Chapter 194

Chapter 194

While the outside world was seething with undercurrents, Amos, unusually obedient, spent his days in his room, gazing into the mirror each day.

Mr. Demon had yet to return.

Strictly speaking, it hadn't been long since Lane left, but Amos didn't see it that way. The scene of Lane leaving silently lingered in his mind, making him wonder if Mr. Demon had gotten angry and would never come back.

He had never felt so insecure before. In the past, the most common people around him were the Pope's men. Anyone he got close to would be dealt with by the Pope or himself.

Over time, Amos even started selecting his targets, all for the sake of plucking the flowers that caught his interest.

Amos didn't find this cruel. Even if he didn't take action, the weak wouldn't survive in such an environment anyway. So, he preferred to pick those flowers at their brightest moments, preserving them forever in his collection.

Just like the flower from his mother.

There was a difference between willingly offering oneself and being forcibly taken. Although the abilities of those who voluntarily submitted to him were inferior to their original owners, Amos could use them almost infinitely, just like the white carnation that continued to bloom in his heart.

Regrettably, Amos had yet to encounter anyone in all this time who could compel him to willingly pluck another flower. The blossoms had their limits; once the stored uses were exhausted, the flowers would wither. Thus, Amos didn't frequently employ these abilities.

He preferred to keep them stored within the depths of his soul, as if they were always by his side.

For this reason, Amos couldn't grasp why Lane was so furious about his treatment of the priest. Even if the man died, he could still extract his soul to offer to Mister Demon, couldn't he?

Was it because he hadn't greeted him first?

Amos pondered deeply and even wavered over whether to draw the summoning circle for the demon again. Since it had worked previously, it should work this time too, right? But would Mister Demon be angered by this?

In that moment, the corner of his eye caught a ripple in the mirror. The half-man, half-goat youth reappeared. Amos's eyes suddenly lit up with delight. "Mr. Devil? You're not angry at me anymore?"

Lahn: ...Angry? About what?

For a moment, Lane was momentarily bewildered, his memory jogged by the reminder from the white puppy, of what had occurred before they left the church.

God, while on Earth, fell under the Pope's scrutiny and was compelled to flee. Had it not been for the intervention of the Evil God and Lane in intercepting Xoggs, divine powers might have waned significantly.

Initially, Lane didn't notice that Amos was the one behind it until the barrage of comments pointed it out. However, he wasn't too angry at that time, mainly because the appearance of the evil god had drawn his attention away.

Lane gazed at Amos in silence, who, sensing his wrongdoing, bowed his head for a few seconds before lifting his face to grasp Lane's hand pitifully. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that without permission. Are you still angry?"

"Where do you think you went wrong?" Lane asked.

Amos was taken aback, clearly not expecting this question. He strained to ponder.

Lane saw through him; Amos didn't truly understand his mistake. His upbringing had left him devoid of reverence for life. His apology now stemmed solely from...

Caring about him?

Lane slightly reined in his expression and sighed. "Amos, don't harm those who approach you with kindness, or you'll find yourself alone forever."

Amos countered, "I don't need their help. They're too weak, and the weak hold no value. They wither and die. It's better for me to pluck their flowers before they suffer in this environment."

Lane blinked. "You planned to drag the entire city into hell, believing they'd all eventually fall to the Black Death?"

Amos choked, unprepared for the sudden change in topic. After a moment of deliberation, he nodded. "Will you stop me?"

Seeing Lane neither confirm nor deny, adopting an ambiguous stance, Amos queried, perplexed, "You're a demon, why would a demon care about human lives?"

"Not... valuable?" Lane couldn't help but chuckle as he recalled the players' various antics. "I've mentioned before that demons are merely a label given to us by the gods. If you believe demons should be evil and cruel, would that mean gods are kind and benevolent?"

Amos was momentarily at a loss for words, ensnared by Lane's logic. Yes, Mr. Demon had mentioned before that God had killed far more people than any demon. So, in comparison, weren't demons the ones more friendly to humanity?

His mind was in disarray when he saw Mr. Demon crouch in front of him. "Since you claim that the weak have no value, how about we make a bet?"

Amos stared blankly at him. "Bet... on what?"

"I bet that these seemingly weak and worthless humans will eventually overthrow the Church and free themselves from the influence of gods and religion," Lane said. In such close proximity, it might have been Amos's imagination, but he felt like he could see through the irritating white cloth and glimpse the sparkling green eyes beneath. "I won't deny your plans and desires, but as a demon, nothing excites me more than witnessing lambs betray their gods. If I win, humanity will drag the Church into hell, and you won't need to carry out your plan."

He had once given the players the quest to 'Prevent the Three Days of Chaos,' but as someone who knew the full story, he understood that Amos was the one pulling the strings behind the scenes. It could be sheer disregard for human life, revenge against the city's apathy, or simply for entertainment.

Regardless, if they didn't deal with this child, who knew what else he might do.

Dealing with such a mischievous individual, preaching wouldn't be effective. If persuasion could cleanse Amos's conscience, the players wouldn't find him so troublesome. They'd all be using their best rhetoric one after another.

Since Amos perceived him as a demon, Lane decided to take on the role and make a bet with Amos from that perspective.

Amos wiped away all expressions from his face, discarding the pretense of vulnerability, sadness, and nervousness. After shedding his performance, his face revealed only cold detachment and a hint of curiosity.

Abruptly, he reached out and pulled off the white cloth covering Len's face, which was right before him. As expected, no, even more than he had imagined, an inhuman visage appeared before his eyes, surpassing the limits of what humans could appreciate. It almost embodied the concept of beauty, with its demonic allure, eerie eyes, and ram horns, resembling the depiction of a devil in legends.

If he were to extend an invitation, no one could resist accompanying him to hell.

Amos thought to himself as he carefully cupped Len's face, his voice trembling with excitement. "If I win, Mr. Devil, can you stay by my side forever?"

Len was momentarily taken aback but nodded promptly. "Yes, I can."

"That's settled then!"

The white puppy was incredulous. "Lord Len?!"

Why was there such a disparity in treatment? He had never received this kind of attention before. Not only had he not been promised eternal companionship, but he had almost become fertilizer for flowers.

Did it have to be during childhood??

The white puppy was envious and even wished for a time machine. Oh, wait, he was already a child now. So, it didn't matter.

In reality, Len's straightforward agreement was simple to understand. If he lost this battle of faith, he might truly end up being left behind by Judah. Wouldn't that also mean 'staying together forever' in a way?

Moreover, this time, his return to the Church wasn't solely for dealing with Amos but also to investigate if Judas had already infiltrated here…

"Knock, knock."

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. The nun outside whispered, "Holy Son, the Pope asks that you attend a meeting in the hall. The bishops have already arrived."

"A meeting?" Amos was taken aback. This was unprecedented. Despite being the Holy Son, he had always been a symbolic figure in the Church. When had that man ever allowed him to participate in the Church's internal affairs?

Had something changed?

Amos acknowledged and turned to look at Lane, only to find that Mr. Demon had vanished. Panic struck him, and suddenly, something in his pocket stirred.

"Don't worry, I'm here."

A small sprout poked its green head out of Amos's pocket. "I hope you don't mind me eavesdropping."

Seeing the child's eyes light up, well, it seemed he didn't mind.

…

The Pope had summoned an unexpected midnight meeting, calling in all the bishops. Many of them were hastily roused from their sleep, arriving at the church headquarters with confusion etched on their faces.

"Does anyone have any idea what's going on?"

Before entering, one bishop couldn't resist asking a colleague he was close to, who simply shrugged. "Who knows what's gotten into the Pope? Perhaps today's turmoil has him worried."

Recalling the Pope's increasingly volatile and paranoid nature, the bishops couldn't help but shake their heads. Some even entertained the thought that if the Pope made a mistake, it might present an opportunity for them to ascend to his position. Unfortunately, with the recent plague outbreak, it was hardly an opportune moment for impeachment.

With various thoughts in mind, they entered the conference room. The familiar long table and seven chairs on each side were still in place, except for an unexpected figure sitting across from the head seat.

"His Holiness the Saint?" A bishop expressed his surprise. The Pope had never allowed the Saint to attend such meetings before.

Amos wore a calm expression, still clad in his white robes. He gazed coldly at the Pope seated opposite him, wondering what new scheme he was cooking up.

"Since you're here, take your seats," the Pope instructed.

The bishops dared not speak out of turn, each taking their designated seats. Once everyone was settled, the Pope began, "Fellow bishops, thank you for coming at this late hour. We have reached a critical juncture for the Church's survival."

"I'm sure you're all aware of today's events. I would like to inquire about the current state of affairs in the quarantine zones."

Discussing the events of the day, the bishops' expressions were grim. They already anticipated that the Pope might use this opportunity to target them, as he had done before.

Initially, the Church only had the 'Baptism' ritual. However, at some point, the 'Ordeal' was added, and it had become an expected form of punishment from superiors to subordinates. Especially the Pope, who was once such a kind man, had lately become short-tempered, even subjecting bishops to the 'Ordeal.'

The bishops exchanged uneasy glances, and finally, the one sitting closest to the Pope mustered the courage to speak, "The situation... isn't good. The uneducated masses have been swayed by the resistance, suddenly doubting us. They possess photographs and suspect that we deliberately colluded with the military to isolate the district and cut off their communication with the outside world."

The Pope's tone was sharp, "Of course, I'm aware of that. But how did they obtain this information? We went through so much trouble, cutting wires, interfering with radio communications, creating an information bubble – how did they manage to break through it?"

"Um..." Mentioning this, beads of sweat formed on the bishop's forehead as he stumbled over his words, "T-T-that... I..."

Noticing the Pope's increasingly cold stare, the bishop closed his eyes, steeled himself, and said, "It was... indecent literature. They smuggled the intelligence within the distribution of such materials, delivering it into the hands of those people!"

The bishops: ...

The conference room fell silent, pin-drop quiet. Although these bishops had, to some extent, uncovered the truth through their subordinates, the reality was somewhat absurd.