“You are quite right, Sir Allen.” The Archbishop changed the subject, no longer dwelling on the matter.
“Why don’t we look at it from another angle? Regardless of the truth, having the soul return to the Lord’s embrace after death is always better than falling into those wicked places, wouldn’t you agree?”
Allen nodded. “That is true.”
He recalled the “Supreme Heaven” mentioned by the Star Listener.
Compared to having one’s soul devoured as a snack by an Evil God, returning to the “Golden Throne” indeed sounded like a good destination…
Wait, what exactly was the “Golden Throne”?
The term flashed through Allen’s mind, but he found the associated memories were a blur, as if shrouded in a thick fog.
Ever since he had pushed open that eerie door in his dream, this kind of thing had been happening more frequently.
‘Forget it, if I can’t remember, I won’t think about it.’
He shook his head, tossing the sense of incongruity to the back of his mind, and continued discussing souls and faith with the Archbishop.
Talking with an intelligent person was always pleasant, especially in an era where most people were illiterate.
Allen actually enjoyed exploring philosophy with others, but the development of philosophy in this era, much like social development, had stagnated.
Aside from the monks of the Church, most people regarded it as useless.
Philosophy might not be as directly visible as war, technology, or economics, yet it shaped the course of history as invisibly as gravity.
Behind every major turning point in human history was a profound philosophical revolution that reshaped how humanity perceived the world, society, and self.
The future he designed for humanity aimed to break out of the planet and step into the sea of stars within fifty years.
To achieve such a mad goal, the revolution in thought had to be more radical than the innovation of guns and cannons.
This was exactly why Allen intended to use the printing press to drive the Enlightenment Movement.
One step ahead is a genius; ten steps ahead is a madman.
And 100 steps ahead… ‘Are you searching for that, Allen de Laval?’
It was somewhat incredible.
As a pragmatic “villain,” the “Dawn’s Children” he had founded were already categorized as “disposable” in his future plans.
Those young warriors could win a revolution, but they could not win the future of humanity.
Their ideals and fighting spirit were as fragile as glass in the face of the terrifying natural disasters that would come with the apocalypse.
Furthermore, fifty years was enough time for any hero who slew a dragon to grow new scales.
Therefore, he would hand over actual power to Marianne while he retreated behind the scenes, content to be a spiritual leader, the “Child of the Dawn.”
The “Dawn’s Children” was merely the first phase of his plan — a hammer used to smash the lock on the door to the Old World.
Once the Old World was destroyed, the Brotherhood of the “Dawn’s Children” would have fulfilled its historical mission.
As for where it would go in the future, that was something for the “Dawn’s Children” to consider; it had nothing to do with Allen.
His true identity would always be the “God’s Messenger.”
He wanted to use the framework of the Church to establish a brand-new faith in the New World after the revolution — “Techno-Redemptionism.”
This was his envisioned future ideology, a monster stitched together from various radical ideas like Long-termism, liberation theology, and accelerationism. Its core doctrine was simple and crude:
The development of technology was not only a material necessity for productive forces but also a sacred moral imperative for the liberation of all creations.
Humanity as a whole had to complete its self-salvation through collective technological leaps and, in doing so, practice the will of God.
Its practical method involved a unified nation of all humanity led by Church technical experts.
By radically accelerating the development of technology, thought, and culture, they would break through the resource limitations of a Type I civilization and the constraints of production relations, eventually achieving a post-scarcity society with immense material abundance on a cosmic scale.
To this society, which was still stuck in the Middle Ages, Allen’s thoughts were more deviant than the most insane heresy.
‘But then again, how can you be a Savior without being a bit unhinged?’
The human soul had to break free from the shackles of gravity.
This was not a multiple-choice question but a mandatory order from the “God’s Messenger.”
Naturally, Allen’s radical ideas were destined to have few supporters and many opponents.
But Allen did not care.
‘You must be joking. I am a man who intends to arm-wrestle with gods. Anyone who dares to chirp in my ear can get lost, every single one of them.’
Either ascend or perish.
The “Observer” did not give humanity the power of choice.
It wasn’t that Allen had gone mad; it was the world itself that had gone insane!
Allen did not think he would end up alone. At the very least, he believed Archbishop Lucien was someone who understood him very well.
The only thing he found regrettable was that, besides himself, there was probably not another soul in this world who loved lilies so much.
Allen could not help but feel sorry for this barren spiritual world, even silently humming a song he had modified himself:
‘Where exactly is the world full of lilies? If it truly exists, then I will surely go…’
Amidst his stray thoughts, the two of them had arrived at the Sanctum.
This mysterious underground space displayed its unique charm as always.
Countless intricate metal pipes crawled along the ancient walls, emitting a low hum from time to time.
The air was filled with the fragrance of holy oil and the slightly bitter scent of machine grease.
Rather than clashing, they blended into a peculiar atmosphere that put one at ease.
Allen walked to the “shrine” of St. Leon and bowed solemnly.
After personally fighting a creation of an Evil God, he truly realized the magnitude of the sacrifice this Apostle had made to isolate the influence of the Evil Gods.
It was through his efforts that humanity possessed this pure land that could not be pried into by evil.
Archbishop Lucien led Allen toward the massive round table in the center of the space.
At the very center of the table lay a pitch-black weapon, shaped like a sword, simple and unadorned.
An inscription was carved onto the blade: **[Imperators Rex]**.
“Sir Allen, this is the Black Sword you requested.” Archbishop Lucien’s voice echoed in the empty space.
Allen’s gaze was firmly captured by the sword.
Its primary material looked like unpolished black rock, its surface matte, reflecting almost no light.
However, just looking at it gave off a sense of sturdiness and sharpness that far surpassed adamantite.
For some reason, Allen sensed a feeling of ancient vicissitudes from this sword that spanned eons.
It felt as though it did not belong to this era, but had been sent here by an invisible hand from some distant, long-destroyed past.
He felt like a green boy who had broken into a museum, planning to smash the bulletproof glass and take the crown jewel for a spin.
‘If anyone saw this, they would probably kill me!’
“May I… touch it?” he asked cautiously.
Lucien nodded with a smile. “Of course. It belongs to you.”
Allen took a deep breath, reached out, and gripped the hilt.
Unexpectedly, the black stone longsword, which looked incredibly heavy, felt just right in his hand, as if it had been custom-made for his arm.
Moreover, the moment he gripped the hilt, an indescribable sense of resonance surged into his heart.
He felt the connection between himself and the great existence that had blessed him become instantly clear and profound.
‘This thing… is a bit sinister.’
Allen asked curiously, “Your Grace, what is the origin of this sword?”
The Archbishop introduced it. “This Black Sword is not a holy relic of the Church. It was actually the personal sword of the first King of Lorraine, Camille Durand. He gifted it to the Church before he passed away.”
“Its material and origins remain unknown to this day. The Church’s research has only discovered a few of its properties. First, it is indestructible; even if shattered by external force, it can repair itself in a short time. Second, its form is determined by the host’s will. It can be a blunt instrument with no edge, or it can generate a blade only a single molecule thick in an instant, being incredibly light and sharp beyond imagination.”
Lucien paused, his tone becoming more solemn.
“Finally, and most crucially, it can greatly amplify the power of Engraved Marks — and it can also completely suppress them.”
A flash of inspiration hit Allen, and he blurted out, “It sounds a bit like a diode — forward conduction, reverse cutoff.”
Archbishop Lucien clearly understood this novel metaphor and nodded with approval.
“Quite apt. Because no one could perfectly master this power, it has remained sealed in the reliquary. But rather than letting it continue to gather dust, having you use it is perhaps its best destiny.”
“Thank you very much, Your Grace,” Allen said sincerely.
As he held the “sword,” a slight thought stirred his mind, and a sense of realization dawned upon him. It was as if the sword’s manual had been directly engraved into his brain, and he instantly understood how to toggle its various functions.
‘Truly miraculous.’
“By the way, how many years of history does it have?”
“We cannot detect the specific year,” Lucien said slowly. “But based on scattered records in some ancient documents, its history should far exceed 10,000 years.”
‘So it really is a ultimate antique?’
“Sir Allen, are you interested in giving it a name?” Archbishop Lucien suggested with a smile, seeing that he could not put it down.
“A name?” Allen was stunned for a moment, then became interested.
This was his first exclusive artifact; it indeed deserved a resounding name.
He weighed the Black Sword in his hand. It felt warm to the touch, yet it hid a sharp edge capable of cutting through everything.
He had several ideas flash through his mind: “Elucidator,” “Tensa Zangetsu,” “Black Blade Yoru”…
Those names sounded fine, but Allen felt it was a bit strange to use them for a divine object that had spanned eons.
Suddenly, a word surfaced from the depths of his mind without warning, and he spoke almost without thinking.
“How about calling it **[DATA EXPUNGED]**?”
Before the words had even fully left his lips, something eerie happened.
The moment the word reached his mouth, it turned into a silent distortion.
The air seemed to freeze for an instant. Allen felt his throat tighten. What came out was not any known syllable, but a void that had been forcibly erased.
The humming within the Sanctum even paused for a brief moment.
“Huh?”
Allen was dazed himself. What had he been trying to say just now?
He frowned, trying hard to recall. The word had clearly been on the tip of his tongue, yet he could not spit it out.
“I just said… [Blank] Sword?”
He tried again, but the result was the same. The sound was cut off at the critical point, forming a heart-palpitating silence.
The smile on Archbishop Lucien’s face had long since vanished, replaced by an expression that was a mix of shock and sudden realization.
“You…” the Archbishop said in surprise, “Did you just speak its True Name?”
“True Name?” Allen was completely confused.
“Yes, its True Name.” Lucien’s expression was incredibly solemn as he slowly explained.
“The essence of some creations is far beyond mortal understanding. Its name is not a mere designation but a definition and exposition of its very existence. Such a True Name is directly bound to a certain supreme realm, or rather… to a certain supreme existence.”
He took a deep breath and continued. “And this definition itself is a type of knowledge that mortals cannot bear. When you attempt to speak it, the laws of reality will spontaneously reject and correct this contamination. The fact that you know its True Name proves that you have an unimaginable connection with this sword, or perhaps with its creator.”
Allen’s eyelids twitched as he listened.
‘So after all that, the sword’s name is a forbidden word? If I say it, the world’s rules will censor it?’
He suddenly remembered the feeling of the manual being engraved into his brain when he first gripped the hilt.
Perhaps this “True Name” was a factory setting included in the manual, and since the user’s permissions weren’t high enough, he wasn’t allowed to say it casually.
Things seemed to be getting more and more strange.
However…
Allen looked down at the Black Sword in his hand. That heavy sense of security was real.
‘Who cares if it’s strange? As long as it works.’
Without this thing, Allen’s combat power would be cut at least in half when facing monster-level enemies.
‘Survive first, talk later.’
As for the risks, he could study them slowly in the future.
In any case, Allen had so many secrets that a few more wouldn’t matter.
Having realized this, Allen’s tense nerves relaxed, and he gave the Archbishop a slightly helpless smile.
“Forget it, I won’t think about it. It’s too taxing on the brain.”
He raised the sword, examining it against the light. The matte black blade swallowed all the light, as deep as the universe itself.
“From now on, let’s just call it the Black Sword. Simple and easy to remember.”
Allen carefully sheathed the Black Sword into its custom scabbard and solemnly confessed to the Archbishop.
“Your Grace, thank you again for your generosity. Since you trust me so much, I must also confess something to you.”
“I know about your cooperation with the Judgement Court.”
Lucien smiled, blocking the rest of Allen’s words with a single sentence.
He turned around and took another gift from a nearby box.
“We have finished the combat suit you designed yourself. Its strength is enough to withstand most weapons of this era. Of course, it does not have protection against Engraved Marks, but it will not interfere with their use either. You intend to give it to a Crestbearer, don’t you?”
Allen nodded. “That’s right. Thank you for your trouble.”
He remained calm on the surface, but his mind was racing with internal complaints.
‘The Archbishop is truly a crafty old fox who leaves nothing to chance!’
The fact that he had commissioned Victor to make a “Kamen Rider” suit for Hugo was actually within his grasp.
Lucien’s actions clearly conveyed a message: ‘I know all about the little schemes of the Judgement Court and your cooperation with them. But everything is still under my control. You don’t need to worry; just go ahead and do it.’
Allen suddenly felt some sympathy for the Grand Inquisitor of the Judgement Court, Guillaume.
Having been Lucien’s attendant in his youth and laboring for so many years, he still had this unfathomable old fox weighing down on him.
No wonder he had designs on the Church.
Anyone would develop a bit of a rebellious streak after being controlled for their entire life.
In any case, with his exclusive weapon in hand, even if Allen did not use that power of unknown origin, he was now confident he could face most Crestbearers and even the minions of the Evil Gods head-on!
“Your Grace, then our talk for today ends here.” Allen decided to drop another bombshell. He looked directly at Lucien. “Now… I might be able to help the Church even more. For instance, by healing the sick and driving out evil. If you have any need, you can call on me anytime.”
He had finally confessed his newly acquired abilities.
With this kind of power that could truly be called a “Miracle,” his identity as “God’s Messenger” was now completely solidified.
Of course, Allen felt this actually went against his original intention of “playing god.”
After all, when a fraud actually starts performing miracles, the nature of the situation changes entirely!
But there was no choice. Since the Judgement Court already knew about his “divine” attributes, the Church would inevitably find out as well.
Rather than being passive, it was better to take the initiative and slowly pay back the favors he owed.
The smile on Archbishop Lucien’s face grew even softer. He bowed slightly and said in a tone that was both devout and gratified:
“It seems the holy radiance will eventually be spread through the world by your own hands. We shall simply await your command.”
Only six days remained until Allen’s duel with Livia.
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