Chapter 9
“May God save us… May the Pope, His representative…”
And then he immediately started shouting strange prayers and hastily left the area. All she had really done was stand up and take one step.
“Ugh, my head is ringing…”
The lackeys sent by the one who’d thrown her down here—that bastard Pope—were all like this. Their faces were different, but they all uniformly despised mages more than death itself, while simultaneously fearing that a curse might latch onto them. The worst ones even soiled their white robes with yellow liquid—that says it all.
However, no matter how much they scorned and feared her, it was nothing compared to the Pope himself.
Of course, he was the one who had worked so hard to eradicate the mages, fearing they might threaten his status.
The power of mages, Mana. The power of the priests, Divine Power. The foundation of it all was ultimately the same: Mana.
Mana—the energy received from heaven and earth, from all of nature. And from that Mana, mages and priests branched out.
But this was an unacknowledged truth in the world, one that would never be acknowledged.
The higher-ups in the temple were ashamed that their power originated from the same root as that of the mages.
To them, Mana was a unique gift bestowed upon them by God. The more abundant the Mana, the stronger the Divine Power they could wield. Because of this, everyone revered the priests, and the words of a priest were no different from the truths delivered by God Himself.
In this situation, the existence of mages became a threat to their status, and furthermore, a threat to their God.
“The power of mages has its roots in the underground, beginning from darkness; their power will ultimately plunge all of humanity into terror. In the end, everything will return to its original state.”
A single statement made by the Pope long ago. That one statement was the starting point of this entire situation.
Ideology gradually rationalized all actions, and now, the only one who knew this entire truth was the Pope himself.
‘Ah. I suppose I know it too. How he loved to blabber on…’
She had no choice but to learn it during her wasted years in the dungeon. Whether that bastard Pope wanted to provoke the witch or not, every time he came to the cellar, he’d immediately pick a fight. Most of it was just him hurling abuse…
It usually started with lines like ‘ominous wench’ or ‘filthy and disgusting,’ and ended with him proclaiming his own greatness, saying that a mere insect like a witch and his own noble power were as different as heaven and earth.
And yet, the way he covets my mana so greedily… The audacity, when he can’t even kill me…
Pfft. The corner of Jeina’s mouth twisted in a sneer.
Did Erta foresee this future for me too? She wondered occasionally. Though there was no one left to satisfy that curiosity.
‘Letting things flow on their own means something like this, right? I’m really not going to do anything.’
Jeina grumbled internally for no reason. Even though she knew her petty complaints were meaningless.
Her head ached from the unexpected flood of thoughts. Just as she was about to lie back down on the hard bed—sure enough…
“The stench of rot truly resonates here. Indeed.”
The glossy-faced one had graced her with his personal presence.
Since he started absorbing her mana, his face had grown increasingly shiny.
It seemed the taste of her mana was truly to his liking. His skin was so polished it was almost glaring, making him look as if he were wearing a porcelain mask—utterly alien.
And yet…
Jeina frowned as her eyes scanned the Pope’s surroundings.
Even if she couldn’t directly wield magic, her eyes saw it clearly. The sight of the filthy energies densely clouding around him was quite a spectacle.
“Aren’t you going to get rid of those before I gouge your eyes out? Either that or keep them shut. Every time I see them, it’s unbearably unpleasant…”
A myriad of contempt flashed across his face as he looked at her vivid black eyes. Lurking beneath that surface was likely a mad obsession directed at her mana.
“For whose benefit would I do that?”
She brazenly widened her eyes and stood up. Now that their eye levels were roughly similar, he clicked his tongue, displeased, his jaw tightening.
“Tch. A lowly witch who still hasn’t come to her senses.”
“Kkh… Gk!”
Her body lifted into the air as her slender neck was violently constricted. Within the oppressive force choking her, she could feel the presence of her own mana.
“You should be grateful I’m even taking it from you. How dare you…!”
“Kkh… Kkh…!”
His slimy voice echoed in the dungeon, and the Pope’s Holy Power tightened further around her throat.
“Daring to rise up…! A witch is just a witch, nothing more. Isn’t that right? Your utterly base bloodline remains the same. It doesn’t change. No matter what…”
Even as the unpleasant voice grew distant in her consciousness, her black eyes stared straight at the Pope until the very end.
‘This guy… He can’t even kill me, desperately trying to squeeze out my mana.’
You don’t have the vessel for it. Jeina mocked him with her eyes as much as she could.
The Pope’s face contorted. He flicked his fingers, charged with Holy Power, with a rough motion.
Slam!
“Huh… Gasp…!”
Her tender body, thrown against the hard cement wall, bounced off and tumbled onto the floor.
“Ugh…”
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