Ch.476Episode 17 – The Blood-Drinking Tree

The sound subsides in an instant.

Like the ground hardening after rain, the untimely silence pulled the tension taut like a knot. That knot seemed as if it would snap at the slightest touch, so no one dared to move carelessly.

Bewilderment or shock. Somewhere between those emotions, gazes turned toward one angel. However, the thick darkness did not permit anyone to see the angel’s face.

Unable to find their bearings, the wandering gazes roamed through the darkness, only to scatter and disperse into the shadows.

“……”

They had thought everything would be over once they found the angel.

Suddenly, they learned about the existence of demons sealed in the Moritani continent and secrets they never wanted to know.

And now, they were even fighting against an angel.

Frederick let out a deep sigh involuntarily.

“Veronica. Let me ask you one thing.”

The unexpected voice broke the silence. It was quite different from the atmosphere that seemed ready to explode at any moment.

The Saint, who had been caressing the checkered wooden grip of her revolver, glanced over.

“Is this question really necessary right now?”

“Perhaps.”

Her obsidian-like eyes rolled slightly. Two pairs of eyes crossed in silence. Though no words had been properly spoken yet, her gaze seemed to ask what he was plotting.

Click. The safety moved, and Frederick, with his head buried against the stock, began his response.

“Can I still go to heaven if I attack an angel?”

The tightly drawn knot suddenly loosened. Light and flames began to bloom like stage lights announcing the beginning of a play.

At this, the Saint, with her finger on the trigger, let out a hollow laugh.

“Even if you go to hell, I’ll escort you to the entrance.”

Episode 17 – The Blood-Drinking Tree

Light and fire have long been considered symbols of celebration.

St. Martin’s Day is a good example. It’s a traditional event held in Germany on November 11th.

Unlike commemorative days created by the marketing of confectionery companies—those incarnations of capitalism—Germany’s festival has its own history and tradition.

Around the 4th century AD, on a cold winter night, a man named Martin was patrolling the streets.

Martin, an officer in the Roman army, encountered a beggar during his patrol. Feeling sorry for the beggar shivering in the cold in tattered clothes, he cut his cloak with his sword and shared it with the beggar. That night, Jesus appeared in his dream, revealing that the beggar had actually been Jesus himself.

This story, with its strong Christian elements, is the iconic tale of St. Martin’s Day.

To honor Martin’s good deed—he later became a bishop—Germans designated November 11th as a festival day. Not a day for giving Pepero sticks to girls you like.

This festival, known as St. Martin’s Day, has another name: Laternenfest. In English, it would translate to something like “Lantern Festival.”

Thus, lanterns carrying light and festivals are considered inseparable companions. Thailand’s Loy Krathong festival also features lanterns as the main attraction, as does the Yuan Xiao Festival celebrated in Chinese-speaking regions on the fifteenth day of the first lunar month.

If we broaden our view from the limited category of lanterns to “light,” there are many other festivals.

For instance, the great medieval European festival of witch-hunting, where they seized several widows to use as kindling and plundered their property.

These cultural homelands of light and culture guided human civilization to a higher level in keeping with the times, with the invention of gunpowder playing a significant role.

Fireworks, which destroy air quality with fine dust like the spirit of the Chinese people, were a good example.

Although the Chinese Communist Party supposedly hates America more than anyone, considering the hypocritical inner thoughts of party officials who resolve their wealth and children’s education in America, there’s room to argue that the Chinese cultural tradition of decorating the sky with fireworks originated entirely from America.

For example, the Axis powers’ live tour of the Japanese islands—a performance that transcended time with its entertainment value and became a model for armchair defense ministers and chiefs of staff.

Although there’s an enormous gap between firecrackers and 750-pound aerial bombs, this was certainly an important example establishing the formula that light and fire = festival (or not).

Someone born and raised in Beijing might complain, “What does fireworks, which existed before the Ming Dynasty, have to do with World War II?”

But according to internet scholars and the academic consensus, these uncivilized natives who destroyed Confucius’s tomb in all directions in the name of eliminating feudal remnants don’t even have fragments of the past worthy of being called tradition. Besides, where are there even people in China?

Anyway.

Since ancient times, festivals have been symphonies and ensembles created by light and fire. Therefore, any place where light and fire exist is essentially a festival venue.

And here.

Another festival is taking place.

Fabric shaken free of wind spreads like a bowl, and shadows cast by flickering lights dance merrily against the cloth backdrop.

Glowing weapons play a lively melody, and as a sword that has torn through a cloak passes by, sparks fly from shoulder plates.

-Clang!

A sword slashes downward at an angle. It was a massive greatsword.

The greatsword cuts through the cloak as if to bisect it from crown to toe. The strike, with enough force to uproot a mountain, is blocked by twin swords.

Clang, the sharp metallic sound interrupts the melody for a moment. In the stone chamber, marked clearly with traces of battle everywhere, crossed twin swords hold back the fierce greatsword’s momentum. The figure in plate armor swinging the greatsword is reflected in the mirror-like blades.

“Nathaniel!”

Rage shakes the helmet and shock makes the air tremble.

Ramiel raised his voice while their swords remained locked.

“How dare you point a weapon at your brother!”

The greatsword pressed down with fury. Nathaniel responded while holding off the attack with his twin swords.

“Who is your brother? I do not acknowledge you as my brother.”

“Your wisdom has turned to arrogance. Can you still claim to be the overseer of the cycle!”

Clang! The two swords howl fiercely. Nathaniel, having deflected the twin swords, smiled mockingly.

“You’re too stupid to understand. I never expected you would.”

Clank, as the gauntlet pulsed, a roar followed. The greatsword seemed to be raging wildly, guided by its owner’s emotions.

“What changed you? Was it the corruption of humans as you claim, or was it Anael’s death!”

“Silence!”

The collision of the three swords created a shockwave.

Like the aftermath of a bombing raid, the erupting wind spread in all directions, carving countless scars into every corner of the stone chamber.

Amidst the numerous sword marks, two blades began to dance. The beautiful, cruelly vivid dance seemed as if it could steal the lifespan of any human watching.

The extended twin swords grazed the side of the armor, and Nathaniel, retrieving his weapons, sneered.

“Still pretending to be righteous despite being so weak.”

The carved wound disappeared along with the armor. Ramiel turned and took a defensive stance.

“Do not speak so carelessly. I am still walking the path.”

“A darkness with no visible end, I suppose.”

The massive blade shields the armored figure.

The knight, blocking with the greatsword, answered quietly.

“Even in the deepest darkness, there is always a path. That is a simple truth.”

“……”

“It seems arrogance has blinded you.”

With a spin, the twin swords twirled through his fingers and were gripped tightly.

Nathaniel, adjusting his grip on the twin swords, spoke while pointing them.

“No more than you are consumed by false hope.”

The conversation was over. Ramiel finally acknowledged there was no room for persuasion. Communication presupposes dialogue between two parties, not just one.

If one decides to spare words, only one form of dialogue remains.

Throughout history, there has only been one type of conversation to be had with weapons in hand.

Twin swords cross, and the greatsword slashes downward.

It was the tail end of summer.

The history of tragedy was about to repeat itself.

*

When people are extremely shocked and confused, they become speechless.

That’s how the American president reacted when he heard reports of airplanes crashing into the Twin Towers. The one who liked to “shock and awe” held a grand festival with a Middle Eastern dictator, supported by the passionate cheers of all Americans—what the world called the US-Iraq War.

The war between America and Iraq at that time had little impact on me, as I recall. As a student focused on my studies, America’s tragedy or a war in the Middle East was a story from another world.

It was only when I was assigned to the Middle East after joining the company that I cursed the American friends who had trashed our workplace before leaving. Of course, I never said it out loud, just cursed a little internally. Seventy years of US-Korea alliance, after all.

And today, in this place, those sentiments from decades ago began to resurface.

Wow. Now we’ve got angels slashing at each other with swords.

“It’s the end times, truly the end times.”

“If you have time to joke, try fighting instead!”

Veronica’s voice, shouting at the top of her lungs, brought my wandering mind back. I quickly grabbed a pouch and threw it to her.

A leather pouch that looked quite valuable at a glance. The pouch, floating through the air, was caught with a snap. Inside were softly glowing silver bullets. Veronica took out six and loaded them into the cylinder.

With a spin, the cylinder rotated elegantly along its axis. Her thumb, which had been pressing the lock, pulled back the hammer.

Kneeling on one knee, Veronica gripped the revolver with both hands and aimed at her target. As the aligned sights captured the target, she pulled the trigger with a click.

-Bang!

A death-cry-like gunshot instantly shook the stone chamber. The bullet, traveling along a straight trajectory, collided with its target immediately after.

Sparks flew from the sword that was trying to penetrate a joint in the armor, and the deflected blade flew far away, rolling over a pile of dust and a handful of sand.

“…Oh my.”

Nathaniel, who had witnessed his thrusting sword being knocked far away, muttered quietly.

Just as his gaze, hidden under the hood, was about to pour toward the Saint—

Click, the hammer struck the primer forcefully, and with a resounding gunshot and flash, another bullet was fired.

“Take this!”

After the fight between the angels began, Veronica, who had been sitting in a daze, grabbed hold of her senses and jumped right into the battle.

It was unknown whether the silver bullets that had supposedly shot down demons would work on non-demonic beings, but in retrospect, bringing her along was truly a masterstroke.

The bullets, made by melting sacred artifacts stored in the Lateran Basilica, were a sufficient threat even to non-demonic beings. This was evident from how the twin-sword-wielding angel had abandoned defense and was focusing solely on evasion.

Several shots were fired in succession.

Nathaniel dodged Veronica’s attacks by moving between pillars.

After evading the flashing gunfire like a loach, the angel slid across the floor with nimble movements, and as the distance between the fallen sword and the angel rapidly decreased—

“G’huarkkk-!”

Akande leaped between the angel and the sword with a strange battle cry.

As the large-bodied Akande landed, dust billowed up like a meteorite had fallen. His tattoos scattered light, and a heavy fist loaded with destructive power extended.

-Boom!

The downward punch crushed the floor like tofu. As the well-preserved stone bricks that had shown no protrusions or cracks began to crack with a crunch, Nathaniel grabbed the fallen sword and jumped up, avoiding the fist.

As if determined not to miss this opportunity, Akande swung his fist at Nathaniel again, and Nathaniel blocked Akande’s attack with the protruding handle of his sword.

The moment the sword handle and fist collided.

With a thunderous sound, dust and debris rose up, making the air in the stone chamber murky.