Chapter 10 Side Story: Victor, Lord of the Holy Light Temple

Inside the stone wall.

The Holy Light Prison was at the very back of the Temple, its entrance hidden behind the stone wall of the confession hall.

Victor followed the guiding messenger here. Even the light seemed feeble. As he walked down the damp stone steps, the sickening smell of sulfur grew stronger.

He clutched the holy scripture in his hand. The air grew colder, and the holy light torch’s flame dimmed further, his knuckles turning white. His palms were sweaty.

Victor the Clergyman was here to preach on behalf of the Temple of Holy Light. He repeated the prayer over and over in his mind. Just this one line. He was afraid he wouldn’t even be able to get this line out smoothly.

This wasn’t his first time dealing with prisoners. But before, it was at most delivering holy meals to the monks in the Temple or taking notes outside the confession booth. The people locked up in the Holy Light Prison were different.

This group was the most dangerous and unforgivable bunch in the entire Holy Kingdom—Fallen Ones who used black magic, worshippers of the Undead Race who massacred civilians, and Holy Light Traitors who tried to assassinate the Elders.

Victor wanted to ask, how were these people still alive? But he didn’t voice it. The holy scripture said that the holy light shines on all beings, even the deepest sins can be purified. He used to think those words were sacred. Now they only made him sick.

The guiding messenger led the way, giving quiet instructions as they walked.

“Their magic power is sealed. They can’t hurt you. Don’t be afraid.”

“Most of the prisoners won’t pay any attention to you. Just treat it like talking to a log.”

“Lord Victor, all the prisoners on this floor are bound by holy light chains. They can’t move and won’t even look at you.”

Victor nodded.

“Just stand there and finish the prayer, and then we’ll leave.”

He paused, lowering his voice even more.

“As for that old man in the last cell, you don’t need to mind him. He’s always like that.”

It was only then that Victor noticed his fingers holding the holy scripture were trembling slightly.

The prison corridor was very long. On both sides were row after row of prisoners nailed to the stone walls with holy light chains. Victor stood in front of the first cell and began to recite, his voice dry.

He saw the eyes of those prisoners. Some stared at him as if sizing him up to see if he was worth eating. Some recited the sentences from the holy scripture backwards, their tone more devout than his, but with a sarcastic grin on their lips.

Others, upon hearing “the holy light shines on all,” would suddenly shout to chat with the inmate in the next cell, treating him as if he were air.

Every pair of eyes told him: these were not souls in need of redemption, but beasts locked up by the holy light.

And the holy light kept them here only to torment each other in the remaining darkness until they went completely mad.

He didn’t remember how he finished walking past those cells. He only remembered the cold sweat on his back sticking his shirt to his skin. Then he reached the very end.

That cell was darker than all the others. So dark that even the holy light torch in the corridor couldn’t shine inside.

An old man, so thin he was just skin and bones, sat cross-legged in the corner, wrapped in a tattered black robe, with hair like withered grass hanging over his face.

On his wrists were holy light chains twice as thick as those on other prisoners, covered with sealing runes that Victor couldn’t understand. He didn’t move at all, as if he had been dead for a long time.

The guiding messenger whispered, “Lord Victor, this old man always looks like this. Just do a casual sermon and wrap it up. I’ll head up first.”

With that, he hurried out, his footsteps fading away on the stone steps.

Victor opened the holy scripture and began to recite. His voice fell into the dead silent cell, completely absorbed by the stone walls.

When he chanted, “May the holy light illuminate the abyss of all sins,” a very faint tremor issued from the old man’s throat. Not a breath, but vocal cords that had been unused for too long, reawakening. Then he opened his mouth.

“Unexpected. A person who rejects holy light magic actually became a Clergyman.”

The old man’s voice was hoarse and low, every word dripping with amusement.

“How rare.”

Victor’s fingers tightened abruptly. The holy scripture was crushed hard.

“Looks like a pretty boy, hehehe…”

Every tone of this old man was mocking him, and he had nowhere to hide.

The anger from failing to split the wooden post on the training ground, combined with the disdainful words of the guards, all stuck in his throat. He slammed the holy scripture shut, his chest heaving violently.

Victor snapped harshly, “You’re asking for death!”

The old man’s laugh was short and sharp, like something scraping against the stone wall.

“Wait. A Clergyman, with such murderous intent?”

The old man cackled hoarsely. He bit down heavily on the word “Clergyman,” as if chewing a piece of rotten meat. Then he leaned forward slightly, the chains producing a dull clank.

Victor finally saw the pupils in those eye sockets—they were not human pupils. They were two faint flames of ghost fire, slowly burning in the hollow sockets.

“I think what suits you is not holy light magic.”

The old man’s voice suddenly became very soft and slow, as if sharing a secret meant only for the two of them.

“It’s the dark undead secret art. The moment you entered, this old man saw your talent. You belong to the darkness by nature.”

Victor shuddered all over. He gripped the holy scripture, steadied himself, and raised his voice to nearly a roar.

“Bullshit! Someone like you, I… I will judge you in the name of the holy light—Do you believe I can sentence you to death?”

He threw out all the titles he could muster, trying to use the recognized authority of the outside world to refute those pupil-like ghost fires.

But with every word he spoke, those titles seemed to weigh less and less, until even he could barely hear himself.

The old man didn’t argue. He just leaned quietly against the stone wall, his blazing eyes fixed on Victor without blinking. After a while, he suddenly laughed.

“Now you can only talk tough, after all, you don’t have any power at all.”

His tone wasn’t sarcastic; it was sympathy, the look of a hunter watching a young beast caught in a trap.

“Having talent, but unable to use it. What a pity.”

Victor clenched the holy scripture so hard that the joints of his fingers turned white. He knew that this man’s words were slander, blasphemy—any clergyman hearing such words should refute, judge, and drive away on the spot.

But he knew better that at the moment the old man spoke those words, the darkness he had suppressed all afternoon suddenly surged in his heart. Not a rebuttal.

It was a deeper, more ancient stirring he had never touched before—like something locked in the deepest part of his heart, called awake for the first time.

He turned around abruptly, facing away from the cell, using the last shred of reason to control his vocal cords, making himself sound only cold and calm.

“I never needed to explain anything to a heinous criminal like you.”

He took a step.

“Today’s sermon ends here. You’ve ruined so many souls. Farewell.”

He felt he was walking fast, but in truth, he was just walking hastily. Because he didn’t dare to run. He was afraid that if he ran, it would be as good as admitting something.

The old man’s voice chased after him from behind, unhurriedly traveling through the entire stone corridor.

“Yes. You will sooner or later obey the darkness in your heart. Hahaha! We will definitely meet again.”

The laughter echoed back and forth in the narrow corridor, like countless grains of sand being stuffed into Victor’s ears.

He covered his ears and ran desperately upwards, pushed open the wall door, rushed into the confession hall, and slammed the empty confessional door shut. Then he leaned against the door, slowly sliding down to sit on the floor.

He looked down at his trembling hands. There was still no holy light. And he had nothing.

He didn’t curse back, didn’t truly refute. He used his identity to block those ghostly eyes, and then walked away without looking back.