The Duel of the Saint and the Sword Master.
That day, a part of the mountains that the Holy Kingdom prided itself on collapsed.
There was no way to survive.
It was an obvious conclusion. No matter how much one tried to restore the physical body, if the flesh disappeared without a trace, it was impossible to come back to life.
It was a blow capable of crushing mountains.
A mere human body could not withstand such force.
Everyone knew this fact. Yet, for some reason, the man stood rooted in place with his sword resting on the ground.
His heart swelled and sank as his breath stabilized. He closed his eyes and finally presented the sword forward.
The screams echoing from all around began to subside.
It was terrifying, and he wanted to run away.
Yet curiously, all the countless people were focused on the man.
A storm was approaching.
*
The Lady Virgin Saint was watching the standoff between the two men with trembling eyes.
When I-an had risen from the brink of death to stand by her side, she had wanted to stop him in tears.
To tell him to stop, that it was useless.
The Lady’s end had already been decided. No matter how desperately I-an struggled, it would only amplify his suffering. How could she bear to watch the man she loved die hundreds of times?
Moreover, I-an had already reached his limit.
It was not the flesh, but the mind that reached its breaking point. No matter how strong a human was, limits existed.
He must have wanted to cry.
He must have wanted to give up long ago, to surrender.
Why was he still so stubborn?
The Lady could not understand at all, so she cried out.
“Why do you go so far for me?”
In her heart, she wanted to ask again.
“How much must I love you to be satisfied?”
How much more must I fall for you? Just seeing you makes my heart swell as if it will burst.
The sound of her pounding heart embarrassed her so much that she often crossed her arms and fidgeted with her fingers. It was her first love, but she could confidently declare that she adored him with all her heart.
How could she love more than this?
As if to mock her, the man grasped the entirety of her mind. So the Lady was tormented by a feeling that she might go mad.
I-an was dying.
It was a tragedy she did not want to imagine. Yet the momentum created by the Saint was clearly extraordinary.
There was no hope of surviving a direct hit from that blow.
Should she cry out and cling to him?
That was rejected. She had tried countless times, but the Saint was like a steel man. He would not bend his will due to personal requests.
Then what should she do?
What means could possibly save I-an?
The muscles in the Lady’s jaw quivered as her teeth ground together. She wanted to bite her nails, but her hands remained bound.
Think, think.
Every time the Lady repeated this to herself, her mind accelerated to its limits. Countless images raced before her eyes.
Then suddenly, a calm voice whispered in her ear.
“Prove it yourself.”
She wanted to ask, “Prove what?”
“Who you are… The path has always been there. It is simply that no one has ever walked that path until now, which is why it isn’t called a ‘path.’ Just begging and pleading won’t create a path that doesn’t exist.”
You mean the path already exists?
Where could it possibly be? If only someone would point it out, would it not be a burden?
I want to save I-an.
Please, please tell me the answer.
It would be acceptable to die a thousand or ten thousand times.
If only she could save the man she loved!
“Then, you must obey.”
Another voice raced through her white-hot mind.
Obey?
Are you saying this hopeless battle is his destiny? That spilling meaningless blood and sacrificing a futile life for the Lady is what ‘obey’ means?
“That doesn’t make sense…!”
Screams, struggles, and wails.
There was no room to stand down. The tangled threads of her thoughts brushed against a single memory.
Once, in front of the man she loved, she had said:
“First, ‘Doctrine Trial.’ Most will have to undergo this trial.”
Yes, that was right.
I-an had not forgotten her words.
“Second, ‘Honor Trial’! A trial commemorating the great saint Arius, who led the Omeros army during the ancient God War.”
The Lady bit down hard on her lips. The blood that flowed out had a bitter smell, but she didn’t care.
She felt like strangling her past self who had spoken so boldly.
If only she hadn’t talked about the trials, I-an wouldn’t have taken such reckless actions.
He could have just quietly died!
She felt resentful and regretful. At that moment, yet another phrase struck her mind.
“And the last trial is…”
With a bang, the Lady’s mind went blank.
All the stories entwined together. Memories, recollections, advice, and warnings blended together, presenting a single path.
Like fireworks bursting forth.
Desperately finding the answer, the Lady cried out.
“…Enough!”
It was a voice wrung from her limits. The two men were already on the brink of collision.
Whether this feeble scream would reach them, nonetheless, she gave it her all.
With all her might, the Lady shouted.
“Everyone stop… please!”
It was a high-pitched cry that threatened to tear through the air.
In an instant, the Saint’s eyes flicked toward the Lady. The judges standing high on the cliffs and the countless crowd did the same.
But it was just a fleeting interest.
They had no intention of investing much concern in this powerless and pitiful criminal. The fates of those standing here depended solely on the two men facing each other.
The Lady found that aspect hard to accept.
It’s my trial.
It’s my fate, and I must bear the sin.
Nothing else mattered!
As she suppressed the urge to shout, the Lady raised her voice to its limit.
“…‘Purification Trial’!”
It was an unexpected shout.
But the impact of that single word was more powerful than any other. Instantly, the son-in-law fell silent.
Even the Saint flinched and lessened his momentum.
The ‘Purification Trial.’
It was a regulation long gone, and few even remembered that tradition. Most only had a vague understanding of its existence.
Because no one had ever requested it.
At the top of the steep, cliff-like precipice, the Pope’s brow furrowed slightly.
“…What?”
“As a criminal standing before the Mountain Court… I request a ‘Purification Trial’ according to my rightful claim!”
And then silence fell once more.
The crowd began to whisper among themselves, as if sharing what they knew about the ‘Purification Trial.’
But there was no need.
The content of the Purification Trial was simpler than any other trial.
The criminal sits among burning logs, and if they survive, they are innocent.
If they burn to death, they are guilty.
It was a method of questioning the existence of sin by a god rather than humans.
The ‘Doctrine Trial’ and ‘Honor Trial’ were simply trials carried out by human hands.
But the ‘Purification Trial’ was uniquely judged by the divine. Thus, it was the most respected method of trial and held the highest priority among the three religious trials.
Of course, it took precedence over the ‘Honor Trial.’
However, there was a critical drawback to this ‘Purification Trial.’
“…Criminal, you understand, right? So far, no one has survived after requesting a ‘Purification Trial’! The will of the Lord shines like the sun, illuminating all places but not tolerating even the slightest sin.”
“Yet I must ask!”
Grimacing, the Lady steadied herself.
Her pale pink eyes were ablaze.
“If not, does that mean that one forsaken by the Lord cannot even question His will?!”
The Pope groaned and stole a glance at the Saint.
The once-excited Saint had now regained a nonchalant expression and was retracting his momentum. In contrast, the man on the opposite side was kneeling on the ground, spitting blood.
The expression of the man who heard the Lady’s words was utterly shattered. Though he did not dare to shout, he was speaking with his eyes, filled with all his heart.
‘Don’t do this.’
But the Lady merely smiled faintly and glanced at the man.
No one has survived?
If she could just die alone, that was her wish.
The Lady moistened her parched lips with saliva.
“…Very well, pitiful fated criminal. As a creature who cannot dare fathom the Lord’s will, it is every faithful follower’s right to question the Lord’s intentions. However, before preparing the sacred rite, who is it that wishes to question His will?”
“An unnamed one!”
With a thud, the Pope struck the ground, and again, the Mountain Court rumbled.
The Pope, with an intentionally dignified expression, solemnly reenacted the traditional rite.
“Very well, unnamed one! Then what is it you wish to ask the Lord?”
“Lord, Lord, why have you forsaken me?! (Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani!)”
Again, a thud reverberated, shaking the very foundations.
At the end of all exchanges.
Silence descended alongside the moonlight. Thousands of eyes gazed silently at the Pope’s lips.
And just after someone gulped audibly.
“…In accordance with the ancient laws of the Mountain Court, I hereby declare the opening of the ‘Purification Trial’ here!”
The long-awaited Purification Trial began after hundreds of years.
For the forsaken lamb to question the will of the Lord.
