If you strip away the arguing, the pace of events, and the rank each name gets in the books, then from a distant and even sky, looking down the river of time, the Heretic Inquisition and the Truth Seekers Assembly don’t differ much.

Not for any grand reason. We’re not weighing right or wrong here. We’re talking about the grain of each theory.

Those fervors like coals, those unwavering hearts like iron, each packed with its own chain of causes, a will that keeps marching even if it crushes others underfoot—unwilling to call itself flawless, calm before its own ugliness and brute force, yet still sure its creed is the best path—

—the Heretic Inquisition and the Truth Seekers Assembly both wear that same metal sheen.

In nature, there’s no gap.

So it’s hard to point a clean finger and call either side right or wrong.

Right. If you look with a Divine Being’s sight, a cold moon over wide earth, you’ll find most things won’t fit in human words of good and evil. Most ideas weigh out equal on the scale. They share value. In the grand vista, they glitter the same.

Mm... an example. Yeah, a simple one.

The remnants of the Truth Seekers Assembly will gather again in days to come. Even if the Final Calamity snuffs out the silver civilization like a candle in wind, humans will pass on their banner—the will of freedom and defiance—like a flame from torch to torch. They won’t forget. But then what? Sometimes, someone swings that hot-blooded creed like a scepter to snatch power. Sometimes, the Assembly rots to sludge, and only monsters wearing its name rampage in its shadow. Sometimes, it cracks into factions like ice in spring—infighting, splits, reforms—round and round the millstone.

Most of the time, their steps drift from the founder’s wish like a boat off its star. If Nagash still lived, he’d burn the half-rotten ship and launch it anew.

But it’s only half rotten.

The other half still shines honest and bright, like the first dawn.

That’s how history molts—beauty and blight side by side. Where there’s light, there’s Shadow. It runs half and half, like day on a blade’s edge.

“No matter how ugly the world, someone will still love it.” “Justice can’t be uprooted from the soil, so evil won’t be either.” “Anyone who claims evil can’t beat justice just hasn’t tasted defeat.” Those sayings all point at the same ridge.

Always half and half. Where there’s life there’s death. Where there’s light there’s dark.

You’re asking about the Heretic Inquisition?

Same story. Half and half. Some hold their creed like a lantern. Some just grab profit like crows after shine. No real difference in the pattern.

The world always turns this way.

No one walks the earth without a stain—almost no one. There are always exceptions, like albino deer in a forest. Most rules have one. And those exceptions get called “monsters.” That isn’t a pretty garland.

Besides, we’re talking the long current, the pull of the tide, right? No need to get tangled on outliers that look like mutations.

So to me, the knot between the Heretic Inquisition and the Truth Seekers Assembly is the same type. Nothing to sigh over. Just another rerun of a dull dispute, replayed by the heirs of countless theories and creeds, like echoes in an old canyon.

No. Completely wrong.

Were you even listening to what I just said?

Don’t tell me you only pretended to get it.

Please don’t hit me with an “I see,” a “right,” a “that’s it,” and an “I get it”—the three-piece combo with an EX finisher—to brush me off.

Mm, fine... I’ll spell it out. Here’s how it is.

“Humanity’s anthem is an anthem to courage.” That line sings. But if you flip it to “Courage’s anthem is humanity’s anthem,” it falls flat.

Courage deserves praise, sure. But courage isn’t the baseline hum of humanity. It’s not that pretty. Like I said, good and evil split the sky. Half and half.

We can teach children to turn toward kindness like sunflowers turn to sun. We can use law to fence in those who hope for extra harvest outside the furrows—usually, a good ruler uses both hands at once.

Sigh... humans hate facing their own ugliness. That’s your biggest rift from the Demonfolk. Don’t cut me off. Hear me out, alright?

You’re human. Of course you’ll stand up for humans. That’s why I told you this: if you want a happier life, set your view at the height of your station. Bow it too low or hoist it too high, and your neck will ache. You’ll learn that later.

Humans aren’t clever.

Humans aren’t strong.

Humans aren’t beautiful.

These are facts, solid as stone. You need to see them. Clutching nameless pride is like gripping smoke.

Out there are beings who think a billion times faster than people, like lightning over snail-tracks. Some are born half-folded into Truth, born unwithering. Some slip or tear space by sheer talent, like knives in silk. Some unite to the limit, a “one clan, one body,” moving like a single beast. In power, mind, will, and possibility, they leave humans in the dust by who knows how many leagues.

Even so, do you still think being human gives you a crown worth polishing?

Are you sure?

What do you have to be proud of? Say it out loud.

Exactly... no. Not exactly.

To a Divine Being’s gaze, from the golden age to the mud age, humans are always the younger child—still in swaddling cloth, still unfinished. A Divine Being’s shelter isn’t a bargain for gain. They shield humans out of love, one-sided and open-handed, asking nothing back. Nothing humans hold matters to a god. It doesn’t even make a decent play on Their stage.

What’s worth praise is only this: the will to lift oneself up.

Humans aren’t beautiful. But that drive to climb—toward wit, toward strength, toward a great soul—that’s beautiful. Very, very beautiful. A Demon King sees it. A Divine Being sees it.

Every age throws up its own heroes and great ones, like stars pricking a new night.

What do you think?

Let’s close the tale of the Heretic Inquisition and the Truth Seekers Assembly here. I slipped in some of my own spices, sure, but the broth is fair. Bring a sage to tell it, and he’d serve you the same dish.

I can swear to a Divine Being, Lady Light Jade. Everything I just said was true.

I traced a prayer sign across my chest, a clean oath gesture, no tricks.

The Divine Being must’ve been fuming like thunderheads, but I hadn’t lied. They won’t come down just to smack me.

I shut the notebook with a soft clap, stood from the chains with a clink, and gathered Lady Light Jade’s empty snack bags. Vega would scrub the place anyway. Even after the bags, the crumbs would need cleaning down to the molecules. All told, Vega’s workload barely shrank, a speck off a mountain.

But what’s wrong with earning a little shine in a girl’s eyes?

“Are you... leaving?”

Lady Light Jade spoke in that hollow voice again, like wind through a cave.

Half a year ago, when we met, she didn’t even acknowledge other people existed, much less ask after them.

She’s getting more human. That’s the point.

Let what is “human” wake up, let the hidden things step out—those tender, stubborn human threads.

And humans can’t bear loneliness. Even those who can lance the sky or read the bones of causality have never beaten loneliness. No one has.

Lady Light Jade will break this seal. Willingly. Just to ease that ache.

“Are you... leaving?” she asked again. Even my dull senses caught the urgency under the frost.

“I’ll be back. Don’t worry.”

I’ve built the Hero Academy into the World Saving Demon King’s nest, brick by brick. Even with this seal clamping the Aversion Overlord, I can come and go like a shadow, disturbing no one—as long as I remember to clean up Lady Light Jade’s crumbs.

“But... no matter how many stories you tell me... I won’t undo the seal.”

“Yeah, that’s my goal, true. But... I believe you’ll take our deal. The once-empty Lady Light Jade now imagines a sky with stars, sun, and moon, not just this painted ceiling. Isn’t that right?”

“N-no.”

“You sure?”

“...”

“I’ll be a bit busy these next few days. I need to set up the ceremony for the Aversion Overlord’s return. I might not come for a while.”

“...”

“Yeah, it’s playing hard to get. I hope the loneliness gnaws you enough to free the Demon King. I’m a bad guy, after all. I have to scheme a little.”

“I... won’t.”

“Then don’t. It’s your call.”

“...”

Her beautiful face twisted like silk under strain. I smiled, satisfied, and before I left, I stroked the horns of Aversion Overlord Sylvia—the twin spirals I’d toyed with all year, polished to a slick, oil-dark shine.

Maybe you don’t know. My Shadow isn’t a patch of light blocked on the floor.

I can see the darkness and ugliness in a heart, like ink in water. Very clearly.

Sylvia-chan.

I slipped into the Shadow and left the sealed underground hall. Lady Light Jade sat on the chains, hollow-eyed, and waited in quiet like snow before dawn.