Ch.221Report on the Collapse of Patience (14)

Günther displayed a hint of ecstasy in his expression.

But it was only momentary. The melody breaks and the rhythm falters. Soon, he returns to being a hero again. Like a statue in the Veneration of the Sword Memorial Park, he returns to being the worn and weathered symbol of a hero.

“The elders of old couldn’t read or write. Even those who could write were uncomfortable with the idea of leaving records for future generations. To pass down knowledge needed for survival, they created songs.

In times when knowledge was power, even these songs were secretly passed only among ‘those who were qualified.’ That’s why some parts changed, others were omitted, and new elements were added.

It was Arius who took interest in these songs that few besides historians cared about. He was a scholar, an erudite man, and above all, had great interest in the Life Tree Order, our origin.

The Life Tree Order taught that everything cycles. Yet even people of that time couldn’t understand how descendants of such an order could bind hatred to the earth. It contradicted the order’s teachings.

Though divided and fighting, priests of light and darkness received the same education. But suddenly, the priests of darkness presented a problem that the light couldn’t comprehend.

How could they do this, what method did they use…

Arius theorized that during the period when emperors and kings fought, the priests of darkness and shadow had no time to create independent doctrines. The Emperor’s power grew too quickly, and kings were busy fighting each other, leaving priests with nowhere to establish themselves.

So he reached this hypothesis: rather than creating new sorcery, they twisted the flow of the cycle.

People feel happy, then depressed. Angry, then sad. Today they act like they own the world, tomorrow they bend like someone standing on a cliff edge. That’s the human cycle and natural flow.”

Command shouts were heard. The knights were donning their equipment and organizing various items. But Günther ignored them.

“Sadly, neither the ancient sages nor anyone in this era knows how to call joy with joy or good with good.

But they know very well how to call evil with evil, hatred with hatred, and how to never escape from it. Sadly, this is what most people in the Empire experience.

The despair that tomorrow won’t be better than today or yesterday. The resignation that since yesterday and today were like this, tomorrow won’t improve either. They even let go of dreams. Because they know it’s futile anyway.

As they hide within themselves, resentment rises. What’s wrong? What did I do wrong?

After analyzing everything, indignation surges. Indignation becomes thorns that pierce oneself and others. Trapped in a narrow perspective, they blame the world.

When they see someone crawling out of the well, they mock and pull them down with all their might. Of course, there are always those who are lucky or stubborn enough to escape that evil, but they curse and slander them, saying things won’t get better anyway and they’ll return eventually.

Do you know why? Because it’s familiar and comfortable. To improve requires effort. Nothing changes if you do nothing.

But those souls in the wasteland have no opportunities left. They can’t get better, can’t move forward, and don’t know any other way to live.

The priests of shadow knew this very well and finally completed the cycle. Someday, for the hatred in this wasteland to boil over.

For this hatred with nowhere to go to spread among those who know nothing but hatred, eventually extending beyond this wasteland to devour the world…

It’s like breeding a terribly poisonous insect. If you fill a jar with venomous snakes and poisonous insects and seal the entrance, the last survivor will have accumulated the most extreme poison.

They only wanted the world to perish. Just as the Empire and the light destroyed their world.”

A chill ran through Kain’s fingertips. He looked at Laios. He saw those who willingly gave their lives and souls to him, becoming soulless monsters. He saw the persecuted who cried out loudly that one reaps what one sows.

It was a terrible, terrible curse. A curse that transcended ages and generations. Despite being from an immeasurably distant past, even though the bones of those who died then would have turned to dust, people still recalled their hatred, spoke of their resentment, and willingly threw their indignation upon the altar of the wasteland.

“Arius was treated like a madman. Everyone turned away from him, but I couldn’t. When I wandered the world in debauchery, when I was truly pointed at with fingers of scorn. He was the one who saved me after I received a revelation and fell from my horse.

Yet Arius continued to speak out, and His Holiness, unable to ignore it any longer, had him arrested.

I appeared before His Holiness as his defender and witness, but surprisingly, His Holiness did not rebuke us. Instead, he dismissed everyone else and said just one thing.

‘You are right.’

Arius, who had been treated like a madman, truly went wild with madness then. Crying, laughing, out of his mind. There was no restraint at all. It’s understandable, as the theory he had been criticized for his entire life was now acknowledged by the highest authority.

However, His Holiness also said:

‘But this must not be known to the world. If people learn that inevitable destruction approaches, who could maintain their sanity? If they learn they will eventually hate each other endlessly, who would hold hope for the future?

Hatred is a faceless monster, a ghost without substance, yet it spreads more easily than wildfire and burns hotter than lust before quickly fading, making it meaningless to catch its tail.’

‘Then what should we do? How can we save the world from hatred?’

I asked. His Holiness answered:

‘We are shepherds. We are teachers who instruct the world on the right path, those who present the way people should live. Just as we must teach where to go, we must also point out where not to go.

So we must give hatred a name. We must clothe hatred and give it skin. So people can stay away from it. So people can spit on it and insult it.

But we must also cull the black sheep. Not everyone can come under the wing.

Evil ones like the black priests existed in the past, exist now, and will exist in the future. If God could have culled them, He would have, but God tolerated them. Why do you think that is?’

‘We don’t know.’

When Arius and I answered thus, His Holiness bestowed wisdom upon us.

‘Because they have their role. Just as shadow draws shadow, and evil follows evil, they will guide each other to the path of destruction on their own.

So we shall call them heretics. We shall define them as evil.

So that people can point and say ‘evil is there,’ we shall bind them to the wasteland. Make them believe that since evil is there, we who are in this holy land will be protected by God.

Faith is our barrier and our savior. It is our job to define good and evil. We just need to make good appear as good, and evil appear as evil.’

Arius prostrated himself in tears. So did I.

But the holy spirit dwelled in my teacher and friend. The spirit of wisdom dwelled in him. That spirit spoke through his mouth.

‘But how was it bound to the earth? Why can’t they escape? Is there no way to be released from the cycle of evil?’

Then His Holiness personally opened a cabinet door and handed over a sword. It was a worn-out imperial sword with dried blood crusted on its scabbard.

According to papal records, an investigation team sent to examine the massacre in the northeastern wasteland recovered this sword.

In place of a beautiful green field, a field of massacre where vultures, eagles, and crows circled overhead, crying.

An imperial sword was stuck upside down with its scabbard in a wide rock. In front of it, the phrase ‘He who draws me shall become a hero’ was written in blood.”

Kain recalled the park in Magdeburg. In front of the statues of heroes, countless swords were stuck upside down. They said it was to show respect for the heroes.

But the sword stuck upside down in the northeastern wasteland had a stronger meaning of mockery and accusation. A rebellion saying, ‘How proud you must be for condemning and killing innocent people as evil.’

“Since it was a weapon not worth leaving there, the investigators at the time recovered the sword.

It wasn’t difficult to pull it from the rock, but they couldn’t draw the sword from its scabbard—’it was as if someone was stubbornly holding the sword to prevent it from being drawn.’

Naturally, rumors spread that it was a cursed sword. The priests of that time, inquisitors, and even converted priests of darkness and shadow tried to discover the identity of this sword, but all failed.

It wouldn’t melt even in the hottest flames, attempts to freeze and shatter it failed. Throwing it from a high tower to break it failed, and even attaching it to a siege hammer and smashing it against castle walls failed…

The papal office, thinking it was no ordinary object, stored it in a warehouse. Since they only ordered its preservation without any clues or annotations, no one paid attention to it.

But His Holiness, solely through the spirit of wisdom and discernment, realized that what everyone dismissed as the words of a madman—Arius’s words—were true, and that the sword was the key.

He said:

‘We have been deceived. The darkness has already tricked us. The curse of the wasteland wasn’t completed then. It was only completed because we pulled out this sword, because we removed this sword from that land.

The rock where this sword was stuck wasn’t an ordinary rock. It was an altar. Those evil ones performed a ritual and then buried the altar in the ground to make it look like an ordinary rock.’

‘What exactly is that sword?’

His Holiness answered with a song. The very song I played for you. But it was slightly different.

‘Cursed, cursed are you. You who make the dead walk as if alive. You who drag along even those whose bodies are broken beyond repair without rest. You who deceive people into thinking something exists when it doesn’t.

If not for you, I would have been at peace. If not for you, I would have found rest in a stone tomb. You raise me from among the dead, you make me walk the earth with thorn-pierced soles, you make me, naked and hungry, see tomorrow’s sun until I am blinded.

Your cursed name shall be hope.’

The sword emitted light at that song. Contrary to expectations, it didn’t come out completely. Just a little. It was slightly drawn out, but with that radiance alone, the room was filled with glory and blessing, yet my heart ached so much I couldn’t help but weep.

‘Those priests put all their hope in this sword. They put all the wishes of the dead in this sword. But we pulled out this sword that was stuck in the altar.

We took away their hope, so they, without hope, will hate, hate, and hate again. They will hate us who took away their hope, who will take this cursed demon sword.’

However, it is not our sin. Since they did not turn to the light, death was inevitable. Though the fundamental cause lies with themselves, they instead placed a curse on us. They made us take away the curse that hung over their fate with our own hands.”