Chapter 1 : Not a bad person

The Astasia Empire was the most powerful nation on the continent, unmatched by any competitor.

Naturally, an empire that ruled over the largest territory could not have a homogeneous population.

Humans, beastkin, elves, dwarves, and more—

The empire, composed of various races, naturally chose the path of embracing diverse cultures.

One of the cultural aspects the empire prided itself on was polytheism.

“All gods who love their followers must be respected.”

This was the will of the first emperor, who had been blessed by the gods.

Thanks to following this will, the empire frequently saw the emergence of individuals blessed by the divine…

“O parent of pleasure, drenched in lust!!”

“Save us who suffer in pain! Embrace us in your arms, filled with happiness!!”

Of course, that didn’t mean every god was accepted.

A forgotten, fallen ancient god’s temple—

Amidst it, naked followers were moaning in ecstasy.

“Here, the lambs offer you a feast! Please, accept our invitation!!!”

An elf, clutching a blood stained dagger, pleaded toward a massive stone statue for a divine response.

But no response came.

“Lord Albert, how could the Father respond with only a single virgin?”

“Indeed. Please, let us continue the ritual so that the Father may be satisfied.”

Attendants, their grotesque faces hidden behind masks, begged him.

If sacrificing more lives could draw the god’s attention, then more would die. It didn’t matter.
Albert felt the same way.

“Do you think I don’t know that? I just hope my devotion reaches the Father sooner!”

He turned around.

Six virgins and six pure youths, stripped bare, awaited their turn, staring at Albert.

No—five virgins.

The first offering had already been beheaded and was bleeding out.

“Heh, hehehe…”

Albert’s body tensed with pleasure as he looked down at the girl, dying under the effects of the drugs.

Why had he, an elf born into nobility, turned his back on the gods of the elves to serve an ancient one?

“What did the elf gods ever do for me to make me give up this joy?”

The feeling of absolute power—

The thrill of deciding the fate of others on a whim.

The warmth of blood seeping through his bare feet—he trembled as he felt the life fade from a body.

How much had he sacrificed for this ecstasy?!

Even if he could go back in time, Albert knew he would make the same choice.

“Your deaths shall bring joy to the Father!”

His dagger traced a bloodstained arc as he beheaded the next sacrifice.

Not in a single stroke—

But with a deliberate cut, ensuring the severed arteries would gasp for air, allowing the victim to feel both pain and pleasure.

Watching his sacrifices drown in the blood that spilled from their own bodies, Albert shuddered in bliss.

For mere fleeting moments of pleasure, people were dying.

“Aaaah!!”

“I want to indulge in more women!”

“Lord Albert, I will give you as much money as you desire! Please, let me feel passion again, let me relive my youth!!”

The cultists begged, seeking nothing but worthless pleasure, pleading to Albert and their god.

To Albert, they were no different from pigs scrambling for scraps.

A part of him wanted to sacrifice himself and bestow them with their coveted “food”…

“Move! Lord Albert has decided your fate!!”

“Be grateful for the role granted to you, lowly servant!!”

But it wasn’t time to grant them such a luxury yet.

A pool of blood, formed from the sacrifice of twelve individuals—

The attendants dragged a child, bound in chains, and threw him into the crimson liquid.

The child glared at Albert with resentful eyes.

Of course, he did.

His parents, once devout followers, had been slaughtered for Albert’s ritual.

But Albert felt no guilt.

“Oh dear, do you still resent me? Your parents chose their deaths. Why blame me for it?”

Crunch!

The bit in the child’s mouth seemed about to shatter under the pressure of his clenched teeth.

Albert felt exhilarated by the defiance. 

He caressed the boy’s cheek with the tip of his dagger.

Hatred.

A thousand, ten thousand times over.

And yet, powerless to do anything.

Savoring that helplessness, Albert grinned wickedly.

He pointed the dagger at the child’s heart and whispered mockingly—

“Hate me all you want. It won’t change anything. There is no god who will answer your prayers.”

Those who do not worship shall not receive the gods’ grace.

The gods were nothing if not selfish.

Laughing at the boy’s tears, Albert slowly pushed the dagger forward.

Or at least, he tried to.

“Is this… the mortal realm?”

Before he could complete the act, an unfamiliar voice echoed through the temple.

A passage had formed atop the statue.

Through it, Dantalion descended upon the mortal realm.

More precisely, he had manifested through the largest available passageway in an avatar form, constrained by its limits.

Dantalion twisted his body, adjusting to the unfamiliar form, and looked around.

Men and women, young and old—

All stood naked, staring at him in awe.

He was not confused.

“The stench of rot is unbearable.”

He was irritated.

Of all the places for the passage to lead him, it had to be a cult’s altar?

The reek was nauseating—like a meatball kneaded from rotting flesh.

“O-Oh, Father?”

One of the cultists, failing to grasp the situation, reached toward Dantalion.

It was like watching rotten food move on its own.

Like living vomit—utterly revolting.

“I should clean up this mess first.”

Dantalion, his patience wearing thin, pulled out a red book.

But… why was it so thin?

“Ah, of course. This vessel can barely contain even a fraction of my power.”

No matter.

Against these powerless sinners, there was no need for grand authority.

Flip!

As the thin, red book turned its pages, names were engraved upon them.

“Hans McKellar—burned his parents alive for their wealth and, to avert his guilt, joined a heretical cult and offered children as sacrifices.”

“!?”

The man who had reached toward Dantalion recoiled in shock.

How could this being before him know of crimes he had never once confessed to anyone?

But Dantalion’s revelations did not stop there.

A woman who, unsatisfied with two husbands, kept six boyfriends and three girlfriends.

A soldier who murdered his own brother to take his wife.

A merchant who handed out a few coins to beggars, only to have them stab his business rivals in return.

“Truly… you’ve gathered nothing but the scum of the earth.”

“W-What right do you have to judge us!?”

A bold fool spoke up, trying to resist the undeniable truth before him.

He was likely trying to put up a fight, knowing he was cornered.

Of course, how humiliating must it have been for someone who killed his own brother over a woman?

Dantalion chuckled and clenched his fist in the air.

“It’s been a while since someone questioned my authority.”

Right? How laughable.

Dantalion had been granted the right to judge sinners by an existence far beyond their understanding.

“As an Arbiter, I hold the power to judge all sinners. This right surpasses even the one you worship.”

Then, with his clenched fist, he struck the ground.

Crash!

An invisible hammer crushed the man into pulp.

Bones and flesh splattered as compressed blood burst in all directions, scattering the remains.

A sight so nightmarish that even the bloodthirsty cultists found their veins frozen with terror.

“A-Aaaargh!?”

“Run!!”

“Move! I’m getting out first!!”

The cultists abandoned Albert and scrambled to flee.

After all, they had only gathered here in pursuit of pleasure—true faith had never been part of the equation.

But escape was impossible.

No sinner escapes judgment.

An unseen barrier sealed off their exit, and they pounded their fists against the walls until their fingers broke.

“The trial begins.”

Dantalion called out each name from the book and pronounced them guilty.

Each time he knocked upon the air with his invisible hammer, one or two cultists were crushed into nothingness.

Until only one remained.

The last surviving sinner stared blankly into space, laughing maniacally.

As the hammer descended toward his head—

“You demon bastard!!”

“Hmm?”

Albert, waiting for Dantalion to lower his guard, lunged.

Before becoming a high priest, he had been a knight of great renown in the empire.

His sword, coated in a violet aura—the power of a fallen god—was now infused with his knightly aura.

Surely, even a demon would—

“How arrogant. You forsook honing your own strength, yet you think you can touch me?”

Swish!

Albert’s blade passed through Dantalion’s body, slicing only empty air.

His jaw dropped in disbelief.

The power of the god he served—so pathetic?

Dantalion reached for his face.

Grab!

His long fingers wrapped around Albert’s head.

Then, darkness swallowed him whole.

Albert struggled, trying to pry away the fingers.

But no light returned.

Instead, his flesh began to melt—a searing, excruciating agony.

“G-Gaa—!!!”

“Oh, come now. Screaming this early? I haven’t even begun the fun part.”

Above Dantalion’s head, a massive, abyssal maw opened.

He loosened his grip, allowing Albert to look inside.

Dozens of shriveled, skeletal eyes stared back at him.

“Sa—!?

Albert wanted to scream.

No—he wanted to beg for his life, piss himself, and cry for mercy.

But he couldn’t.

Dozens of withered arms shot out from Dantalion’s face, grabbing him.

“Go, enjoy your time in hell with your followers. About… 500 years should do.”

The sinners who once worshipped Albert now dragged him down.

When he struggled to shake them off, they broke his arms and legs.

When he cried and reached for the fading light, they gouged out his eyes.

When he screamed in agony, they tore his mouth open.

Gulp.

Dantalion swallowed Albert whole.

Returning his face to normal, he rubbed his jaw in thought.

“Have I gotten weaker? Or is it just that it’s been so long…?”

How many years had it been since he last judged filth like this?

As a Grand Arbiter, Dantalion had spent his time dealing with sinners with tragic pasts and complicated motivations.

But these?

Disgusting, vile scum.

So, of course, he had gotten a little carried away.

Even now, he could feel the passage to the mortal realm straining under the weight of his presence—on the verge of collapse.

“H-Hic…!?”

“Hmm?”

A hiccup drew his attention.

A small, blonde-haired human child trembled in the pool of blood, staring up at him.

Dantalion checked the red book—no, the crimson book.

No names remained…

Ah.

No, there was one.

His gaze shifted to a lone survivor among the corpses.

The sinner, now insane, curled into himself, making noises that blurred the line between screams and laughter.

“I’ll deal with that later.”

His eyes returned to the child.

The poor thing trembled in terror.

How terrified must he have been, kidnapped by fanatics for no fault of his own?

But more importantly…

“Hmm. He’s… got some talent.”

Dantalion could see it—a faint but promising light within the boy’s soul.

Not overwhelming power, but enough potential that, with guidance, he could grow formidable.

Considering he had overexerted himself and could barely move from the altar…

Maybe it was worth giving this child a chance?

After all, he never expected to descend in his full power on his very first attempt.

“All beginnings are humble ones.”

After a brief moment of contemplation, Dantalion decided to appear more approachable to the child.

And what was the universal symbol of harmlessness?

A smile.

“You must’ve been very scared, huh?”

Dantalion’s molten-like face cracked open into what he thought was a gentle, reassuring grin, revealing pristine, white teeth.

The best smile he could muster with his horrendous sense of aesthetics.

“Hiccup—!?”

Yeah.

It had the opposite effect.

The child, feeling the warmth of the blood beneath him, realized it had just gotten slightly warmer.