Ch.66Past Story: Christine Hildegard – 2

The boy who barged into the Holy Church’s cathedral hurled all kinds of insults at the Pope and the church’s deity.

Naturally, the congregation was furious and attacked the boy with various blades and clubs.

They were intent on killing him. With the power the Holy Church wielded at that time, they could easily cover up the death of one person, so they had no reservations.

Moreover, since they would be punishing a boy who had committed blasphemy, the upper echelons would certainly protect this murder.

But the boy stood up without a single wound, as if he had never been hit. The congregation was bewildered and swung their weapons more vigorously, but the result was the same.

The boy’s body regenerated completely no matter how many times it was stabbed, slashed, or battered.

The congregation asked the priest for help. Enraged to the point of madness at the blasphemy against the Pope, the priest used a miracle to blow the boy’s body apart.

And he could only stare blankly as the boy effortlessly regenerated even from that.

After hundreds of failed execution attempts, they called for help from a high priest.

The high priest rushed over immediately upon hearing that a heretic had committed blasphemy against the Pope, and unleashed holy power without restraint upon the heretic.

Of course, it was all in vain. Not only physical force but even the blessings and miracles of the Holy Church’s priests couldn’t kill the boy.

Instead, he even mocked them, asking if that was all they had, saying it was no wonder they believed in such a pathetic god.

The priests and congregation were driven nearly insane by his endless blasphemy, but since the boy regenerated from any attack, they could only vent their frustration without finding a proper solution.

Then, a letter arrived ordering the boy to be transported to the Pope’s direct jurisdiction. It was a letter bearing the Pope’s official seal.

The boy was immediately stuffed into a corner of a cart like baggage and dragged away, soon finding himself face to face with the Pope.

“So you’re the one. The heretic who committed blasphemy against me.”

The Pope’s voice was solemn, with holy power infused in every syllable. The priests who had transported the boy wept with emotion on the spot.

The boy was, of course, the exception.

“Blasphemy against you? You’re completely insane.”

“What did you just—”

“Why is a Pope more concerned about himself than his god? Shouldn’t you be talking about blasphemy against God first, not against you? Are you saying you’re better than God?”

“You wretch! Will you not shut that mouth of yours!”

“Why, did I hit too close to home? Well, I guess it makes sense. How much have you stuffed your belly in God’s name to get that fat? Looks like you could go without eating for 10 years and be fine. Planning on fasting for life? Or does that much fat disappear in about 30 minutes?”

The Pope couldn’t bear it any longer and raised his hand to blow the boy’s head apart. Even that wasn’t enough to quell his anger, and he breathed heavily, seething with rage.

But the shattered head returned to normal before he could take more than a few breaths.

The boy cackled and mocked the Pope.

“I told you. You can’t kill me.”

The added remark—”Oh, did I not tell you that?”—no longer reached the Pope’s ears.

He was consumed by the thought that he must, somehow, by any means necessary, kill the boy before him.

“Send this evil heretic to the dungeon immediately!”

At the Pope’s thunderous roar, the priests scrambled into action.

The boy’s limbs were forcibly broken, his body twisted, and he was dragged along the ground. Yet even as he was being taken away, he continued to provoke the Pope until the end.

“Don’t forget that fasting prayer! Your god might seem a bit shabby, but who knows if he’ll answer a prayer to lose weight?”

The dungeon where the boy was taken was no different from a torture chamber.

Ancient torture devices were lined up everywhere, all showing signs of recent use. The musty smell of the dungeon mixed with the metallic scent of blood, inducing nausea.

In such a space, Christine was staring blankly at one of the underground cells.

“Just die already, you evil heretic!”

“Why, why won’t you die?!”

It was a strange scene. Clearly, the boy was the one being tortured, but the rough, panting breaths came from the priests doing the torturing.

In contrast, the boy didn’t utter a single scream. He only continued to blaspheme against the Pope and the Holy Church endlessly.

“Really, why don’t you believe me? Your god is too pathetic to kill me. No, wait, don’t pull off my arm first, listen to me. Hey, wait. If you pull out my tongue, I won’t be able to—”

The boy’s constant chatter was cut off abruptly. Perhaps they had really pulled out his tongue. But the silence didn’t last long.

Soon, the blasphemous chatter began flowing again. It felt like only a few blinks of an eye had passed.

“Is that what your god teaches you? This is crazy. I’ve probably lived longer than your god. Who told you it’s okay to cut me off so rudely when you’re just following a religion created by some human who had nothing better to do? Huh?”

By this point, it was the torturers who were demoralized.

A week. The boy had been tortured for over a week.

Yet no matter how his body was destroyed, he endlessly blasphemed against God and the Pope, and regenerated any damaged body parts perfectly.

He wasn’t completely immune to pain—occasionally he would flinch and his speech would be interrupted—but those instances were so few they could be counted on one hand.

Considering that the torture had continued day and night for an entire week, it was practically the same as showing no reaction at all.

During the boy’s time in the dungeon, many people had come and gone. The Pope, high priests, nuns, and ordinary believers.

They all cursed the boy and spat hateful curses at him, but he just laughed it off.

Telling them to stop just running their mouths and try to kill him themselves.

Unable to bear this, the Pope once unleashed such tremendous holy power that half the dungeon was destroyed in a major catastrophe.

If not for Christine’s holy barrier, the entire dungeon would have collapsed.

The reason Christine was sitting there was because of the Pope’s order. To watch the evil heretic being tortured and find a way to kill him.

Christine naturally nodded and had been watching this scene for a week.

“…Let’s give up, brother. We must report to His Holiness the Pope.”

“…I suppose we have no choice. I will speak to His Holiness.”

In the end, it was the priests in charge of the torture who gave up first.

With dejected expressions, they greeted Christine, carefully hung their clean aprons that didn’t have a single drop of blood on them on the wall, and trudged up the dungeon stairs.

“Hey! Where are you going? Weren’t you going to kill me?”

The priests didn’t look back at the boy’s shout. Sensing they wouldn’t return no matter what he said, the boy frowned and closed his mouth with a “tsk.”

Since the Pope’s order was to observe the torture, Christine also stood up. There was no reason to stay now that the priests had left.

She needed to return to the side of the living God and savior of the continent, the Pope, as soon as possible.

The dungeon was very quiet without the sounds of torture. Only Christine’s footsteps echoed loudly.

And just as Christine was about to pass the door of the cell where the boy was imprisoned:

“You’re the Holy Maiden, right?”

Christine stopped in her tracks. As if she never imagined the boy would call out to her, her lifeless eyes turned toward the cell.

Through the iron bars, she could see the boy with his wrists and ankles tightly bound in chains. He waved his right hand in greeting. The rattling of chains was heard as a bonus.

But Christine couldn’t understand what this gesture meant.

The greetings others gave Christine were bowing their heads or kneeling, and the Pope didn’t greet her at all.

“What is the meaning of that action?”

The boy’s face changed slightly. As if to say, “You don’t know this?”

“Huh? This? It’s just a simple greeting.”

“That is not how one greets. Are you lying to me?”

“This is a casual greeting. There are more formal ways to greet someone.”

Christine left the dungeon without further reply.

For the first conversation between a boy who would later partially awaken as a god and the girl who would become his only believer, it was quite plain.

After that, the Holy Church’s attempts to kill the boy continued endlessly.

They submerged him in holy water for three days and nights, used tremendous holy power to vaporize his body, and once even tried to burn him to death.

None of it worked on the boy.

The Pope’s anger deepened day by day. Endless insults about himself flowed from the boy’s mouth, and there was no way to shut him up, so it was understandable.

The burden of bearing that anger fell entirely on the nuns who entered his room to “serve him at night.”

At first, they could still walk out on their own feet, albeit staggering slightly, but before long they were crawling out, and a few days later they were moaning in pain in bed, and a few days after that they were sprawled unconscious on the bed.

Of course, there were no complaints about this. Rather, the nuns fought among themselves to go first, saying it would be the greatest honor to die at the Pope’s hands.

“Why, why can’t we kill that bastard?!”

“I-I don’t know, Your Holiness.”

“Useless things!”

Holy power burst from the Pope’s hand and struck the high priest’s head. The priest’s head shattered into pieces.

The headless body collapsed to the floor, and nearby nuns quickly carried the corpse away.

Still unable to contain his anger, the Pope destroyed all the furniture in the room—desks, tables, and everything else—then ground his teeth and called for Christine.

“Christine!”

“You called, Your Holiness.”

Christine bowed her head obediently. The change in address from “Holy Maiden Christine” to just “Christine” meant the Pope’s anger had reached its peak.

“Kill that evil heretic by any means necessary! Don’t even think about seeing my face again until you kill him!”

“I understand.”

As soon as Christine opened the door to leave the room, three nuns rushed in. They were all wearing clothes that were pitifully small in area.

Those three will definitely die today, Christine thought, briefly looking at the flirtatiously smiling nuns with dead eyes. The sound of the door closing seemed unusually loud today.

Having been thoroughly educated from childhood to follow the Pope’s orders and worship him as a living god, Christine had to follow the order to kill the boy.

As she went down to the dungeon/torture chamber, mentally organizing torture methods she hadn’t tried yet, the first thing that greeted her was the boy’s sigh.

“Not even a year has passed and they’ve already given up? That’s a bit disappointing.”

Bound in the same position as when he was first dragged to the dungeon, the boy waved his right hand in greeting as soon as he saw Christine.

“Why are you here this time?”

“I have come to purify a heretic.”

“Oh, so this time the Holy Maiden herself has come to kill me? I’m honored.”

With a creaking sound, the iron bars opened, and Christine walked into the cell. The boy was looking at her with a smiling face.

She drew holy power into her hand. White flames engulfed her clenched fist. With a light swing of her arm, the boy’s chest melted away horizontally.

The boy’s lower body, with its middle completely erased, fell backward, while his upper body tried to fall forward but was caught by the chains.

Even with just his upper body dangling in the air, the boy still didn’t lose his smile.

“That won’t work.”

No sooner had he finished speaking than his lower body stood up and rejoined with his upper body.

The blood that had been spreading across the cell floor had also disappeared. Seeing this, Christine’s dead eyes widened slightly.

“How…?”

“I told you. That won’t work. Don’t you have anything stronger?”

“…”

Something stronger.

Christine recalled what the Pope had said. Not to think about seeing him again until she killed this boy.

Then, she absolutely had to fulfill the order. Following the Pope’s words was Christine’s reason for existence and purpose.

The space in front of the boy began to fill with white flames. It was holy power emanating from Christine’s entire body.

Just the white flames gradually closing the distance was enough to make the boy’s body repeatedly cycle through partial annihilation and recovery.

“Oh, this looks quite impressive. Incomparable to the likes of the Pope.”

“Do not blaspheme against His Holiness.”

“But it’s the truth, what can I do? You’re much stronger than that pig. I’ll vouch for that. So—”

The boy’s words were cut off there. Christine’s punch had melted half his face.

His mouth opened and closed a few times, then his melted face returned to normal. And then melted again.

Christine swung her fists repeatedly.

White flames blazed along each trajectory, purifying flesh and bone fragments, but as soon as she paused even briefly, everything would recover as if nothing had happened.

The boy’s face, which had been full of expectation at first, gradually became expressionless.

“This won’t work either.”

At the boy’s casually uttered words, Christine froze. If things continued like this, Christine would never be able to fulfill the Pope’s order.

She was afraid. From deep within her heart, the emotion of fear began to creep up.

A Christine who couldn’t follow orders was useless. And being useless meant she was practically a heretic.

All members of the Holy Church except heretics were useful—the Pope had said so. But now Christine might become useless and turn into a heretic.

She hated that. Absolutely.

“P-please, not that…”

“Huh?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Your Holiness. Please forgive me. Hik, hiiiik…”

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Please, please. Just one more chance, chance, chance…”

“Excuse me, Holy Maiden? What’s—”

In that moment, the holy power surrounding Christine caused a massive explosion.

A pillar of white light shot up into the sky. Everything within a radius of several kilometers, both living and non-living, completely vaporized.

Even those who weren’t within the blast radius but happened to glance at the white pillar immediately clutched their melting eyes and screamed.

It was utter chaos. Thousands of people struggled in the agony of losing their sight.

The area of life annihilation continued to expand. The white pillar was gradually growing larger.

“Christine!”

What stopped the white pillar that seemed about to devour the entire world was the Pope’s shout.

Since the pillar Christine created was close to a holy explosion, it was possible for the Pope and some high priests to survive.

As soon as the Pope’s angry voice was heard, the holy power immediately subsided.

Christine, who had literally “purified” the surroundings, knelt on the devastated soil, trembling, and the Pope, who approached while panting heavily, immediately began stomping on her head.

“You! Stupid! Woman! What have you done!”

“Forgive, forgive me. Hik, I’m sorry, Your Holiness…”

“Stupid woman who can’t even do what she’s told! Do you have any idea how much this building you’ve destroyed cost!”

Christine begged for forgiveness while crying, not caring that her head was being stomped on. But the Pope had no intention of stopping.

Not satisfied with stomping on her head, he began kicking her entire body to vent his anger.

From the Pope’s perspective, this was like a bolt from the blue. If Charlotte used this as an excuse, it would be over.

No matter how powerful the Holy Church was, it would be impossible to completely cover up the fact that several kilometers had been vaporized and numerous casualties had occurred.

As the Pope was beating Christine vigorously while considering whether to cut her loose, it happened.

“Ah, I didn’t die this time either.”

Next to Christine, who was lying face down on the ground sobbing, the familiar figure of the boy appeared.

The Pope was shocked to see the boy rotating his shoulder and spinning his arm while grumbling. The boy had appeared from thin air because his entire body had vaporized and then recovered, but there was no way the Pope could know that.

“Y-you! How are you alive!”

“What? Me?”

The boy snickered as if finding it ridiculous.

“I’m alive because I couldn’t die this time either, idiot. Is your brain fat too?”

“You evil heretic—”

“Ah, before that. I have something to say first, so shut your mouth.”

The boy’s demeanor changed dramatically. The smile disappeared from his face, and his eyes stared directly at the Pope.

It was only for a very brief moment, but the atmosphere was so menacing that the Pope faltered.

Having instantly seized control of the atmosphere, the boy pointed at Christine, who had fainted from crying.

“I’m taking her with me.”