Novel Full Chapter 338: The Dog May Bark, but the Train Goes On (3)
Chapter 338: The Dog May Bark, but the Train Goes On (3)
… A distant past rose like mist, beyond a year, ten years, one hundred years, or one thousand years—a time that could not be expressed by the concept of time. In the memory of that Holy Era, God remained alive, and Quay was a faithful follower. In that world, only one God existed, and therefore everyone except Him was a follower.
“How do you think today’s revelation will be?”
“Haha. We merely transcribe whatever it is, and, with grace, receive it.”
During the Holy Era, followers received and interpreted God’s revelation, dedicating their days and filling their beings solely with it. Human life, harmonizing with God, was entirely that of a creature offering itself to Him, their creator. In that magnificent era, Quay found happiness; every moment was vibrant, and every fragment held worth.
“Quay, this revelation seems weighty with its meaning.”
In that moment of continuous, endless grace, a revelation arrived without any warning, and it was a sentence especially alien and direct across countless ages. To Quay, that revelation was interpreted as follows.
Your indulgence shall lead to My death.
It was about the followers’ indulgence, and God’s death.
At that moment, Quay was shocked, having belatedly surveyed the village and examined the followers’ faces with doubt. Only then did he realize their fundamental difference from him.
The faces of the followers, once filled with grace, now seemed weary and somehow bored, as if something other than God had settled in their hearts. Time had, in turn, corrupted their faith.
“We must reclaim our faith! See this revelation! Otherwise, God Himself will be in danger!” Quay said, his voice urgent as he tried to persuade them.
However, the only thing that came back was a bland reply.
“Quay, the interpretation of revelation is personal to each individual. It rests on how each person chooses to receive it.”
“There is no alternative interpretation of this revelation! Did God not speak of His own death?!”
In the debate regarding the interpretation, Quay engaged in a heated dispute with other followers. However, his efforts were in vain, and soon after, God’s death descended like despair.
The day of destruction was strangely ordinary, as the weather was clear and refreshing, and a soft breeze gently brushed his hair as if to comfort him. By that gentle touch, Quay knew that the Divinity in the atmosphere had disappeared, and God had been murdered.
Drip, drip—
At the sound of the falling rain, Quay opened his eyes and saw the chandelier in the dark mansion overhead clearly.
“Are you awake?” Deculein called, his voice reaching Quay.
Quay looked toward him, and Deculein sat in the study chair, reading a book, his staff leaning against the desk.
“Yes, I dreamed a dream after a long time, a dream of the Holy Era,” Quay replied, nodding and looking at Deculein.
“Did it bring you joy?”
“No, it was overwhelming despair. That was the day God was murdered.”
Rustle—
With a subtle laugh, Deculein turned the pages of the book.
“What’s so funny?” Quay said.
“Because your body, much like my own, is clearly deteriorating.”
“… Heh,” Quay murmured, smiling at those words.
The puppet’s body indeed had its limits, and the fact that Quay dreamed served as evidence that those limits were rapidly approaching.
“It is enough time to reach the end.”
“Likewise.”
Quay rose and smoothed his clothes, while behind Deculein, the knight’s hand tightened on her sword and her stance instantly went on alert.
“… It is a forget-me-not.”
Without even glancing at Yulie, Quay instead pointed at a flower on the desk, a forget-me-not that Ria had given to Deculein.
“Do you know the flower language of this flower?” Deculein inquired, glancing at the forget-me-not.
“Flowers do not speak and they are merely things created by humans at will.”
Drip— Drip—
At that moment, the rain became heavier, and cold raindrops drummed against the mansion.
“Do not forget me,” Deculein said.
Quay turned his eyes and looked out the window.
“That is the flower language of this flower.”
Quay remained silent.
Rustle—
“God is approaching, Quay,” Deculein said, turning the page of his book.
“God is already dead,” Quay replied, his face twisting in an instant.
“No, I sense Him. Now, as the lighthouse, I will make His path.”
Tap—
Deculein closed the book and looked at the rain outside the world.
“… That must be the reason she sent me down,” Deculein said, with a subtle smile, as he looked back at Quay. “Quay, she takes pity upon you.”
Quay remained silent.
“It is her wish that you find your own value.”
There was no expression on Quay’s face, and he showed neither affirmation nor denial.
“Her name… it is Rain,” Deculein continued.
Rain was the scenario writer of this game, designing the entire framework of the world and perhaps even the God who sent me here.
“Always on this continent, she has watched its humanity—affirming their every choice, loving their free will, and worrying for you too.”
Quay shook his head.
“We will soon know who is right.”
Drip— Drip—
As Quay watched the raindrops on the window, he took a step forward.
At that moment, the space shifted.
Swoooooooosh…
Outside the Yukline mansion, in the forest where rain poured down as if from a hole in the heavens, Quay raised his head.
“… Rain.”
Looking up at the falling rain, Quay offered a faint smile and as time progressed, and as his puppet’s body weakened, and the more he encountered formidable humans such as Creáto, Epherene, and Deculein, Quay began to question himself and test his faith and the reason for this, Quay already knew.
“I have known for a long time that Deculein’s faith had surpassed my own.”
Deculein’s infinitely strong faith—his mental strength more solid than causality—was shaking Quay’s faith, staining it with a stronger faith.
“… O God, despite all, I have remained believing in your death. I am certain that the descendants of that godslayer are living on this continent,” Quay said, sneering quietly to himself.
Because Quay’s faith had wavered, the dead God could not return—no, He must not have returned.
“However, if you were not dead, if you merely pretended to take your life and watched from afar,” Quay muttered, a contained rage coloring his words, his clenched hand trembling like a leaf. “Those innumerable years I waited for you and prayed…”
For ten thousand years, perhaps even longer, Quay devoted himself to prayer—an infinite stretch of time spent waiting solely for God’s return. During this period, he even isolated his very existence from the world.
“… Because they would completely become meaningless…”
Therefore, when I prayed for ten thousand years, there was not a single call. But if you come back now, just because I’m complaining once, to comfort me… if you really are doing that… Quay thought.
“I would rather be the one who kills you…” Quay concluded.
Plink—
Rainwater seeped into Quay’s pupils, and he silently closed his eyes.
Swoooooosh…
As if receiving a baptism, Quay washed his body in the falling rainwater.
***
Deculein oppressed the Scarletborn, indiscriminately imprisoning them into the painting prison as he sought them out across all terrains—ground, underground, desert, and grassland. Demonstrating his will for their total annihilation, he ultimately eradicated seventy percent of the Scarletborn population.
Moreover, in that process, Deculein crushed all his rivals. He judged those who could be called part of the Pro-Empress faction allied with the Scarletborn, tortured them, and extracted confessions. With those confessions, he captured them again, tortured them, obtained further confessions, and captured them once more.
Furthermore, Deculein drafted a declaration of war against the kingdom most adjacent to the Empire. Upon hearing that news, several kingdoms surrendered even before the war broke out, declaring themselves colonies.
Thus, Deculein became a victorious general who won the war without waging it. Simultaneously, he suppressed the media that had attacked him as a plagiarist professor and officially warned that the Floating Island, with its rapid advance, was close to a rampage.
“… Even in the kingdom, even in the principality, and even in this Empire, there are many resistance forces~” Ganesha said, speaking in the meeting room of Demonicide’s headquarters, surrounded by all sorts of papers and documents.
“Yes, Deculein is a public enemy,” Ria replied, putting down the newspaper and nodding.
Despite not being the Empress, Deculein exerted the Empress’s authority and influence, claiming his actions were solely for the annihilation of the Altar and the establishment of a great Empire.
“Not only the Empire, but also the commoners and nobles of the kingdom, all dislike him, and evidence of his crimes has been collected,” Ganesha said, pointing at the papers filling the space.
We have all the evidence, but we can’t use it yet. Deculein’s influence is just too strong across the continent, and his neck would be severed before even bringing this to trial, wouldn’t he? Ria thought.
“… Then do we just have to wait?”
“Yes,” Ria replied, giving a determined nod. “The end is already decided, after all.”
Ria knew the end of this quest line, and eventually she had to proceed to the Land of Destruction—that was, the lighthouse—for the last knot would undoubtedly be tied in the Sanctuary of the Altar.
“Deculein will eventually prepare his spells at the lighthouse.”
“Oh~ so the idea is to hit the moment when Deculein is about to activate the lighthouse~?” Ganesha asked.
“Yes.”
Deculein would activate the lighthouse and prepare a grand spell for it, and that very moment would create a tactical vulnerability—an opening for Sophien, the Pro-Empress faction, the Scarletborn, and Demonicide to launch a preemptive attack.
“It will soon be our chance to counterattack. It won’t be long now,” Ria added.
“Meoow.”
Startled by a sudden cry of a cat, both Ria and Ganesha looked up at that place where the red-furred munchkin was looking down at them.
“… Your Majesty?”
“Leave that moment to me,” said the munchkin, with a stiffened face and its tail held straight up. “For I will be the one to thrust into his very heart.”
***
On the surface of that place within the Land of Destruction, where crimson demonic energy surged thickly and life was unsustainable, people were teeming. All of them were Altar followers, bowing deeply and lowering their heads while looking at the towering lighthouse standing in the middle of the Land of Destruction.
“Impressive, isn’t it?” Creáto said, watching the scene.
“Yes, it is impressive. It is a structure that will neither be corroded by the decay of demonic energy nor be devoured by demonic beasts,” I replied, giving Creáto a nod while dressed in my black robe.
The lighthouse was sturdy and imbued with an unbreakable nature. Therefore, no matter what happened, it would not vanish and would remain on this continent.
“What will you observe with that?”
“I will make the comet’s road, and observe God.”
“… The comet’s road?”
“Yes, it is a meteor that will cleave the continent in twain.”
Then, some followers behind me flinched, their bodies trembling.
“Then the continent will be laid waste, will it not?”
“What is destined to vanish will indeed vanish, but Grand Prince Creáto and I are not among them.”
Without a word, Creáto offered a smile.
“The most thorough class system will come into being,” I continued, deliberately hardening my face and speaking as if to make them listen.
Within this place, of course, are agents of the Scarletborn, including both Ria and Ganesha. They are, in all likelihood, monitoring my every action, are they not? I thought.
“The continent, filled with filth and refuse, will finally be cleansed.”
“… Filth and refuse, you say? What constitutes filth and refuse to you? Are the Altar’s followers included among them?” Creáto asked.
“Of course, those who joined the Altar for meager gain are no different from the Empire’s despicable refuse. They are merely for use and disposal.”
In other words, they were the ones who had gained power by consuming the potion.
“They will be the first to be eliminated,” I added.
At that moment, a clearing of the throat echoed from the rear, and Relin silently advanced, nearing my position.
“Um… Count Yukline,” Relin said, his face somehow hesitant.
“What is the matter?” I inquired, turning to Relin.
“That is… about the basement of the Mage Tower…”
Hearing the words Mage Tower’s underground prison, I immediately understood what it meant. It must mean that Louina and Ihelm escaped, does it not? I muttered.
“I inquired as to the matter, Relin?” I inquired.
If not, given Relin’s character, he would undoubtedly mumble and then flee.
“N-Nothing, sir. There was a minor problem, but I am capable of resolving it myself!”
Relin’s response was precisely as I had predicted, not straying even slightly.
“The hour of worship approaches, and therefore you should attend to the minor problems yourself,” I replied with a nod.
“… Oh, y-yes, sir…” Relin said, his face flushed and puffed like a steamed bun, as he hastened away.
I glanced at Relin from the corner of my eye.
“… Then, all the best,” Creáto said, placing a hand on my shoulder, his words barely audible.
I knew what Creáto meant, as Creáto was Quay’s most trusted confidant, hearing everything directly from Quay.
“The one who proclaims he will become God appears to lack strength before you, Grand Prince Creáto.”
“… It seems so. I too find it curious.”
Behind Creáto’s beaming smile, over his shoulder, a familiar face flashed by in an instant—it was Ria.
“Farewell,” I said, hiding a smile on my lips as I addressed Creáto.