Reis sat sideways on a finely groomed broom, her gaze fixed on the pitch-black chapel not far ahead.
The place was shrouded in dense forest, as silent as a graveyard. Even a passerby would be crushed by its eerie atmosphere, desperate to flee as quickly as possible.
In a city as populous as Kaisania, whether the bustling main streets or the tumbledown slums, nothing resembled this site. It was like an antelope trapped within a pride of lions.
The flock of ravens perched in the trees above kept a rare silence, their beady black eyes reflecting Reis’s silhouette. They stood watch like soldiers, scrutinizing this stranger who dared approach.
“How amusing,” the witch murmured. “The ruins of the once-glorious Blasphemers’ Order, and atop them now stands a Tribunal branch of the Holy Church… Could this too be the handiwork of that High One who delights in tugging at the threads of fate?”
“I cannot answer that, witch,” came the reply from the gaunt young man beside her. “None may fathom my Lord’s will. None may know His will. We are His pieces, and pieces need not ask questions—they need only act.”
He wore an old military uniform, unmarked by insignia, his posture ramrod-straight—like a decaying tree, one shove from collapse, yet still unyielding.
Wrinkles and scars marred his face like a well-used scratching post. His pale, vacant eyes swept across the witch with a lifelessness colder than any corpse.
“The Chief’s legacy lies deep beneath this false-god monastery,” he said stiffly. “As agreed, you may freely study that priceless divine gift.”
How generous of you. Reis sneered inwardly. In truth, it’s because you lot have no idea how to use that ritual site yourselves, isn’t it?
After all, the Chief had not served any single High One, but had been one of the rare “favorites.” Fate, however, played a cruel jest—sending a soulless one to his side.
In that light, perhaps the so-called High One of Fate was no omniscient, omnipotent god after all. His pawns had plotted tirelessly, only for their schemes to be torn apart by one soulless man.
Reis snorted quietly through her nose.
Though a witch estranged from her own kind, she had no warmth for the Blasphemers either. Their alliance was nothing more than temporary convenience.
Once the Chief’s knowledge was hers, she would leave the city at once.
She did not fancy her chances against the combined force of the Black Sword and the Soulless—something even the once-exalted Hand of Truth, under the gaze of many High Ones, had failed to achieve.
“Solis,” she asked, “how did you manage to construct a massive ritual chamber beneath this city—one that opened into the Sea of Souls—without the Church or the Knights discovering?”
“By amassing enough divine gifts to disrupt the Sea of Souls itself,” the man answered mechanically. “That chaos cloaked us from the false god’s disciples and their detection spells.”
At that, Solis clenched his fist with sudden ferocity.
“Were it not for that cursed traitor, the soulless defiler, our God’s realm would already have descended upon Kaisania! We would not be skulking in shadows like this. Revenge… revenge… revenge! Once we claim the Chief’s legacy, this city shall become our Lord’s holy domain. That is why we have returned from hell itself!”
Since meeting him, Reis had rarely seen the man show emotion, as if truly carved from military discipline. Yet every time the Soulless was mentioned, his composure shattered, replaced by an ordinary man’s all-consuming rage.
Reis gave no comment.
In her eyes, the Hand of Truth had reaped what they sowed. To think they could tame and control a soulless one—it was like cuddling a live bomb to sleep.
Naturally, they had suffered the backlash. Their proud techniques of control had proved useless, even twisted against them, leaving a permanent scar across the faces of the High Ones themselves.
Still, the Soulless was a man. And all men had weaknesses—
But if Solis’s words were true, the Hand of Truth had raised him into something more—a merciless being without blood or tears.
Reis recalled her brief encounter with Loki earlier that day and felt an involuntary chill.
That heart-clenching dread, as though her very power were being drained away… The simulacrum she had crafted, imbued with a portion of her own strength, had been undone with a mere touch—unraveled, melted into nothing.
An unreasonable abomination. No wonder the High Ones bore him such grudges.
Yet stripped of his peculiarities, his power now was indeed far less than in the past—just as Solis claimed.
That was why Reis had chosen to strike him down from afar with her strongest spell.
And yet…
There had been a Saintess at his side.
What happened to the Church opposing him? she thought. And for such a figure to appear in Kaisania without stirring the local Church at all… In normal times, they’d be clamoring with parades, festivals stretching from east to west.
Forget it. Let the Hand of Truth puzzle over such riddles.
“So then,” Reis asked, “how do we enter? By force?”
“No need.”
Solis strode straight ahead.
The old fool’s courting death.
Reis followed at a cautious distance, ready to flee at the first sign of danger.
Yet Solis passed through the front gate unharmed, crossing the courtyard unchallenged.
The guards stationed there—men in white tabards, armed zealots of the Church—did not even glance at him.
—No.
Reis’s eyes narrowed. Their holy vestments were defiled, scrawled with blasphemous runes and symbols. And beneath their iron masks glowed eyes of eerie blue light.
At last, she understood the source of the chapel’s unsettling aura.
How had they done it? When? The Hand of Truth had already seized this Tribunal branch without a sound…
“I see the question in your eyes, witch.”
At the chapel doors, Solis turned, meeting her furrowed gaze.
“As you can see, this place is ours once more. Thanks to the ambition of the fool who leads Kaisania’s false god cult, we captured it with ease.”
He snorted disdainfully.
“He covets the Chief’s legacy too, and struck a bargain with equally greedy comrades. By severing ties with the Tribunal himself, he gave us an opportunity beyond price.”
“Come, witch. I will show you what a true miracle looks like. The moment of your destiny has arrived.”