"Is the Goddess of Life, Emil... a dark god?"

Moen gazed solemnly at the Pope, asking word by word.

At this moment, in the already sealed Supreme Sanctum, the daylight was dim.

The atmosphere was somewhat heavy.

Moen's body had not yet dried, and cold sweat seeped out again. Though no wind blew, he still felt a chilling cold.

In this world, the so-called good and evil are hard to define.

But this does not apply to deities.

For unlike those righteous gods who seldom intervene in the world, whose names are mostly obscure, who simply receive the faith of their believers and occasionally bestow blessings and grace, the so-called dark gods are themselves synonymous with destruction, death, and chaos.

They cannot pierce the world's barriers to truly descend upon this world, yet they still gaze greedily from its shadows upon all things, awaiting a gluttonous feast of blood.

They frequently engage in seemingly fair trades with humans, but as the will that comes seeped through those trades and temptations infiltrates, it easily corrupts the minds of countless people, driving them toward distortion and madness.

Across the long river of history, whether it be the King of Wither, the Moon of Silence, or even the god of love known as the shame of the dark gods, all have once caused truly horrifying tragedies.

There were even scholars who unearthed a prophecy from a thousand years ago—the world will be destroyed by the hand of a dark god.

It can be said that, in the eyes of many, dark gods are the source of all calamity.

Precisely because of this, how could the Goddess of Life, Emil—who now has countless believers across the continent, has wrought countless miracles, and can be said to have guided all humankind from that former age of chaos to the present—possibly be a dark god?

If Moen were to spread such a claim, he would not even need the church to act; furious believers would, on the charge of blaspheming the goddess, strap him to the stake and burn him a thousand, eight hundred times over.

Thus, asking this question required immense courage.

Originally, he could have chosen to silently press this question to the bottom of his heart for the time being and seek the answer slowly on his own, but not now.

Because Lea has already become the church’s saintess.

"Heh, asking such a treasonous question right in front of me, the Pope... I have to admit, both your lustful heart and your courage are truly admirable things."

Although the question was indeed outrageous, the Pope's expression seemed not the least bit abnormal.

"May I, by the way, ask why you have such a question?" the Pope said with a half-smile.

"I mentioned just now, because of a sentence from Freya—similar, yet opposite," Moen replied.

"Just because of that?"

"No, that was only a trigger. What truly made me start doubting were the series of events that happened in Canterville."

Moen lowered his gaze.

Below where he sat conversing with the Pope, that nation which had continued from a thousand years ago still floated silently there, as if it had fallen into a deep sleep.

Within that realm, the natives no longer existed.

And the milk flowing in the rivers, the beef and mutton growing on the trees... these creations upon which the natives had relied to survive for millennia had, of course, been completely wiped away.

Yet those scenes still remained vivid in his mind.

Not only that, but also the prisoners later refined into dead things, the hellhounds spawned from dead matter, and the flesh-and-blood plains that came after.

If one were to summarize these seemingly disparate powers with a single word, it would be—life.

Deformed life.

This is the power of the Mother of Fertility.

"If my guess is right, the authority of the Mother of Fertility is unlimited, without rules, without constraints—twisted, mutative, misshapen growth and reproduction.

Then the Goddess of Life, Emil’s authority is the beginning and the ending of life."

The seed of life blessed by the goddess—this represents the beginning of life.

The rotting power with which the goddess tainted Canterville—this represents the ending of life.

The powers of the Goddess of Life and the Mother of Fertility are so similar because both are parts of the vast concept of life; only the Mother of Fertility’s portion has become thoroughly twisted and aberrant.

And they are utterly opposite, because they themselves represent different extremes of life.

"This similarity and opposition inevitably make one think of certain other terms..."

Moen lifted his head again, looked at the Pope, and uttered the terms he had once learned from the Black Book:

"Same station, same origin; generating and restraining each other; mutual natural enemies; each mutually... craving to devour the other."

"Just like the King of Wither... and the Moon of Silence!"

"..."

Another brief silence.

Moen's heart hung ever higher.

If his conjecture were true, then this would undoubtedly be the church’s greatest secret.

He could hardly imagine what reaction the Pope would have upon having the greatest secret punctured...

Perhaps he would simply raise a hand to suppress him; with new and old grudges combined, striking hard would not be impossible.

He could only hope Teacher Mela would be competent enough to bail him out...

...However, to Moen’s surprise, after hearing his conjectures, the Pope’s expression still did not change in the slightest.

Moen sensed no anger upon him; instead, as though he had heard some tale cobbled together by a drunken bard, a flicker of amusement crossed his face.

"If I were to say... you guessed right, what would you do?"

"I..."

Why was it this damned question again.

Moen looked suspiciously at the Pope:

"I would hurry and leave with Lea."

"Oh? Why?"

"Because it's very dangerous."

Moen said:

"I can't oppose the church right now, and if I blindly spread this news I'll only be taken for a madman. But at the very least I need to leave with Lea, so that the people I care about don't get dragged into this whirlpool!"

"Dangerous?"

The Pope raised a brow, curious:

"But aren't you yourself using the power of a dark god? Do you mean others aren't allowed to use it?"

"That's different."

Moen took a deep breath.

Teacher Mela had said that power itself is innocent; what is dangerous is the person who wields it.

But the reason he could use the King of Wither’s power was that, with the help of the Black Book, he had gained the King of Wither’s "favor."

Yet no matter how you think about it, a dark god could not be generous enough to favor so many believers. It is not a benevolent bodhisattva whose favorite thing is to go everywhere handing out alms of flesh and body; there must be some scheme.

A dark god worshiped by countless people could at any time, through those devout believers, spread its taint across the entire world. Moen shivered, not daring to imagine it.

"Of course, if you tell me the church has already mastered some method that, while a dark god still lives, can isolate a dark god’s mental contamination and let you shear a dark god’s wool to your heart’s content, I'd be very glad to hear it."

Moen said solemnly.

Since Teacher Mela was in collusion with this old bastard before him, the church didn't seem all that heinous.

Besides, even in the original book, the church was a relatively righteous faction... though it of course had plenty of the usual religious dark sides, the church indeed was the main force of humanity resisting the dark gods.

So thinking it over, this possibility was the most reasonable.

"Heh. A method to isolate a dark god’s mental contamination while a dark god is still alive—now that sounds truly wonderful, so wonderful it might make me wake up laughing in my sleep."

The Pope suddenly gave a soft laugh:

"...Unfortunately, that method does not exist. Otherwise, this world would not have come to the precarious state it is in today."

"Then..."

"Those words you just said... count as a marvelous conjecture. That old thing has indeed told you quite a lot."

The Pope praised.

Moen’s pupils constricted, his body tensing up almost instinctively in an instant.

"But."

The next moment, the Pope continued:

"That is wrong."

"Huh?"

"Wrong."

The Pope spoke devoutly:

"The Goddess of Life, Emil, is a kind, great, and merciful deity. She is not some dark god, and even less could she bring any calamity upon this world."

"..."

Moen stood dazed for quite a while before coming back to his senses from the Pope’s switchback turns.

"Truly wrong?"

"What else—should I immediately turn into a heretical zealot and grind you to dust?"

The Pope cast Moen an irritated glance and sneered:

"You wouldn't actually think I'm going to kill you and that old thing could save you, would you."

"Er..."

"If you don't believe it, you can go back and ask that old thing in your house; she knows far more than I do!" the Pope said expressionlessly.

"Ha... haha... Your Majesty, that's too much. How could I possibly not believe you?"

Moen scratched his head awkwardly and chuckled:

"I also think the great goddess is certainly not some evil god. In fact I was just asking, just asking... no ill intent."

"Get out."

Not wanting to talk any more with this thick-skinned golden-haired bastard of the same lineage, the Pope, at the end of his patience, finally swept his wide sleeve. A golden door appeared and instantly swallowed Moen into it.

Moen again felt as if he'd taken a ride in a tumble washer—no, in a centrifuge.

The world spun.

In the church, after Moen had dry-heaved for quite a while with a hand on the wall and finally calmed the churning in his stomach, he raised his head and happened to see the statue of the goddess gazing at him with a face full of compassion.

"Did I really guess wrong?"

Moen started suddenly, pressed his hands together, and murmured to the statue of the goddess:

"Lady Emil above, I did not deliberately slander you—my offense, my offense. You probably wouldn't mind such a small matter, right..."

"No, this doesn't seem sincere enough."

After muttering for quite a while, Moen raised his head and pondered:

"After all, I don't believe in the faith; praying to the goddess to confess my guilt is something I'm completely unskilled at."

"Sigh, there's no help for it. In this situation, I can only have someone skilled teach me properly."

Thus, feeling deeply helpless, Moen let out a long sigh, straightened his face into a solemn, earnest expression, and darted off to seek the Lady Saintess’s teachings.

...

After Moen left, the Pope likewise entered a doorway.

Space shifted, and he arrived at the very bottom of the Highest Place, which was also the most forbidden area of the entire Church.

The First Forbidden Zone.

Despite being the most tightly sealed area, it was unexpectedly devoid of a cold, austere atmosphere; instead, flowers bloomed, birds sang, fragrance filled the air, and life thrived.

"How is everything?"

the Pope asked.

"Not very good."

A sigh sounded, coming from a tombstone buried among the flowers.

"At this rate, it won’t last much longer."

"Not very good is still a tiny bit better than very bad."

Uttering this tongue-twisting line, the Pope walked past the tombstone and moved forward.

Ahead, there was a bottomless pit the size of a lake, its walls covered with vivid vegetation.

Judging from the density, one could tell that all the vegetation here had spread out from the pit.

The Pope lowered his gaze to stare into the darkness. After a moment, he took a crystalline gem from his bosom.

Within the gem was not holy light, but pure divinity.

Divinity refined from the projection remains of the Mother of Fertility.

He tossed this precious divinity, without the slightest hesitation, into the pitch-black pit.

"Crunch, crunch..."

From within the pit came the sound of steel scraping and chewing.

The sound was extremely grating, yet the Pope did not feel any revulsion.

"A dark god...?"

As if recalling Moen’s earlier words, he suddenly smiled:

"How could such a thing possibly happen... wouldn’t you agree, our... Lady Goddess Emil."

The Pope bent down and offered a devout prayer to the goddess he believed in and served:

"Lady Goddess Emil... please... as always, mercifully lead humankind... forward..."

"Crunch, crunch..."

The chewing continued, then stopped.

Amid the Pope’s devout prayer, it turned into a faint, ethereal sob:

"Whimper... it hurts so much..."