entwining spring and autumn, grows mystically.

Countless plants bloomed and withered incessantly. Before the dazzling display of green and brown flames, humans appeared tiny.

At the center.

The saint, holding the flanged mace, lowered her stance, and a small prayer began from her gentle form.

“…Depart from evil and do good; then you will live forever. The Father loves justice; He will not forsake His saints. Oh, light.”

Please, grant me strength.

The wave of Mother Nature crashed down upon the saint.

—

A colossal wave arose. The water, embodying the colors of nature, centered on green and brown, writhed.

The surging wave collided and clashed over and over. The undulating waves began to unravel the crushed and wrinkled plants wildly.

The heavy flanged mace rocked back and forth. Comprising several steel pieces, the flanged mace was difficult to wield in one hand, yet Lucia wielded it like a toy.

—Crash, bang, crunch!

Tearing, crushing, demolishing.

“Have mercy. We beseech Your pity.”

In a soft voice, Lucia continued her prayer.

—Crack! Snap! Bam-!

The white light-wrapped flanged mace began to sing in tune with her rhythm.

Watching this, Frederick relayed the situation to his companions.

“Lucia is facing that mad old man. It seems she is fighting him off alone.”

“Shouldn’t we go help her?”

Camila asked with a worried expression. Frederick cast a glance down at the slums.

—Crash, bang, smash-!

The entire street was in chaos. Swirling waves of green and brown surged, and everything was being sucked in.

A fallen streetlight shattered and even the dilapidated cars by the curb were being pulled in. Our vehicles, brought by the federal government troops, were getting crushed and dragged into the tangle of plants as well.

Lucia was right there.

Swinging her mace, pushing away the stems and branches, and punching them.

She was facing the onslaught of bizarre creatures all on her own.

“This is impossible. At least from what I can see, it would be hard to help her.”

It was not only plants and Lucia that existed in the street. There were also people.

The areas under evacuation orders were only where incidents had occurred. If an evacuation order was declared for the entire slum, an immense number of residents would shift. The state government determined they couldn’t handle that many people and only directed evacuations near the ‘man-eating tree.’

The issue was that this location was quite far from the tree.

—Ahhhh!

—It’s a monster! A monster has appeared!

—Come out! Come out quickly! Grandmother, please leave that behind!

—Gahhhh!

Residents who had failed to evacuate poured out onto the streets. The crowd tumbled and stumbled, fleeing in all directions. It was the result of not knowing where to escape.

In an instant, the slum area transformed into chaos.

The sudden attack brought fear, and fear has a contagious nature, so it was reasonable to assume that more areas would spiral into turmoil.

“Get the residents evacuated.”

Frederick asked the federal troops to help evacuate the residents. The commander’s expression darkened.

A retort followed, questioning how they should evacuate such a large number of people with forces less than a single platoon. But Frederick drew a solid line, insisting they at least bring along those who could escape. The commander, scanning the area uneasily, ultimately led his troops down to the street.

As the soldiers hurriedly descended the stairs, Francesca shot a skeptical glance at them.

“Won’t they just run off among themselves? They seemed so eager to flee before.”

If they want to run away, then let them.

“We should go too.”

Frederick shouldered the bag he had fished out of the car. The heavy duffel bag was almost as heavy as a complete military kit, yet he bore it as if it were nothing.

“Camila. Hand the cube over to Francesca. We can’t move through the streets, so we need to fly.”

“…Where are we going to go?”

Camila asked, clutching her aching side, looking at Frederick. She had already transferred the cube to Francesca as requested.

Frederick tightened his grip on the duffel bag.

“Chess ends when you capture the king, and generals fall when you shoot them down…”

His gaze drifted far away. To a place about 3 kilometers—or no, around 2 kilometers—distant.

“It’s time to properly wreak some environmental destruction.”