If I just keep cutting, I’ll probably reach my destination?

What was the beginning of faith?

Some might say it was when lightning from the sky created fire.

In the midst of trembling in caves, fearful of the light that rumbled the sky as if enraged, the moment the flash that struck a tree transformed into a red dance.

Although incomprehensible, people who felt warmth from it would have prayed, considering it a gift from an omnipotent being that mere humans couldn’t approach.

To avoid hunger, to avoid illness, and to live longer.

They would have offered sacrifices with the narrow-minded thought that it too was a being with emotions and hunger like themselves, and continued praying until rain clouds happened to gather over drought-stricken land.

Crazed by a moment of light, sacrificing without sparing even as their bodies and minds burned…

Like moths flying into a bonfire.

“So the current situation is a clash between two forces that inherited such faith.”

On one side, the Elder Fanatics. Losers who couldn’t let go of their attachment to the old era and their followers.

And on the other side, Lagrid. Followers of the saint who died bearing all original sin, and judges who don’t hesitate to do dirty deeds to protect their purity.

“Really, why did these people choose to remain here and suffer such a terrible fate?”

From their perspective, something they would consider an auspicious event beyond compare – the reincarnation of the saint – had occurred.

Yet the inquisitors alone, as if something was bothering them, chose to remain in this city with her.

That ominous premonition hit the mark precisely, and while investigating a different area from her, they encountered forces advancing into this underground and ended up in this state after a battle…

That’s how Celia, who had set foot here belatedly, was speculating.

“I really don’t understand. These religious types.”

Among the corpses strewn here, those called inquisitors made up the majority.

Objects that would typically be used for torture.

Why do the faces of those who died after stuffing such things into the bodies of their opponents look so peaceful?

“Cough!”

While looking around feeling such mixed emotions, her attention suddenly turned to where a coughing sound was heard.

A pile of corpses blocking the drain where water should flow. A man lying alone leaning against it.

Even the characteristic fatigue had faded, washed out to the extreme in the present where vitality was being lost.

Yes, it’s a face Celia knows too.

“Were we acquaintances?”

Joseph, bishop of Lagrid.

The leader in charge of the inquisitors stationed in this city, and the very person who conveyed the news of the saint’s reincarnation to the order recently.

“…Who, are you?”

The moment such a person asked her that.

Celia lowered her body as if following his voice, to meet his eyes.

No, even if she tried to meet them, she couldn’t.

His eyes had been horribly gouged out for some reason.

“…Voice.”

Even though she thought he might at least be able to hear, the back of his head was even caved in as if he had received some great shock.

“Can’t, hear well… Cough!!”

Most of his senses are probably paralyzed.

It seems he can speak through his barely maintained consciousness, but even at this moment, a large amount of blood was flowing from his body.

The moment even the warmth barely maintained by being buried among corpses gradually cools.

If he doesn’t receive proper healing, his time will soon come, but coincidentally, clergy are those who find it difficult to set foot in such harsh places.

Allocating anything other than prayer is losing the opportunity to train faith.

Even if they gain faith through struggle like holy knights or warriors of the Valhalla order, that too ultimately only produces the effect of first aid.

It’s unreasonable to hope for a cleric capable of fully healing this body to come to this underground bottom, which is essentially the front line.

“I’m sorry. I learned emergency treatment from my husband, but this is beyond what can be handled with that level…”

Much less divine power.

How could someone like herself, who feels disillusioned with religion itself, have worship towards an illusion?

“Of course, even if I could, I have no intention of healing you.”

The only thing she knows how to do is cut.

She who has trained solely in that began to draw the sword at her waist while looking down at Joseph, who was about to die.

“Here, there’s no one to scold me even if I cut you down.”

She had no hesitation.

Lagrid is the state religion of the empire.

They’re a group that, drunk on the arrogance of having God behind them, couldn’t acknowledge the limits of divine power and have consistently branded those they couldn’t heal as cursed.

“Do you know? How much I wanted to kill you all.”

He says he repents now, but if everything could be resolved with just repentance, what would become of the people who were sacrificed as divine punishment by them until now?

“Moreover, how detestable it is that those who followed their halo are now trying to live in the new era, abandoning you as if they knew nothing.”

It’s the same for people who were deceived and instigated.

Those who simply believed because the leaders said so, giving up on finding out for themselves and being quick to mock those hung on crosses as sinners.

Whenever she saw such people turn their attention away as if nothing had happened now that the absoluteness of the idol had been tarnished, and live peacefully, she felt nauseous and couldn’t stand it.

“How do you feel now? Having to offer your neck to someone with a grudge for crimes you never committed…”

Perhaps the ironic part is that the one who drew the sword to take revenge isn’t the person directly involved, but their successor?

Yes, at best she’s about the same age as his daughter.

He, who has only inherited the mission handed down from the old era, could in some sense be said to be closer to a victim than a perpetrator.

An ill-fated successor who thought that if he succeeded in maintaining the group’s unity while only criticizing the wrong direction, surely good results would come.

At the end of such ideals, he clashed with remnants of the past…

What kind of feelings is he experiencing at this moment, having met such a miserable end?

“Everyone.”

Though that question isn’t conveyed, an answer comes back.

“Doesn’t need to bear… this burden.”

Is this his last words?

No, these words aren’t aimed at her.

A body that can no longer see or hear now.

This now is just rambling uttered to recite his own life.

“Even if everyone craves salvation… it’s not paradise…”

Celia simply listened to those words silently.

Without giving a single tremor to the sword tip pointed at him, just listening to what he was saying.

“Humans who bore original sin… even if they can no longer return to paradise…”

His trembling head gradually rises.

“The desire to return there… was passed down to their descendants…”

Though seemingly about to collapse at any moment, still painfully.

“So even if we can’t return to paradise… creating a place that everyone believes is paradise… is our mission…”

His ruined eyes gradually.

The moment they begin to fix on the sword tip pointed at him.

“Ah.”

Along with the exclamation uttered from his mouth at that moment, his eyes began to take on a strange light.

Although his eyes are ruined and he can’t see an inch in front of him, he has regarded illusions as real for a long time and considered those teachings righteous.

“Lord, I, at the end of following your calling… into your embrace…”

Even if that life was filled with all sorts of pain and responsibility, he will seek salvation from illusions even in his final moments.

The same expression seen on the corpses passed along the way until now is drawn on the face of the man immersed in such illusions.

-Slash!!!

With that very expression.

His head flew through the air, then sank into the sewage stained with blood and filth.

The moment that final moment ended very peacefully.

She looked down at the slumped body, shaking off the blood on her sword after cutting through his neck.

“Paradise… Do you mean the city above?”

Even without the order.

Did they throw away even their lives to desperately protect this place, believing that human hands could create the fantasy land that exists in the scriptures?

“…What nonsense.”

Yes, it’s truly nonsensical.

Everyone clamors that it’s a symbol of peace, but in the end, it’s just something they want to believe.

The more that’s invested in something, the more people will aim for it.

No matter how many flowery and grand rhetoric is added, those who try to destroy the symbols derived from it are bound to appear.

Yet those standing above don’t foresee such a future. No, they try not to create situations where it can be foreseen.

They believe it’s peaceful because they know nothing, and such belief spreads throughout society, eventually not even knowing the fact that there are those who shed blood on their behalf…

Knowing this, those who cultivate peace will hope that even the blood they shed isn’t known to the public.

‘If such ignorance is truly the root of peace, then those who wish to protect peace must be tested more than anything else.’

Without being understood by anyone, without trying to be understood, facing only a miserable end without any compensation…

Yes, those who can bear such things would have to be beings who have abandoned common sense or transcended humanity.

Like the fanatics strewn here.

And those who avoided the fate of fanatics simply by standing on the side of justice.

-Ugh, uuu…

The smile forming at such trivial realizations was soon withdrawn by groaning sounds heard from around.

Corpses beginning to wriggle gradually visible around. Were there living people among them?

-Grrrr, kaaah…!!

No, she can tell because of her extraordinary senses.

The only living thing here is herself.

The reason their bodies are being raised despite this is because they are awakening the power that exerts will in response to some kind of power permeating this underground.

A power that uses what’s commonly called lingering attachment… records existing in the subject to make them repeat their actions from when they were alive.

“Grrrr, kaaah…!!”

But in the end, they’re just dolls repeating the same thing.

The action principle of those who have lost most of their memories is extremely simple.

They simply track when movement is detected, and dispose of it.

And then devour it. For those who have already lost their life response, that is the only means of sensing life.

“Kyaaaaaah!!”

Screams burst out on that principle echoing in the space, and soon their eyes filled with madness turned towards one place.

Towards the only life felt in this space.

“Hmm, alright.”

Celia, recognizing their presence, began to raise the lowered tip of her sword again with a faint smile.

“If I just keep cutting whatever appears, I’ll probably reach my destination? That’s nice and easy to understand.”

The moment a new signpost appeared in this maze-like place.

-Slash!!

In the place where the sword that became an afterimage passed.

Soon countless lines began to appear.