Chapter 487: The Noble Being (2)
Nobility.
A word signifying high status and honor.
There was perhaps no other word that clashed more with Oliver.
Because Oliver was a lowly, insignificant being.
He had no idea who his parents were, was raised in an orphanage, and ultimately ended up being sold to a mine. Even at the orphanage and the mine, he was shunned, crawling at the very bottom of society.
Of course, later on, luck was on his side, allowing him to see the wider world and experience many blessings. But even then, he was far from being noble.
Being noble was something that went beyond luck and effort; it was something one was born with.
Yet, the demon had called Oliver a noble being. It was truly incomprehensible. It was even harder to understand because he couldn't perceive the demon's emotions.
No matter how hard he thought about it, Oliver couldn't find an answer. Just as he was about to ask a question, the Burnt One approached Joanna, reaching out a charred hand towards her.
It was as simple and casual as picking up an object.
Thud.
With that ordinary gesture, Oliver raised his quarterstaff to stop him.
The sudden movement caused intense pain to shoot through his right arm.
“Huff…”
As he regulated his breathing amidst the burning pain, cold sweat dripped from his brow.
The Burnt One silently gazed down at Oliver, who had stopped his hand.
He did not appear to be angry about being blocked, which made him even more frightening.
It felt like he was performing a task, devoid of emotion, which made it seem even more inescapable.
For a moment, silence dominated the space.
Joanna, despite having a demon before her, stood frozen in place, and all Oliver could do was use his quarterstaff to hold the demon at bay.
The demon looked at Oliver for a moment before beginning to stroke the quarterstaff that had blocked its hand.
[It appears to be well maintained.]
“It was a gift. I clean it every day.”
[I like it.]
“I'm truly sorry, but I can't give it to you.”
Oliver spoke sincerely, facing the demon. He would rather give away all his possessions than this.
[That's a shame… Could you move it aside, then?]
The Burnt One politely requested.
Though his echoing voice carried no magic, black magic, or any particular energy, it was imbued with an undeniable power.
The sheer power of words.
Oliver nearly succumbed to that power, but he looked at Joanna and resisted, asking a question.
“What will you do if I move it?”
[I will grasp her face with my hand.]
Grasp her face with his own hand...
“What happens after that?”
[She will burn and disappear.]
The Burnt One answered matter-of-factly, as if saying it would rain when the sky is cloudy or that a dirty house needs cleaning.
[And I will set fire to the city above.]
“…I'm really curious. Why do you intend to burn it? Is it because the red-skinned people summoned you?”
Oliver pondered for a moment before asking.
Objectively, it wasn’t the time for such questions, but questioning was all Oliver could do.
[That's a complicated question.]
The Burnt One withdrew his hand and stepped back a few paces. Then, with a flick of his finger, he manipulated the surrounding darkness.
The pitch-black surroundings used the shadows to recreate a certain space—a mine?
It was a detailed yet hazy, clear yet vague, realistic yet dreamlike paradoxical space.
[Being summoned to burn… that's not entirely wrong.]
“It sounds like there's another story.”
The Burnt One nodded.
Each movement of his charred body caused blackened fragments to crumble off.
[It’s a corrupted city. It must be purified.]
Purification... It sounded truly strange. Perhaps because a demon had said it? No, that wasn’t it.
So much was still unknown, but one thing was certain: the demon was different from the ones that were traditionally known.
Therefore, it had to be for a different reason.
“…That's a strange thing to say.”
[…]
“Saying that burning is purifying… It seems like a word that both fits and doesn't fit at the same time.”
The Burnt One extended his hand toward Oliver in a courteous manner.
[Why do you think so?]
“Hmm… It sounds like you're calling the people here trash?”
[They are indeed trash.]
The Burnt One responded briefly and concisely. His echoing voice, with its distinctive tone, conveyed no emotion, making it sound all the more genuine.
There was no hatred, anger, joy, or sorrow—just the matter-of-fact removal of garbage.
Oliver felt a sensation that was difficult to describe.
“Don't speak so carelessly.”
Joanna, who had been frozen in fear due to the deaths of her comrades and the overwhelming presence of the demon, finally managed to speak, albeit with great effort.
Even knowing there was no way to defeat such a powerful being, she desperately gathered the courage to speak, as if protecting a sacred ground that should never be defiled.
“No matter how great you are… you cannot arbitrarily demean others as trash.”
For the first time, the Burnt One acknowledged Joanna. When he had reached out to grab her earlier, it was merely a matter of clearing something in the way.
He had not consciously acknowledged Joanna as an individual at all—like one does not pay attention to individual flies. But now, it was different. He clearly recognized Joanna as a being.
As she braced herself for whatever he might say next, the stage of darkness that the Burnt One had created began to move.
[I will show you.]
...
[Mom! Mom!]
The first actor to appear on the stage was a child formed from darkness, crying out in fear.
Then the second, third, and fourth actors emerged.
The figures made of darkness were difficult to identify, but they were all red-skinned people.
If asked for proof, there was none. It was just an instinctive feeling.
On the stage created by the Burnt One, countless more red-skinned actors appeared, followed by a soldier from the kingdom, armed with a rifle, who was driving them all into one place.
The faces were all unfamiliar. However, Oliver recognized one of them.
It was Kenny Midas, the founder of Prometheus Corporation and its CEO until recently.
Oliver could identify him from the occasional photos in newspapers and the pictures shown by Edith; he looked decades younger than what Oliver remembered.
[Are we really doing this, boss?]
A burly man asked, trembling. He seemed to be one of Kenny’s subordinates.
The man looked like he was capable, but Kenny’s fierceness seemed to have thoroughly intimidated him.
[We have to! We must… If this project fails, everything is over! Over! I've already sacrificed my wife for this!]
Kenny pulled out a pistol, pointing it at his subordinate to threaten him. Even though it was just a shadow, his madness, fear, and urgency could be felt vividly.
[Remember this! There’s nowhere to retreat now! Damn it!! I fear money more than demons, and I’m more terrified of being a pauper than going to hell! You, didn’t you have your third child three months ago?!]
Kenny asked the trembling man, who nodded.
[Your grandmother is ill, isn’t she?!]
He asked another subordinate, who also nodded.
[Your younger sibling just started school, right? You said you wouldn’t let him grow up like you, didn’t you?! You’re getting married, and damn it, you owe the debt collectors by the fifteenth, right?! Am I wrong?! Tell me I’m wrong!!]
None of the burly men dared to argue with Kenny's words.
They were not there simply because they were afraid of him. They were driven here by ordinary yet insurmountable problems.
[So… let’s start the ritual right now. Anyone who hesitates, I’ll kill them.]
Kenny commanded, and his subordinates began to comply.
Four of the men brought out a machine. The darkly shaped machine was hard to distinguish, but it resembled some kind of press.
One of the burly men grabbed a child by the hair.
The first actor, while another worker shoved a funnel into the child's mouth and poured a liquid down it.
[It's wine, right? Red wine?]
[Yes.]
Kenny asked while reading some sort of manual, and the worker replied.
As soon as he heard the answer, Kenny pulled out a book and began chanting an unknown prayer.
It was similar yet different from the incantations recited earlier by the red-skinned people—a cursed prayer directed at a demon.
The worker forced the child to drink the wine until his belly was distended.
Women sobbing, children trembling in fear, and men getting shot for resisting.
The child, who had fallen into a stupor, was then forcibly laid on the machine, while two of the largest workers began turning the circular handles on either side.
Creak. Creak. Creak. Crack. Crack. Crack.
The sound of the machine reverberated quietly throughout the space, accompanied by the noise of bones and flesh being crushed.
This was hell, a hell created by humans.
“Urgh…”
Unable to bear the sight of the child being crushed alive, Joanna turned her head away.
She had long since lost the will to fight. Yet, an unseen force compelled her to turn her head back and witness the scene before her.
Creak...
The machine compressed to its limit, crushing the boy.
All that remained were bits of flesh and bone stuck to the press, and blood mixed with wine pooling on the floor.
[It… it's a magic stone! A magic stone…! Boss!]
One of the workers wielding a pickaxe shouted as he dug around, and as he said, a magic stone was indeed found.
The boy's blood and sin had enriched the land.
Kenny, who had been chanting the prayer unwaveringly while the child was crushed alive, rushed over in surprise to confirm, and soon, he let out a triumphant cry.
It wasn't only Kenny who cheered. Even those who had been tormented by fear and guilt moments ago rejoiced and embraced each other at the sight of the magic stone, which was as good as gold.
From then on, the work proceeded with incredible speed.
Following the order of appearance, women, children, the elderly, and pregnant women were all subjected to the same process—funnels shoved into their mouths, forced wine consumption, swollen bellies, the press, chanting, circular handles, bodies breaking apart, and the crimson blood flowing like juice.
Everyone except the sacrifices rejoiced. Unlike the intangible values preached by modern religions, such as faith, salvation, forgiveness, and enlightenment, this ritual produced concrete, tangible results.
With each creak of the machine, another red-skinned person disappeared, leaving behind piles of what used to be human flesh.
The traces of sin piled up, and as they did, the magic stones took root in the land.
Oliver was witnessing how mining magic stones, considered impossible by many, was made possible.
Pan's words had been true. This was indeed a land of sin. A land of blood and greed, where red-skinned people were sacrificed to create magic stones.
It wasn’t a metaphor, but the literal truth.
“Ugh… Ugh…”
Joanna, her face pale, bent over, letting out pained groans.
She was struggling to stay conscious. If she lost consciousness, she would be unable to say anything.
Swallowed by an indescribable sense of guilt, she struggled against the urge to give up and glared at the Burnt One.
At the moment Joanna was about to speak, the Burnt One began to talk.
[Would you like to say something? Perhaps that not all people are sinners?]
He struck right at the heart of the matter, leaving Joanna unable to respond.
[Not everyone would have known. But could the Governor's Office and the Pater Church truly have been unaware?]
The demon approached Joanna.
[Can you be certain? Truly certain that they had no idea at all?]
As the Burnt One spoke, he took another step closer, and Joanna instinctively stepped back, like a sinner wanting to escape from guilt.
[Even if people knew, would they have stopped?]
The Burnt One took another step forward.
[Red-skinned people. After all, they were barbarians with red skin, not children of God, right?]
Joanna, drenched in cold sweat, retreated even further. At that moment, something grabbed her leg—it was the crushed child from the press.
[Please save me.]
“Eek… Eek…!”
Joanna let out a shrill cry, even more terrified than when she saw the demon’s descent. Her body went limp.
The children, deformed by the press, clung to her, pleading for salvation.
[I'll be good from now on!]
[I won’t be lazy! I’ll eat less!]
[I want to live! Save me!]
[It hurts… I want to see my mom… and dad…]
The children made of darkness were even weaker than real children, but Joanna could neither shake them off nor hold them.
She could only flail helplessly, like someone drowning.
Indeed, Joanna could barely breathe, as though her lungs were being crushed by more than just fear—it was a suffocating guilt.
Meanwhile, the distance between the Burnt One and Joanna continued to close, and the Burnt One, like a judge, pronounced a verdict upon her.
[Holy Knight Joanna. You are a sinner who has forgotten the duties of a holy knight. One who turned a blind eye to those far away for the sake of those close to you. A filthy harlot who used God's name to satisfy your vanity, and a hypocrite who moved belatedly in an attempt to lessen your own guilt.]
Joanna trembled as tears fell from her eyes. It wasn’t just fear.
[False holy knight. The fake family you tried to protect at the cost of ignoring the innocent will meet a dreadful end. The woman who raised you will become neither dead nor alive at the hands of the most wrathful being, and your beloved siblings will receive no help as they face the darkest depths of the forest—]
—Tap.
The Burnt One, spewing curses at Joanna as he closed in, suddenly halted.
Oliver had once again stepped forward, blocking him with the quarterstaff.
With his burnt hand, Oliver struggled to light a filgaret and said,
“Your words are excessive.”