Chapter 36 - The Scribe of the Book of Doom (1)

Yohan hurried out of his room to meet his birth mother.

'I have so much to ask her.'

Questions filled his head, but his priorities were clear. First, he had to identify the Demon who had lain with her. That creature would be Yohan's biological father. What sort of being the Demon was would make an enormous difference to his next steps.

A nervous tension rose within him. What he was about to hear would have a profound effect on his future.

Yohan steadied himself with a deep breath. He had already reached a room in a corner of the castle's third floor. His birth mother lived in seclusion here, in one of the castle's least frequented parts.

He knocked, and the door slowly opened. A small, frail woman stood looking at him with reddened eyes.

The moment he met her gaze, his mind went a little blank. He had so many questions, yet suddenly he could recall none of them. He stood frozen, his lips pressed tightly together.

In the strange silence, his birth mother spoke first.

"... You've grown so much."

Her voice was subdued with sorrow, yet remarkably clear. Even her expression, on the verge of tears, held a spark of life. She was different from before. Her senses had returned. The widow who had wandered in a daze was gone; only a mother worried for her child remained.

She gently stroked Yohan's cheek.

"I'm sorry. Please forgive me for being such a poor mother."

Yohan had no idea how to respond. Having grown up in an orphanage, he found the very idea of a mother unfamiliar. He had no guidelines at all for a situation like this. Even that tender gaze felt utterly foreign.

Without realizing it, he took a step back. The hand resting against his cheek drew back awkwardly.

"... There I go, thinking only of myself again. I'm so sorry."

Her voice trembled with guilt. What on earth was he supposed to say to her? He had no idea. He only wanted to escape this unfamiliar situation and these unfamiliar feelings.

Yohan blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

"A-are you feeling any better?"

The question seemed to catch her off guard. She looked at him in mild surprise, then gave the faintest smile.

"My child, you needn't worry about your mother. And I know there's something else you truly wish to ask, but all I can tell you is that the time has not yet come."

"... I only want to know who my biological father is."

"His name is under an interdiction. Please understand."

An interdiction was a promise inscribed upon the world, an unwritten law. If a being was under one, merely speaking their name would cost you your life. For now, there was no way to discover his father's identity.

Disappointment fell across Yohan's face. The woman spoke with a sorrowful expression.

"There is only one thing I can tell you now. Beware the Scribe of the Book of Doom. He will soon come to put you to the test."

Kaiaze, the Scribe of the Book of Doom. An Archdemon known to every reader of Chronicle of Humans and Demons. He was the scribe who created and oversaw the originals of the Book of Doom and recorded every evil deed in the world. The original first chapter kept in the forbidden library was also his work.

At the mention of Kaiaze, Yohan could not hide his bewilderment.

"Why would Kaiaze come looking for me?"

"He has your Book of Doom."

"Don't tell me he's coming to hand it over..."

"Yes. You are the master of its thirteenth chapter. Your existence likely became known to the underworld the moment you touched an original of the Book of Doom."

In other words, Yohan was the Thirteenth Apostle of the End in both name and fact. He looked his birth mother straight in the eye.

"Just how much do you know?"

He could not bring himself to call her Mother.

"A little more than the tip of the iceberg. But this is all the advice I can give you. Once again, take care of yourself. Kaiaze is a far more vicious and savage Demon than you think. If you cannot convince him, you will suffer dearly."

Yohan knew Kaiaze's nature well. He was so ferocious that he was called the Beast of Hell. The moment he saw you as beneath him, you would become his prey, Apostle or not.

"Can you tell me exactly when he'll come?"

"It could be today, or it could be tomorrow. All that is certain is that you have very little time."

Yohan felt as though he had been struck with a hammer.

'Today or tomorrow?'

The moment that Archdemon manifested at the castle, every plan Yohan had laid would come to nothing. The kingdom, the Empire, the Holy Kingdom—every power in this world would turn its eyes on the Miyatro domain. He was not yet equipped to handle that much attention.

He hastily turned away.

'I have to leave the domain as quickly as possible.'

Whatever happened, Kaiaze must not manifest in the Miyatro domain.

Yohan was about to leave when he suddenly looked back at the woman.

"One last thing I'd like to ask—"

He could not finish. Her eyes had already grown clouded. She had lost her senses again.

"Hah."

A hollow laugh escaped him together with a sigh. He felt frustrated, yet his chest ached. Such emotions served no purpose with a crisis looming, but he could not easily shake them off.

'Focus on Kaiaze for now. Everything else comes afterward.'

Somehow pulling himself together, he spoke.

"I'll come see you again later. Please take care of yourself until then."

With that, Yohan left her room. He intended to take only the bare essentials from the forbidden library, then leave the domain.

* * *

Darkness had fallen. Once curfew was announced, the lights illuminating the streets vanished one by one. The Miyatro domain sank into darkness. The only light came from the church, which absorbed the moonlight and glowed softly.

From her guest room in the castle, Shaperia looked down at the village church.

"Saint Marziel. Please grant me an answer."

Her fingertips traced a holy sign. Once, holy light would have embroidered a pentagram in the darkness, but no longer. Her sign failed to take shape because it held no holy power.

Wasn't it said that prayers without holy power never reached the Great Saint?

'Should I find a priest to pray on my behalf?'

Praying for ordinary people was one of the clergy's principal duties. That was why nobles always kept priests at their sides. Shaperia herself had received such requests a few times. No longer.

She traced the holy sign again.

'There must be a purpose to all this. Even without holy power, I mustn't forget my duty.'

Even the lowliest person could love the Great Saint. They, too, had a role to play in the faith. And hadn't she even received the Great Saint's grace? Surely her present suffering was a trial to prepare her for some purpose. If she devoted herself to her duties, she would one day receive the Great Saint's call again. For now, she had to focus on her assignment.

Shaperia let out a long sigh. Her task was to investigate the knight Reil, but it was far too vague an assignment. After the Book of Doom incident, the Church's investigators had left the domain, leaving her alone to dig up clues about him. Naturally, she had found nothing. All she had were countless baseless conjectures.

'Nothing is clear.'

Everything that had happened around her lately was riddled with questions: the Apostle Beris's appearance, her sudden awakening as an angel, the loss of her holy power afterward, the Book of Doom's renewed activity, and the emergence of that strange horned spirit. Of them all, the horned spirit's existence only deepened her confusion.

'What was he?'

A subadult Demon with a pure-white horn. The sight of him treating the Apostle Beris like livestock remained vivid in her memory. Horned spirit or not, how could a mere Demon treat an Apostle with such contempt? It defied all common sense.

That was not the only mystery. He had spared Shaperia. He could clearly have killed her, yet he had simply left. No other Demon would have acted as he did in the same circumstances. They had only one goal: humanity's extinction. Given the chance, a Demon would always kill a human. But he was different.

'Didn't he say he didn't want to dirty his hands?'

He had spared her for that nonsensical reason. She had reported it to the Church, but received no meaningful answer. They had merely replied that they would designate him White Horn for now and investigate.

'... White Horn.'

If she met him again, she would hear his reason from his own lips.

She was still deep in thought when a sudden clap of thunder rang out. Startled, she looked out the window—and was horrified.

The night sky was splitting apart. A blood-red streak raced through the tearing darkness. Thunderous roars poured down toward the earth. Space itself screamed as it was slashed and clawed open.

Shaperia's eyes widened.

"What is it this time...!"

Disaster struck every other day. This, too, looked ominous. Had the end truly begun? An overwhelming sense of danger consumed her. Her breathing grew frantically labored, and the roars that rang out now and then clutched at her heart. For a brief moment, her mind went blank.

At that moment, pillars of holy power shot up in scattered places far away. Churches, dioceses, monasteries, and others that had spotted the strange phenomenon were lighting beacons. They were calling for aid.

As though answering their call, holy power made its presence known across the south. Countless members of the clergy sprang into action. Lights large and small pursued the blood-red streak drawn across the night sky.

Shaperia could not sit idle either. She quickly prepared herself. Since she had lost her holy power, she would at least have her weapon consecrated and fight. Her conviction and fighting spirit remained intact. She might break, but she would never bend. She left her room at once.

* * *

Unlike gods, Demons demand a specific price for granting wishes. For fertile land, red blood must flow through the underground waterways. For a plentiful harvest that year, human flesh and entrails must serve as fertilizer.

Provided the conditions were met, the reward was guaranteed. Rich soil, thriving crops, yields far greater than usual. A few lives sacrificed, and everyone was happy. One deal with a Demon was more effective than a hundred prayers. Humans who experienced it could not help but worship Demons.

The small farming village of Dapone was one such example. With human blood and flesh, they had cultivated a land flowing with milk and honey.

Today was the day to pray for the harvest. They had prepared peddlers and slash-and-burn farmers as sacrifices for the Demon. That had been the situation only a few hours ago.

Now, most of the villagers lay facedown on the cold ground, becoming fertilizer themselves. The crops would multiply, but there was no one left to harvest them.

"What a waste."

Ilea plucked a ripe apple from a tree. Her silver hair and white skin were stained the same color as the fruit. She took a bite, then rummaged through the pile of corpses. Out came a pitch-black book: a copy of the Book of Doom.

"Not that it'll matter."

Ilea took the Book of Doom. Just as she was about to turn away, a dreadful roar shook heaven and earth. The night sky was warping. An exalted presence raced through the gaps in splitting space. Noting its speed and course, Ilea's lips curved into a faint smile.