Silence settled once the demigod left.

  Pope Lathan looked at the king, the man who had dictated his life, the one he had been a dog for.

  Then he looked at the saintess, now a true Saintess. She’d been chosen by a demigod, and he could still sense in her the same dread, fear, horror, and awe he had felt when he looked at the demigod.

  This was why he’d first entered the church, so long ago. His faith, his trust in the goddess, may’ve become faint over the years and soon faded away. But the desire that brought him to the church lingered—to believe there would be a being who wanted the best for the world, who would prevent injustice, who would test them all on their morals and beliefs and grant salvation.

  But now, his life felt pointless.

  Finally, after so many years, he had received the affirmation every devotee desires—even if not from the Goddess he had prayed to all his life. And it had been too late.

  He’d already succumbed to the dark path and committed sins he would never have imagined doing when he was younger. He’d given up on his faith, given up on being a good and proper Pope, abandoned his responsibilities and become a shell of his former self, an abomination.

  And even if all of it wasn’t entirely because of the man in front of him, a significant part of it was because of this king.

  King Nohl had shown him what powerlessness looked like. Proved that the Goddess wouldn’t come to save him. Perhaps the Goddess didn’t exist, or if she did, she didn’t care about them, or their sins. They were all godless people struggling to survive day by day.

  But now, Pope Lathan realized that maybe the real problem was that they had been worshipping the wrong god.

  They had been worshipping the Goddess, but in fact, the one who existed was a demigod—and who knows what other kinds of gods. Perhaps that was why they had been forsaken. Perhaps that’s why no god had arrived—until now.

  Now, he had shown mercy. He had grown tired of their mistakes, their sins, their flawed behavior, of their senseless killing driven by lust and greed. But now, he had come down, and luckily for them all, he didn’t seem wrathful. He didn’t want their lives, didn’t want them to rot in hell. He was giving them a second chance.

  Hannah, surprisingly, was the first to break the silence—not the king, not the Pope, but Hannah, the usually timid and silent girl. "Now, with those hundred thousand gold coins, what do you plan to do?" she asked. The king looked momentarily surprised and gave the Pope a questioning glance.

  "Well, these aren’t coins I saved," Pope Lathan clarified to the king. "The demigod granted them to us."

  "Demigod?" King Nohl pondered, then nodded. "Right, no ordinary mortal could do that, indeed. But to think he’s a manifestation of the divine... It seems the gods haven’t forsaken us. Perhaps we will survive this disaster after all."

  Pope Lathan nodded to himself. He didn’t know whether he deserved to survive the disaster, but he was relieved the gods hadn’t forsaken them and grateful for the second chance.

  "What do you think we should do with those coins, Hannah?" he asked. If anyone was qualified to answer, it was Hannah, personally chosen by the demigod himself. She, blessed by the divine, should know what the right path forward was.

  "I think we should first address the homeless problem in the capital. We should set up centers to distribute food. We should provide education for the peasants and the poor. We should develop the villages. Do as much as we can.”

  King Nohl nodded. "Yeah, I’ve been neglecting my duties. There’s indeed a lot we can do with the resources I have, and the resources the demigod has granted you... and I believe will continue to give you. With his support alone, now that this burden has been lifted from my shoulders, we can change this world. And I… I can finally begin fixing the kingdoms I’ve ruined."

  A guilty look spread across his face, and Pope Lathan knew why.

  During his mad quest for conquest, he had taken over kingdom after kingdom, but never developed them. He plundered all their resources, leaving them even more desolate, broken, and chaotic than before.

  “Do you think we can redeem ourselves?” It was one of the Cardinals who asked the question.

  Pope Lathan answered before Hannah or the king could interrupt. "If you could not, you wouldn't still be alive—thinking, trying, and having the chance to change something."

  He wasn’t sure if that was indeed the truth or if it was something he desperately wanted to believe. But surely, no— the demigod was kind. Surely they had the chance to change their lives, to change everyone’s lives.

  Indeed, he had been given a second chance, and this time, he wouldn’t squander it.

  Jack was an ordinary cult worshiper. Well, as ordinary as a cult worshiper could be.

  But for a worshiper of the Darkness Bane cult, it was pretty ordinary.

  Most of his days were spent just waking up, worshiping evil eldritch gods, eating, and then worshiping evil eldritch gods some more.

  Then, he’d do some chores, like cleaning their safe houses, and worship evil eldritch gods again. Standard religious activities, truly.

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  The only special and odd days were when he had to go on missions for the Bane cult, usually assigned by the Pope, the cult head.

  Such as the one he had recently completed. His mission had been to spread the plague—well, to experiment with it, injecting some orphans and seeing how they fared. Most of them died within a few hours of the injection. One or two survived a while longer, and one of them had just randomly disappeared from the face of the world, which had caused some anxiety on Jack’s part. Where had that kid gone? How had they tracked him?

  Jack didn’t need to know how they'd spread the plague or how they could mutate it further to end the world. They had been experimenting in smaller villages, but compared to a sprawling metropolis like the capital, villages were nothing. It was just a different set of conditions, and there were many mages and mage-enhanced things in the capital.

  Today, too, Jack’s schedule would be pretty normal. They didn’t have any idea how to find the missing kid, so they forwarded the situation to the Pope, who would, of course, come up with a solution.

  All Jack had to do was go about his day—pray to the evil eldritch gods, eat some nice food, and perhaps check out the new restaurant that had opened up in the back alley of Fifth Lane.

  Maybe clean up a warehouse, maybe execute a few traitors—the usual, you know? You know how it goes. But then, out of nowhere, two men appeared in front of him. Not stepped out of a shadow, or walked up without him noticing, one moment they were not there and the next…

  Jack had been walking toward Fifth Lane, mind buzzing with curiosity about what kind of dishes the new place might have. It was midnight, and he’d taken a route where few people would pass by. The fewer who noticed him, the better. He had timed his visit to avoid crowds, choosing a quiet hour so both the alley and the restaurant would be sparsely populated.

  But in the blink of an eye, there were two men standing right in front of him, their innocent smiles hiding something far darker. Jack squinted, shocked, trying to process what had just happened. Did two people just appear out of nowhere?

  No way, right? They must have used some kind of invisibility spell, popping out of thin air. But if they’d waited for him, they clearly anticipated his arrival—this meant they knew exactly who they were waiting for. They knew their target.

  They were waiting for Jack.

  He tried to leap back, to run, but his body had stopped obeying his commands. He stood frozen in place. There was no pain, no stiffness. His body simply refused to move.

  Absolutely helpless.

  The older of the two men stepped forward and placed a hand on Jack’s shoulder. He would have flinched, and the fact that he didn’t and couldn’t somehow seemed even worse than the ordinary fear. Who were these people?

  "Now, now, you must be the one who tried to infect my disciple with the plague. Truly, how dare you?" The man’s tone wasn’t overtly menacing—more like a cold statement of fact.

  Yet, for a fleeting moment, Jack felt an overwhelming dread. This man, with a mere flick of his will, could trap him in eternal torment, make him suffer unspeakable horrors. Jack could feel it deep down—that he stood before an entity he couldn’t, shouldn’t, and would never be able to oppose. None of the eldritch powers he worshipped were as terrifying as this being before him.

  The older man’s voice softened, but it was no less chilling. "Now, I do not intend to harm you, my friend," he said, almost kindly. "My disciple, too—being the kind and noble boy he is..." He turned toward his disciple, pride practically radiating off him. It was almost painful to watch, as though he was looking at a child, or a miracle. "My disciple has agreed not to seek vengeance against you. He simply wants to understand your motives and, if possible, reform you."

  The young man behind the older one nodded and stepped forward. "Yeah, what my master said. Why did you inject me with the plague?"

  The older man didn’t seem at all bothered by his disciple taking the lead. In fact, he seemed pleased.

  And Jack, for all the training he had undergone, for all the horrors he had endured, for all his bravado—despite having withstood the harshest torture the royal knights could dish out, only to be saved by the Pope—he immediately divulged everything, as if under some sort of spell.

  "Oh, we want to end the world, you see. For the dark eldritch gods. We thought the most efficient way to do that would be with a plague. Even the king wouldn’t care much about it, thinking it was just some natural disease. And by the time he tried to stop it, it would be too late—it would have mutated enough to kill everyone, even the nobles. Maybe even the king himself if he caught the right strain. But to do that, we needed to create a truly terrifying virus—one that spread easily, mutated easily, and had all the right factors."

  "So, we experimented on the homeless, the villagers... people who wouldn't be missed. That's why we might have injected you." Jack stopped himself then, as the realization hit him—he finally understood who he was talking to. His subconscious must have recognized the boy, but now, consciously, he realized the truth.

  This was the boy he had injected with the virus. The same boy who had disappeared. But now, this boy was completely different. He no longer resembled the homeless orphan Jack had known. Instead, he looked like someone raised in luxury, trained in the finest arts, with a strong backing—far removed from the desperate child Jack had seen.

  The boy shook his head. "Oh, so you're part of the Darkness Bane Cult? I'm not surprised. My master mentioned you all wear robes, though he never told me your name."

  The older man raised an eyebrow, surprised. "I never mentioned the name to you?"

  "No, master. We got too caught up in my training. You never had the time to tell me.”

  The teacher slapped his forehead in frustration. "Ah, I've become so absent-minded. But it’s fine. What’s done is done. I’ll be sure to pass on information better in the future."

  "Yeah, so of course—it’s the Darkness Bane Cult. You want to end the world. I had a feeling when I saw your outfits." The young man nodded, then demanded, "Now, lead me to your headquarters.”

  Jack stuttered, taken aback. "What? Immediately?"

  "You heard me," the boy said calmly. "Lead me to your headquarters. I'm going to beat all of you black and blue, including your leader, before we reform you. You are just a lackey; your leader is the one I truly need to beat.”

  Jack subconsciously glanced at the older man. He seemed more peace-loving after all—the one who had said that he wanted to reform them, not kill them.

  Jack didn’t know why he was so confident these two could kill them. He didn’t even know how his mind was processing the events.

  He felt insane, like his mind wasn't truly his anymore.

  Just like his body.

  "I mean, there's nothing I can do about him expressing some frustration, you know?" The black-haired man said with a guilty smile on his face. "It’s completely understandable, don't you think? He does deserve to express some frustration after you guys essentially almost killed him. But don’t worry, I’ll make sure he doesn’t kill any of you."

  Jack was very surprised when he felt a liquid seeping into his pants. When he looked down, he realized he had wet himself. But it felt almost fitting, rather than surprising.