Ougen had charged. Ougen had fallen.
That night, as he was being hauled into the city, Wang Yue smelled roast goose.
The Knight Commander, Lysithea Ramirez—a silver-haired beauty whose posture was slightly bowed by the weight of her chest—sat by the campfire. Her long legs were crossed, the firelight reflecting off her greaves as her slender fingers sprinkled cumin over Ougen.
She ate the roast goose delicately, her small tongue darting out to lick the juices from the bone.
“I ate your friend,” she said in a hauntingly beautiful voice. “Are you sad?”
“Are you even human? You’re a monster!”
“Your friend was roasted alive. It’s the most painful way to die,” Lysithea said, her violet eyes filled with mockery and sadistic glee. “You’re next.”
“I’ll kill you!”
Wang Yue lunged at her like a fish out of water, slamming his head toward her chest.
He bounced off.
He lay in the dirt, shedding tears of pure humiliation.
–
“Do you repent?”
A deep voice pulled him back to the present. Wang Yue opened his eyes to see the Cardinal’s fat face.
The man had a bald forehead, a hooked nose, and deep-set eyes. He wore scarlet satin robes, and a heavy gold chain around his neck supported a massive cross. This was a routine question, a mere formality to show the “mercy” of the Lord. Heretics never repented. Their minds were already claimed by other gods.
Elliot took a torch from the acolyte. Chanting “Alagamen,” he prepared to light the cross-shaped grooves leading to the holy water basin. The fire would trace the cross before engulfing the entire pool, turning the square into a vision of hell.
Suddenly, the young farmer tied to the stake screamed!
“I repent!”
“Great God of Light!”
“Turn your gaze upon this place!”
“Here stands a lost lamb!”
“I was once blinded by the superstition of science! I was wrong! It was a fool’s errand, a heretical delusion!”
“Now, I wish only to return to the Holy Light! I shall spend the rest of my days serving your Name!”
The Cardinal shrugged. Whether the words were sincere or not, it was too late. He bent down and touched the torch to the holy water.
The “holy water” acted like gasoline. With a whoosh, pure white flames swirled upward, flecked with gold, instantly enveloping the young farmer on the pillar.
Then, a miracle happened.
The leaden clouds overhead suddenly tore open. A brilliant pillar of light descended from the heavens!
The fire did not burn him. Instead, it coalesced around him, forming phantoms of thorned crowns, roses, angels, and holy scripture. A celestial choir began to sing, the sound rising from nowhere and piercing the heavens!
Elliot’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head. This… this was clearly divine favor! Surrounded by the Holy Spirit, serenaded by angels—it looked as though the Gates of Heaven were opening to escort this “heretic” straight to the Pure Land!
Everyone was stunned. Not just the onlookers, but the ordained clergy as well. They stared, wondering if they were hallucinating.
Wang Yue looked left and right, then up. Radiant light, dancing flames, flowers, and angels… he took it all in.
He had always known this world possessed mysterious powers that science couldn’t explain. At the town church, every time the priest mentioned the Lord’s name, there was a cinematic sound effect of a choir. Once, on a rainy night, a mysterious man in a black straw cloak had asked him for directions, then sprouted wings and flown into the thunderclouds like a giant bird.
But Wang Yue didn’t like conflict. He didn’t crave power or have a burning curiosity for the world’s secrets. He just wanted to be a farmer, grow his beans and cucumbers, tend his livestock, and make bacon and cider.
But fate hadn’t brought him here to just plant seeds.
With the flames keeping their distance, Wang Yue felt his heart settle. It seemed his life was saved for now; his “repentance” had worked. He had no problem converting to the God of Light. In fact, he felt a strange sense of joy. As long as these religious zealots left him alone, he’d do anything.
He looked at Elliot and gave a small, hopeful tug at the corner of his mouth. “Hey… we’re on the same side now, right?”
“Liar! You… you Faithless One!”
Elliot had been a Cardinal for over twenty years. He was third in line for the Papacy and knew many ancient secrets.
The “Faithless” were a rare breed. Put simply, they were people who didn’t give a damn who they worshipped.
Ancient scrolls recorded them: ‘They possess an arrogance that mocks all laws and rules, an overflowing ego, and a numb heart that knows neither pain nor fear. They view all things as tools. To them, faith is a utility. Their “love” for a god is more passionate than that of a zealot because to love God is to love themselves. Should another deity offer more, they will switch their devotion without hesitation.’
A Faithless One was a once-in-a-millennium occurrence. Their souls were structured differently. A normal person’s soul had depth; the deeper the faith, the harder it was to change. But the soul of a Faithless One was like a flat plate—they could arrange their beliefs however they liked. They were ultimate pragmatists.
The Church had a well-known scandal regarding this. The fifth Pope, Phoenix, had been a Faithless One. He had hidden under the Light for thirty years, eventually leading to the failure of the first and second Cloud-Forest Crusades. The Holy Kingdom had lost vast western territories to the Goddess of the Forest and the Hunt.
This young farmer had been identified as a heretic only two days ago. Unless he was a “Faithless One,” there was no way he could have converted this quickly—and with a level of fervor that was already beginning to eclipse even a Cardinal.
