Chapter 759: God’s Will

In a silence as though all sound had been carved out.

A wave of Holy Knights, glittering weapons in hand, charged toward the Devil.

The ring of fire above The Burned One’s head spun rapidly and flashed, incinerating the knight at the forefront without leaving even ashes.

Even so, the wave of Holy Knights kept moving, filling the space of the fallen and surging forward with even greater speed.

The ring of fire flashed again. The knight at the front was again burned to nothing.

Yet the charge continued, and the next knight filled the gap.

[······.]

The Burned One silently observed, rotating the ring of fire once more.

The lead knight burned away, and another stepped up to take his place.

The Holy Knights sacrificed themselves one by one, closing the distance to The Burned One.

One step at a time. Of their own will.

The fire ring spun faster, increasing the number of knights burned away.

They melted away as though they were ice thrown into boiling water.

As the number of Holy Knights dwindled, their wave noticeably shrank.

Still, they did not stop, continuing their advance until they were right in front of The Burned One.

One knight pulled back a spear.

The ring of fire spun, and the knight was burned away.

The next knight raised a longsword above his head.

The ring of fire spun, and that knight was incinerated too.

Shouting the name of his vanished comrade, the next knight swung his mace.

The ring spun again, burning the knight swinging his mace to ashes.

The last knight used the fallen as shields as he slashed toward The Burned One with a swift strike.

Just before his blade could reach The Burned One’s face, the ring spun again, burning both the sword and the knight away.

The Holy Knights’ sacrifice didn’t even leave ashes as they failed to reach The Burned One.

BANG────!!

A deafening noise shattered the strange silence that had settled.

“Grrrwrrr!!”

Bartholomew broke his bandages, returning to his original monstrous form, and charged at The Burned One.

He used the fallen knights’ sacrifice as cover.

The knights’ deaths had not been in vain. As proof, Bartholomew’s claws reached The Burned One’s flesh.

[Disgusting appearance, sinner.]

The Burned One remarked as he looked at Bartholomew, whose claws had touched him.

Bartholomew’s appearance was indeed grotesque.

With his skin turned inside out and his bones twisted into something more beast than man—more monster than beast.

[But, it suits you perfectly.]

Even as Bartholomew’s beast-like claws dug into him, The Burned One spoke calmly.

[For one who, believing in his station, used innocents and children for self-satisfaction and pleasure.]

Bartholomew’s claws dug deeper into The Burned One. But it was Bartholomew who screamed in agony,

As flames crept up his claws and engulfed him completely.

“Aargh!!”

Bartholomew screamed but did not stop, continuing to push The Burned One back. Trying to buy Oliver time to escape.

The Burned One wagged his devilish tongue.

[Do you think this will save you?]

“…..”

[Do you think cursed descendants like yours can be saved by this?]

“…..”

[I assure you, no matter how hard you try—]

“—Shut it! I already KNOW!!!”

Bartholomew interrupted The Burned One.

“I know better than anyone that my sins can’t be forgiven with words! We’re fighting you with nothing but our will!!”

[Our?]

The Burned One paused, then noticed others rushing in around him—Marie, Joe, Zombie Puppet-Bathory, the Flesh Cook, Seamus, Durance, and others from the Anti-Development Committee and The Selectors, the Fighter Crew, Kel Independent Free Army, soldiers and police from the Kingdom.

***

Oliver lay as if dead, unable to move.

Only the faintest of breaths gave any sign he was alive.

The people around him looked down with unreadable complexity on their faces.

Oliver wasn’t unconscious, so he could tell they were there, but he couldn’t read their emotions.

Because his left eye had been burned by The Burned One, and his right eye had been crushed.

Or maybe because his body had been battered from head to toe, he couldn’t see either emotions or clearly with his eyes anymore.

Once, he’d been able to tell just from looking, but now, he could only faintly sense their presence.

But Oliver did know this. The Holy Knights were vanishing one by one, right this moment.

They hurled themselves at The Burned One, burning to nothing one after another. Like moths to the flame.

But why?

Even if they couldn’t escape, how could they throw themselves away like this?

“Aah…”

Oliver made a beast-like sound, struggling to rise.

Snap-!

But his left arm snapped as it supported his weight, sending him crashing back down.

A terrible wave of pain erupted from his broken arm, his back, and his skull as it hit the ground.

Meanwhile, the Holy Knights continued to burn like kindling.

Though desperate, Oliver’s body refused to follow his orders, and in that moment of helplessness, his mind drifted to forbidden thoughts.

‘How… comfortable.’

In this life-or-death situation, Oliver realized just how comforting it was to lay still, doing nothing.

When had this started?

How long had he known that doing nothing felt the most comfortable?

Probably since the orphanage.

Since the beginning of his memories, in the orphanage where he’d spent his childhood.

Where nothing was learned except survival. Not speaking or writing, but just survival.

Beaten by the cruel orphanage headmaster, punched by the other kids who prioritized their own survival. That made the lesson clear.

From that moment, Oliver learned that doing nothing was the safest, easiest way to survive.

Whenever weak Oliver tried to do something, it only brought more pain and suffering.

So he stopped interacting with everyone, stopped helping anyone.

Even if someone was starving or being bullied, he ignored it. It wasn’t his problem.

That habit followed him into the mines, and continued even after Joseph adopted him into the Joseph Family.

Marie helped him, and he helped Marie in return.

‘Did I really change?’

He asked himself, and shook his head.

He might have received help, but he had never really given any.

He taught Marie and the others Dark Magic and shared money with them, but that was nothing more than giving them crumbs he didn’t care for.

They weren’t valuable to him—he could have done without them.

When a real responsibility that only he could shoulder came his way, Oliver turned his back and ran.

When the Red Ones said they’d carry the burden of destruction, Oliver gladly let them, even though the world’s end loomed.

It was easier that way.

He asked himself another question.

What if….

What if he’d taken on his responsibilities from the beginning? Would things be different now? Would Rosburn and Kent still be alive?

“…..”

There was no answer. But more than half of the Holy Knights had burned to nothing.

In a way, their quick demise was a good enough answer.

Thinking about what might have been now was utterly pointless.

No, worse than pointless.

Thinking about people he hadn’t saved only made him miss those he could still help.

Miss them with his foolish, idle apathy.

So, what Oliver needed to do now was focus on saving the people still within reach, and move.

“Help me… please….”

Through dried, cracked lips, Oliver begged the people around him.

Begged them to help him stand.

But no one responded.

Why not?

Were they angry?

Perhaps they had the right to be. Yet Oliver still begged them to help him stand.

He wanted to stand up by himself, but his body refused his commands, no matter how hard he pushed and pleaded.

“So please… lift me—”

Swish.

Someone stroked Oliver’s cheek in response.

A fragrant scent slipped into his nose. Soft, warm hands touched his ruined flesh. It felt familiar.

“Joanna…?”

“Yes… it’s me….”

Joanna answered in a strained, cracking voice, suppressing her emotions.

With both his eyes mangled, he couldn’t see her face or emotions clearly, but he had a feeling that she was crying.

Her tears dripped onto his face.

Joanna hurriedly wiped her tears and then gently helped lift Oliver.

“I’ll help you.”

“Thank you….?”

But Oliver’s tone shifted as he realized something.

Joanna was indeed helping him up, but in the wrong direction. She was trying to take him away from The Burned One.

“Joanna, what are you doing?”

Oliver asked, his voice rough and broken from the heat.

“The Holy Knights are dying.”

“They made their choice.”

Joanna answered calmly, almost unbearably so. As if she already knew everything.

Oliver tried to twist his wrecked body from her hold.

But Joanna couldn’t hold him tightly without hurting him more and had to let go. Oliver collapsed back to the ground.

His body, ruined by The Burned One’s flames, could no longer stand on its own without assistance.

Joanna cried out in desperation.

“Please stay alive!”

Drip. Drip. He heard the sound of her tears falling.

Joanna knelt beside him slowly, grabbed him again, and pleaded.

“I beg you, please… please just live.”

“…..”

“You’ve done enough! Sacrificed enough!!”

Her voice was heavy with tears.

He couldn’t see her emotions clearly, but Oliver knew she was speaking from her heart.

[But, it suits you perfectly.]

The Burned One’s voice echoed from behind, as Bartholomew growled at him.

The Holy Knights had all burned to nothing, and Bartholomew was now clinging to The Burned One’s leg.

[Do you think this will save you?]

[Do you think it will save your cursed lineage?]

[I assure you—]

“—Shut it! I already KNOW!!”

The criminal, who had once sacrificed innocent lives for his royal desires, screamed.

“I know better than anyone that my sins can’t be forgiven with words!”

He shouted, having realized his guilt after seeing his twisted body and the cursed descendants born from it. Then, Marie, Joe, and the others rushed at The Burned One.

Most of them burned to death. Especially Bartholomew, who faced The Burned One directly—his body torn apart by glowing, sharp flames.

Lives vanished like dust in the wind.

“They all agreed! They chose this of their own will to save YOU!” Joanna cried.

“I am a Prince. The king of Hell—”

“No, you’re just a boy! A boy!! So please, stop and just LIVE. I don’t care if it’s just for one more second!”

Joanna held onto Oliver, begging tearfully, while, in the distance, more people burned away. Child screamed in the background.

“…No.”

Oliver shook his head.

“If I leave, everyone will die. Every single one of them—”

Tap.

Someone grabbed Oliver’s hand.

One of the citizens of the Capital, who had come quietly and lifted Oliver so Joanna could hold him more easily.

“Let’s take him away for now.”

In confusion, Oliver asked.

“What are you doing?”

The answer was simple.

“We want you to live.”

Oliver fell silent. Just as he was about to argue,

Tap.

Someone softly touched his back.

Though his eyes couldn’t see, he could feel their emotions through their touch.

Feelings of gratitude, reverence, courage, faith, and fulfillment.

“It’s okay. You’ve done plenty.”

“…..”

Tap.

Someone else touched his shoulder.

“It’s okay to stop now.”

Tap.

Someone gently touched his leg.

“Thank you. You can rest now.”

Tap.

“You’ve done enough. We’re grateful.”

Tap.

“God’s blessing be with you.”

Men, women, children, elders, the wealthy, scholars, officials, workers, merchants, beggars, gangsters, con men, prostitutes… Many people echoed the same sentiment to Oliver.

“Please live.”

There was no calculation, no pretense—they simply begged Oliver to live.

“…Excuse me.”

With her lips pressed tight, Joanna began to carry Oliver away.

Tap.

“Thank you.”

Tap.

“You’ve done well.”

Tap.

“We won’t forget you.”

Not one person tried to hold him back; they only offered comfort. So he could leave without guilt.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

Among their touches, Oliver felt the love Kent had spoken of.

“Ha…. Ha, ha.”

A soft laugh escaped from Oliver’s lips.

Quiet, but one of deep satisfaction.

“Joanna.”

After a moment, Oliver called out to her.

Joanna ignored him on purpose, continuing to walk, but when Oliver gently pulled her into an embrace, she had no choice but to stop.

She let Oliver down briefly as she cried out.

“Oliver…!”

“Help me.”

Oliver made a quiet request right in front of the frantic Joanna.

“There’s something I want to try. Something I failed to do in the past… Help me.”

“…..”

“I didn’t think it’d work back then, but I think it might now if you help.”

“But—”

“—Please. Trust me.”

Oliver looked at Joanna as he pleaded, and Joanna remembered the promise she’d made to always trust and stand by him.

Joanna clenched her fists tightly.

“What… do I need to do?”

“Would you place my left hand against your chest?”

Joanna gently took Oliver’s broken, twisted arm and positioned it over her heart.

In that state, Oliver asked once more.

“Do you trust me?”

“…I trust you. Always.”

Joanna replied. In kind, Oliver responded.

“Extract.”