**Chapter 177: Grayscale (Part 2)**
The dawn light mixed with a fiery crimson hue, dead smoke swirling over the scorched earth. An old man staggered forward from the ruins, looking like he was about to kick the bucket at any moment. The faint golden light barrier surrounding him flickered incessantly, its glow so dim it seemed ready to vanish at any second.
He seemed to know his time was up.
That night, from the moment the battle erupted outside the town, everything that followed shook the very foundation of the beliefs he had held for so many years. What was once merely an heretical force wielding the power of Infernal Fire had suddenly transformed into a fearsome monster. This creature resembled the Abyss he had once faced, but was distinctly different; it didn’t possess the chaotic power he was familiar with.
As one of the oldest bishops in the Holy Church, the man had prided himself on his extensive knowledge since being baptized in holy water during his youth. He had spent centuries studying the history of the heretics and their battles against the church. In this regard, his acumen was hardly rivaled within the Church. As the bishop responsible for missionary work in Silgaya, he had countless students and an understanding of heretics and the Abyss that few could match.
He had devoted nearly a lifetime to poring over almost all relevant documents in the grand library of the Holy City. Long ago, he had come to realize that the so-called heretics were merely a faction that split from the Holy Church in 864 AD, led by Cardinal Leslie, seduced by demons into abandoning their faith.
That seduction, as it turned out, was some fool messing with the great Goddess of Sin, stealing the spark of Infernal Fire she had granted to humanity. Guided by divine miracles and the rite of blessings, they transformed that pilfered gift into a vile, poisonous water akin to “holy water”—the “bl**d of demons.”
Oddly enough, in the beginning, that product couldn’t be deemed outright evil.
It was another divine miracle bestowed by the gods; within the Church, remnants of the goddess’s gifts could still unleash fierce Infernal Fire capable of felling enemies.
At first, it had merely been a clash of faiths; the pilfered spark allowed Leslie’s faction to endure a century-long war of beliefs, ensuring that the Infernal Fire’s power would continue without the blessing of holy water to fend off the Church’s relentless assaults.
Though there were no records documenting this explicitly, the Old Pope understood that in the early days of the Gate of Truth, both parties had set out with the same intention: to avoid harming civilians at all costs. Although no one could guarantee that amidst war, the casualties wouldn’t occur, he had once seen, in an ancient manual long forgotten by the world, the indistinct writings of the leader of the Gate of Truth—a so-called “demon”—whose aim was to “bring havoc without harming the people.”
Whether that truth could be validated or not, the Old Pope believed the upper echelons of the Gate of Truth still had some reason at that time.
As fate would have it, the Gate of Truth ultimately fell short against the vast forces of the Holy Church. But in order to survive, some desperate souls began doing unspeakable things. He couldn’t pinpoint when they had morphed into true villains, coercing and manipulating the impoverished villages, tricking them into joining their ranks, all in a bid to expand the heretical force and resist the Church. Yet, it all proved futile, trailing back to the Eastern Continent, where they huddled in despair, their ambition still alive, doing increasingly outrageous deeds to gather power for a counterattack.
As time passed, the bl**d used for their baptism had indeed morphed into true “demon bl**d.”
They had become authentic villains.
Admittedly, sharing these old tales now would be quite the faux pas. Understanding this history was a personal obsession that could never be carelessly retold to anyone. Much of what the Old Pope knew was information that the Church had never documented, nor would ever document.
His genuine understanding of heresy came from piecing together fragments from dusty, long-lost historical texts, supplemented by “official history,” reconstructing the overall truth through his own interpretations. He had spent half a lifetime on this pursuit, and in the end, what he could grasp was merely a glimpse, an iceberg’s tip, far from comprehensive.
But he believed this was the “truth” of history.
However, even in this carefully obscured and buried “truth,” all the Old Pope could clarify was that the heretics had stolen the power of Infernal Fire, creating a baptism method similar to that of the Church by drinking “divine water” to receive blessings from the gods—blessings that the deities had long turned a blind eye to, having handed the reins of the world over to humanity. The great beings had no interest in reclaiming the powers they had bestowed, and thus the Gate of Truth could utilize it indefinitely, spreading suffering among the offspring of the gods.
That spark was said to be hidden in the Eastern Continent, somewhere near the Amigil Mountain Range, on the edge of the sand valley. Twenty-one years ago, during the Church’s military campaign against the remnants of heresy in the East, Elder Ryan slayed a great demon, with the sole aim of once again embarking on the hunt for the lost spark, yet he found nothing.
In the years that followed, Elder Ryan remained in the Eastern Continent, seeking any trace of the spark. Recently, he caught wind that there seemed to be clues about its location, as multiple Pope Knights had quietly arrived at a harbor in the east just before the heretics launched their attack on Silgaya. Among them was that silver flash—Carlos Gonzalez, the disciple Elder Ryan was most proud of and trusted the most.
Despite these whispers being mere shadows of truth, the Old Pope had a nagging concept of what the “spark” was—a sort of “source” of divine power granted to humanity, linked to holy water and related to the “medium” and “vehicle” of the divine relics. The details about the origins of the Gate of Truth and its history with the Church remained vague, elusive, and impossible to adequately research any further.
Regardless, in the Old Pope’s well-formed views, the heretics had stolen the “spark” to gain the power of Infernal Fire, and as those exalted beings in the realm of fantasy turned a deaf ear to worldly affairs, they seemed less willing to take notice. This is why a portion of the Goddess of Sin’s power remained persistently exploited by heretics for centuries without it ever being reclaimed or re-gifted.
—But the divine beings would absolutely never grant them new powers.
This was impossible.
Hundreds of years had passed; the heretics could wield only Infernal Fire. Even if they devised countless twisted methods to intensify the flames using the properties of bl**d, it was still only Infernal Fire.
The great beings were unwilling to interfere in earthly trivialities any longer; the grace they had bestowed was more than enough. Humanity had gradually flourished with it. Though there was strife, to the divine beings, it was probably akin to insignificant ants irritating each other with their fragile mandibles—an exceedingly dull matter that couldn’t possibly sway their favor towards any side, certainly not prompting a “heavenly angel” to once again descend to pave the way for humanity, let alone on behalf of the heretics.
Indeed, the moment the Old Pope laid eyes on that monster, he knew it was an angel.
He was so certain of his knowledge: well-versed in divine history and obscure lore, he had read countless ancient texts about wars from the age of gods, studied numerous scrolls, murals, and remnants. Most believers envisioned angels as massive beings with wings, but only scholars like the Old Pope, who focused on uncovering the “truth,” knew that this was just one manifestation of an angel.
Angels had another form that resembled the monstrous entities embodied by heretics, capable of wielding magnificent divine powers.
If what emerged from the Abyss wielded not chaotic power but rather a unique divine force like the Infernal Fire, he might have believed the Abyss to be another form of angel—but in truth, it wasn’t. It was merely a manifestation of some evil, chaotic demon, a mindless monster symbolizing nothing but destruction.
That was what he believed—an unwavering conviction.
Yet that day, on what the Old Pope thought was the last night of his life, he witnessed two things that shattered his understanding.
The angel incarnated by heretics.
And…
The Pope Knight personifying the Abyss.
“This… this can’t be happening…”
At that moment, the reality before him nearly contradicted everything he had learned over a lifetime. Not long ago, he stood swaying in the frigid blast of wind on a hill south of the town, watching a small figure embroiled in combat. The seventeen-year-old Pope Knight faced six undead creatures alone, using astonishing talent and charisma to swiftly obliterate them one after another. For the first time, he admired a little girl. But now, that heroic little girl had transformed into the Abyss, enveloped by dead smoke, confronting the demon that had taken angelic shape—right before his eyes.
It felt as if heaven and earth had twisted and turned upside down in an instant.
The girl and the angel—or perhaps two ferocious demons—locked eyes with the dazed Old Pope at that moment. He instinctively pulled the trigger, and they gazed back at him, their bl**d-red eyes glowering. He heard something that looked like an angel speak, but the words were garbled in his ears, which seemed nearly deaf already. Through a vision tinged with bl**d, red and black interwove, and the sinister power surged endlessly.
“Ah, poor old fool…”
The demon’s sigh reached the Old Pope’s ears as a cacophony of buzzing noise.
“Fools like you, blinded and brainwashed by the Church, even lack the worth of dying. How many of your kind are there? Too many to count…”
In his dazed state, the Old Pope saw the suspended “angel” suddenly swing a bl**d-like arm.
“Tsk, tsk, so pathetic.”
In the next instant, flames engulfed his vision, swallowing the calm, indifferent visage of the girl hidden nearby, consuming the Old Pope’s body whole.
Boom!
The excruciating pain was instantaneous, quickly replaced by an endless numbness, no feeling at all.
“Ughhhh—”
The Old Pope struggled and screamed in the flames, but soon even his voice faded away. His eyes were seared blind, his ears permanently deafened; every bit of sensation was obliterated by the heat. He felt as though his bones were melting. In that terrifying darkness, the last thoughts to cross the Old Pope’s mind were about these two incomprehensible truths that had shattered his understanding.
He didn’t understand what was happening…
He only felt a kind of invisible vortex, some enormous deception trapping all ignorant souls like himself deeper and deeper, never to be aware until d*ath.
The truth…
Had to reach the Church… the Pope… at the very least, the knights stationed in Woodward Forest, and the Faith Organization… they had to see this reality…
At the very least…
It needed to reach those few scholars who, like him, understood the true history…
His screams became hoarse, leading only to a breathless gasp. The light barrier shattered, and amidst the Infernal Fire’s embrace, the Old Pope fell. In his final moments, he lifted his trembling, charred right hand, as brittle as bone, with a finger that flickered with the last glimmer of golden light. Then, that golden light surged upward, soaring straight into the night sky.
Bang—
Like a brilliant firework, the golden light exploded above the small town.
