Chapter 3
* * *
Inside the garden, deep within the Temple and Papal grounds.
“That’s all I know for certain. This place was never openly disclosed, even to high-ranking priests…”
The words, which had been flowing with firm resolve, trailed off into an awkward silence. The young, sharp-witted priest, Nuaves, had been a spy who leaked the Holy Kingdom’s secrets to the Empire for many years.
“However… my guess is that this place… is the source of the Pope’s power.”
He was also one of the very few who knew the true nature of the Pope.
As if his pride was stung by not having gathered perfect information, the priest adjusted his glasses and averted his gaze slightly.
“It’s fine. This is more than enough.”
Some mysteries are better left unsolved.
Letting out a small, cynical snort, Ronius stood before the massive fountain.
“It seemed the ‘Fountain of Divinity’ rumors, which I had thought were absurd, weren’t entirely groundless after all—the stream of power surging upward from below with tremendous force felt ominous.”
The endless downpour, the murky energy that had already consumed the sky… Amidst it all, this fountain soared as if to pierce the heavens, shining with a lonely, haughty light, like it held the sun itself within its grasp.
As if entranced, Ronius reached a hand toward the towering stream of water.
Whoosh—
The cool water gently enveloped his hand before cascading down. A clear, yet intensely potent energy seeped into his very being, and Ronius froze.
It was a sensation he had turned over and over in his mind for so long that, no matter how hard he tried, he could never, ever forget it.
‘Why is it here…?’
But there was no time to be lost in sentiment. The water that had been scattering into the sky vanished in an instant, and the fountain began to move erratically on its own.
He scolded himself for the momentary weakness, for forgetting his purpose even for a second, and fortified his mind.
“Don’t let your guard down for even a moment. Keep your eyes on the rear as well.”
he ordered the knights behind him, the words as much a reminder to himself.
“Sir!”
No sooner had the reply ended than the spinning fountain ground to a halt, revealing an entrance leading underground. A spiral staircase extended from the pristine white fountain, descending into a profound darkness.
And before that darkness…
“Captain, this is…”
a hesitant voice from a subordinate reached him. Ronius’s brow furrowed with displeasure.
Frankly, it was the sight that had to catch anyone’s eye first.
A set of robes, crafted from a luxurious white fabric so rich it stood out even in the faint gloom. Dazzling golden embroidery upon which brilliant red patterns bloomed. The papal crest engraved upon the pashmina.
And there was only one person in the entire Holy Kingdom permitted to wear such vestments.
But…
‘This pile of bones is the Pope?’
The corpse swaddled in the fine fabric was so emaciated and desiccated it was unrecognizable. The skin was shriveled and parched, the face a mass of wrinkles, the body curled in on itself, withered and small.
It was a pitiful state, enough to leave anyone dumbfounded.
The Pope was the one who maintained an unnaturally, perpetually young and beautiful appearance, never changing a bit. Ronius recalled that gleaming face and twisted his lips into a smirk.
Just then, Priest Nuaves, who had been squatting and examining the scene, lifted the corpse’s hand and spoke.
“It’s the ring only the Pope can wear. And the divine power latent within the body is… roughly the same.”
“Roughly?”
“The level of holy power is surprisingly meager. And what little remains seems to be… draining away downwards… But the nature of the energy itself does match that of the Pope we know.”
Even after finishing his report, Nuaves remained crouched, his nose practically glued to the corpse, refusing to budge.
“Ha.”
Ronius let out a hollow, bitter laugh. His eyes were empty, his expression detached, but the hand gripping his sword trembled violently. A vast, turbulent aura seethed around the blade.
It felt as if the revenge he had honed for so long was turning to ashes and flying away.
To destroy the Holy Kingdom and the Pope… He had endured all those long years, thinking of nothing else.
He should have made him suffer more.
For her sake, he should have made the Pope beg and plead for death in unbearable agony…
An indescribable mix of emotions—self-recrimination, futility, rage at himself—churned within him. His aura, raw and unrefined, overwhelmed the surroundings, fueled by it all.
“C-Captain…!”
“Ugh… wh-what’s… below… us?”
Even the elite soldiers staggered, struggling to keep their footing. The priest, despite reinforcing his body with holy power, collapsed to the ground, groaning in pain.
But their leader now seemed to not care what happened to any of them. Without so much as a glance in their direction, he stepped over the corpse on the ground and strode into the underground passage.
“Captain!”
From behind, his subordinates scrambled to follow in his footsteps, but Ronius simply walked forward into an impenetrable darkness where he couldn’t see an inch ahead. Relying solely on his instincts, he passed through dozens of doors. He opened them, smashed them, then opened and smashed some more… again and again. An unusual power was growing steadily closer.
It felt as if an intensely potent energy was pulling him even deeper.
Discussion
0 CommentsNo comments yet.