A dull longsword and a heartbroken villager

Countless falling objects easily claimed the lives of several children.

Even the priest couldn't save them.

Because there were too many things falling, and too many children below.

He was too weak and powerless; he could only save a portion of the children.

From the moment the bells rang until we were ready to leave the church with the children, only five minutes had passed.

No... it should be a full five minutes.

If we had walked a few steps faster, or counted people a little faster, none of this would have happened.

If it were a few minutes faster, this wouldn't have happened.

What did those children do wrong to deserve this kind of suffering?

Why should innocent children be punished?

They were just a group of slightly mischievous but kind-hearted children.

So, why them? What exactly did they do wrong?

Did Father Thun do something wrong? Was there something he didn't do well?

If anyone is truly at fault, it certainly isn't the innocent children.

If we really have to say who's at fault, maybe it's him.

The priest remained silent.

Did the old priest back then save me with the same heart that is now on the verge of collapse?

If so, how can he be like the old priest... so that even with that mindset, he doesn't lose his way?

When a priest who guides others is lost, who can guide him?

The old priest used to be able to guide me, but what about now?

Philly floated beside the priest, silent, unlike her usual playful self.

The priest bent down and spent several minutes healing all the injured children, then spoke in his hoarse voice.

"Sister Lizbern, take the children and leave."

“They should live, and so should you,” Father Thun said to Sister Lizbern in a gentle voice.

He touched the nun's forehead, healed her wound, and then wiped the blood off the girl's face with his sleeve.

“And what about you, Father?” Sister Lizbern’s gaze met Father Thun’s, and she saw countless complex emotions in his eyes.

There wasn't a single one she could understand.

No, there is one thing she can understand: sadness.

Even though he didn't shed a single tear, Father Thun was definitely in more pain than he was.

Those were his children, the precious treasures of this little church.

Listen, the voice is so gentle that Sister Lizbern wanted to cry.

Even so, he was still gentle to everyone.

“I want to stay here.” The priest smiled and then gently nudged Sister Lizbern.

Father Thun could hear the cries of children; the surviving children clung to his clothes, unwilling to leave him.

The children poured out their anxieties to Father Thun in their incoherent language.

What they saw in their eyes was human blood they had never seen before.

The one who died was their most familiar playmate.

It is something that even adults fear.

They were just children, a group of innocent children, and no one could blame them for their fear.

Therefore, Father Thun stood quietly and listened to the whole thing; he had this obligation.

Even if time doesn't actually allow him to do this, if it can reduce the children's fear, then so be it.

“Father, let’s leave together. It’s too dangerous here now.” Sister Lizbern held the priest’s hand tightly.

The priest simply shook his head.

“I will be here to protect you. As long as I am here, you can leave in peace.” Father Thun’s voice was very soft.

Sister Lizbern, who was holding the priest, was stunned for a long time.

"Please...please don't let anything happen to you."

“Gadell the Lamp, the Old Man, will surely bless you.” Sister Lizbern choked back tears as she embraced her.

---

Sister Lizbern finally released the priest's hand and left with a group of crying children.

The nun and the child will definitely walk very slowly, that's for sure.

Sister Lizbern had a heavy burden, but the priest trusted her.

She and the children will definitely be safe and sound.

Father Thun walked through the ruins of the church, came to the broken statue, and picked up the lamp whose iron frame was deformed by the pressure.

This is the "Blood Lamp," a relic of the old priest.

However, this time, the lamp could not lure him in, because these were not demons.

However, Father Thun still bit his finger and smeared the blood in the lamp.

The warm flames dispelled the slight chill in my heart.

Father Thun turned around, carrying his lamp, and faced the street, which had been stained black and purple by some unknown source.

Tumors, pests, blood vessels, plants...

These are the things.

While the priest listened to the children's stories, some of the Silver Seed's power had already begun to seep into the vicinity.

Even though the demigods are still so far away, their influence has already spread to such a distant place.

“Betty…” the priest murmured.

Things unfolded exactly as Betley had described.

This also indirectly confirms another fact: that Beatrix is ​​dead.

Betley had long anticipated his death and even explained to the priest what would happen if he were killed.

And, he told the priest the last means that could allow the Dark Iron race to prolong their lives.

A method that may fail.

However, regardless of the circumstances, it was worthwhile for Father Thun to give it a try.

However... let's get past these eroded areas first. Once, when Betley traveled the world, he left behind countless large magic circles.

Those were all the magic arrays that Betley was most skilled at—magic arrays that absorb divine power.

After witnessing Bray's concept of longsword suppression, Betley had an idea.

If one could absorb all the divine power in one area and direct it to other areas, wouldn't that indirectly suppress the concept?

The reason why Betley was able to avoid being instantly killed by the concept to a certain extent was also due to the magic circle engraved on his body taking effect.

If this kind of thing can work in a region, then perhaps the Black Iron species still has a glimmer of hope.

However, while the idea is good, it is too complicated and difficult to implement.

Setting up a magic circle requires a great deal of effort from Betley, and the coverage area is not as wide as imagined.

The maximum size a single magic circle can be is about half the size of a small town.

Fortunately, Betley started this plan a long time ago and left magic circles all over the world.

The magic array is in place, but a container capable of holding divine power is still needed.

Not everything can contain divine power; at least in the Black Iron world, there is nothing normal that can contain a large amount of divine power.

Father Thun, covered in blood, walked to an empty house.

The journey to the house was not easy; the aftermath of the concept was more troublesome than the priest had imagined.

However, he still arrived at the house in Midtown unharmed.

The house was not destroyed.

The intact house stood out so conspicuously amidst the ruins, as if something was protecting it from being disturbed.

This is Betley's home.

That's right, it was the house he lived in before he became a monk.

Father Thun hesitated for a moment, then kicked the door open.

Although the priest did not want to open the door so violently, he had no choice but to do so because Bertley had forgotten to give him the key.

The priest entered the house and looked around.

The walls, floors, and ceilings all showed signs of burning.

There were many dried bloodstains on the ground.

The blood dried until it turned black, and even the smell of blood disappeared completely.

However, it is still not difficult to see what kind of tragedy had occurred in this house.

After buying the house, Beatrix didn't renovate it at all, and didn't touch anything inside.

Apart from properly burying his family members, nothing in the house was touched.

No one tried to destroy this place because there was nothing worth plundering.

Children might try to jump in and play, but they are all silently driven away by the magic left behind by Beatrix.

Time seemed to have frozen at a certain moment many years ago.

This is Betley's only time; this is the true time that belongs to Betley.

No matter what he did, no matter what he was doing, he couldn't escape the shadow of this nightmare.

Even if he were to cast an even greater shadow over everything he hated, he would still be unable to escape the past.

Only at the moment of his death did the shadows of the past truly leave him.

The priest stood in the house, sighed deeply, then lowered his eyelids and silently offered a eulogy for those who had suffered in this house.

Although it was pointless, the priest did it anyway, showing basic respect for the innocent dead.

He followed Betty's advice and went down to the house's basement.

The lamp in his hand illuminates the way forward for the priest.

The sound of footsteps echoed in the narrow stairwell.

The deeper you go underground, the lower the temperature becomes, but it's not the kind of icy cold that makes you feel uncomfortable.

It was a faint chill... a sense of desolation.

"..." The priest put the lamp aside and then looked at a glass box in front of him.

Inside the transparent glass box is a constantly beating azure heart.

It was Beatri's own heart.

If anything could withstand such immense divine power, it would undoubtedly be Betley's physical body.

Betley's body itself is abnormal.

Even if a magic array for absorbing divine power is developed, a normal body simply cannot tolerate the concepts of demigods or even true gods.

In order to withstand the divine power, Beatrix spent countless efforts to change his physical condition.

Therefore, the best container is undoubtedly Beatrix himself.

Then, he chose a part that is extremely important in all the pantheons—the heart—as his material.