Nobody knows how to be a villain better than me.

Most of the ancient scrolls are incomplete, predating the Masoretic Codex by a thousand years, and provide invaluable historical material for the Hebrew Bible. The Book of Isaiah, the most complete scroll, is the part that prophesies the end times and the battle between light and darkness.

Initially, these fragments were kept by a small group of international scholars at the Palestinian Archaeological Museum in East Jerusalem (which was then part of Jordan).

There were no Jewish or Israeli scholars on this archaeological team. The team's policy was that no one was allowed to view the scrolls until the official research results were published. The team size was also kept limited. When a member died, only one other scholar could join to replace him. This archaeological team actually needed more scholars to handle the enormous workload. Sometimes, they also needed more experts proficient in ancient Hebrew and Aramaic.

However, during the Six-Day War of 1967, Israel seized East Jerusalem, and the scrolls came under Israeli control; yet no different policy was formulated for the scrolls' research team. The publication of the Cave 4 scrolls was initially delayed for several years, and later for decades. Some scholars expressed strong dissatisfaction. At that time, rumors began to circulate that the Catholic Church was deliberately concealing the truth and unwilling to reveal information in the scrolls that was detrimental to the Church.

The specific facts, whether true or false, are difficult to verify.

But without a doubt, many people do not want this classic to be presented in its original form.

The demon's penetrating eyes glanced at the frozen Saintess of Orleans before him, scrutinized her for a moment, then chuckled and shook his head.

"Don't talk nonsense. They suppress dissidents, feed on those they preach to, and suck the milk and blood of the flock. They rely on both swords and scriptures. Otherwise, how could the church have grown to such a size?"

"How can you slander the church like this without any evidence!"

Joan of Arc instinctively defended her beliefs, but the moment the words left her mouth, she was met with a mocking sneer from the snake.

"Smearing? Do you remember Bishop Pierre, who took money from the British and slandered you as a witch? Do you remember those 44 clergymen who could lie and deceive without hesitation by placing their hands on the scriptures? Are these also God's teachings?"

Samael waved the black book in his hand, casually flipped it open, and a slight smile appeared on his lips.

"A lying mouth is an abomination to the Lord, but a person who acts truthfully pleases him."

Proverbs 12, verse 22...

“Woe to them who have forsaken me, and destruction to them who have disobeyed me; though I will redeem them, they lie to me.”

Hosea Chapter 7, Verse 13...

“If you have bitter envy and strife in your hearts, do not boast or lie against the truth.”

James Chapter 3, Verse 14...

The verses of scripture, clearly imprinted in her mind, made Joan of Arc lower her head in silence, her cherry lips pressed tightly together, and she fell into a deep silence.

"They constantly preach about thrift, yet their own robes and church decorations are extremely luxurious;

They preach love and judge so-called heretics, but they are ruthless and use all sorts of dark methods;

They call themselves servants of God, claiming they can speak with God in place of the lambs, yet they have never truly listened to the voice of God.

So, did they succumb to their own desires, or did they truly hear the voice of reason and conscience deep within their hearts?

The devil's retort, though low and calm, was like a thunderclap deep within her soul, causing Joan of Arc's heart to pound and her emotions to swell for a long time, leaving her face increasingly pale.

Because of these things, she could neither guarantee nor answer.

But her deep piety made it impossible for her to stand idly by and watch the slander from the devil.

"These are merely personal conduct issues and have nothing to do with the alteration of the Bible..."

But after saying this, the saintess of Orleans felt a flush on her face and turned her head away, unable to look directly into the deep darkness in the snake-like vertical pupils.

"Of course it does matter!"

Samael drew out his words, looking at the lost lamb with pity, and asked a mocking question.

Why is the God of vengeance in the Old Testament, while the God of love has become the God of the New Testament?

Why did the fight against the virus, which was supposed to be an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth, turn into a tolerance that means turning the other cheek when you've been slapped on the left?

Why, after preaching dedication, love, and redemption, do you add the final line, "Love me, respect me, believe in me, or your soul will burn in hell"?

Look at what they've changed! The god in their eyes has become a schizophrenic, self-contradictory giant baby!

Joan of Arc racked her brains but found herself speechless.

She is confused...

Because not only the classic texts, but even the external Abrahamic religions themselves are filled with divisions.

Some acknowledge the existence of the Son of God, some deny the existence of the Messiah, some worship him merely as a prophet, some exclude the Virgin Mary, and some elevate the virgin who conceived out of wedlock to a high pedestal...

Why has faith, which should have been pure, become so distorted?

But if God comes from the devil, and light and darkness are two sides of the same coin, then everything makes sense.

Such an absurd answer was something the devout saint could never believe, and refused to believe.

"If what you say is true, why don't you reveal the truth?"

Joan of Arc, pale-faced, pursed her lips, raised her head, and, with her neck stiff, questioned the figure before her once more.

"Because I am different from Him. I appreciate your light, acknowledge your darkness, praise your progress, admit your flaws, tolerate your mistakes, and prefer to stay quietly in the corner, watching you complete your pilgrimage of life and your self-redemption through struggle and tempering. So, what is the point of speaking or not speaking? What you think and what you choose are none of my business."

The snake smiled casually, somewhat nonchalantly.

"After all, I have never asked for—humanity's faith..."

In an instant, the earth-shattering answer shattered Joan of Arc's already crumbling faith completely. The saint, who had vowed to dedicate her life to God, stared blankly and in shock. The various seemingly plausible classics in her mind were stripped of their appearances and forged into the true answer.

Yes, in the Bible hidden in darkness, people are their own gods; they create gods with their own will and their own faith.

The so-called gods are actually just ordinary energy sources that form the foundation of this world. People can take them for their own use and make their own choices on each other's paths.

The true Satan, the true Messiah, never needs sacrifices, nor does he need faith!

Chapter Thirteen: Talk Therapy – Don't Look at the Advertisements, Look at the Results

That's right. Just like cats and dogs trying to please their owners by bringing their favorite mice and bones to their owners' beds or dining tables, thinking that this is what their owners want and that they will be rewarded.

However, humans cannot even fully understand themselves, yet they presume to speculate on the will of the gods with their shallow thinking.

How ridiculous, how absurd!

It comes down to it.

Everything was merely an attempt to justify their own atrocities under the guise of so-called justice.

Everything is nothing more than embellishing various insidious means of satisfying selfish desires as a righteous divine decree;

Everything is just an attempt to portray one's own depravity and choices as the temptation of the devil!

Joan of Arc was pale and looked lost, like a lamb lost in a storm, helpless and distressed.

As those azure eyes met the figure before them, the emptiness and lifelessness in their pupils finally gave way to a flicker of life.

"But why? So many people are seeking this divine voice, praying for a dialogue with God, yet you have never responded? Never guided us?"

This hesitant plea, trembling uncontrollably, expressed a desire to know the answer, yet also a fear of the truth.

"Shall we guide humanity?"

Upon hearing this, Samael lowered his head, chuckled softly, and looked at the saintess of Orleans, his eyes deep and unfathomable, as he quietly asked in return.

Have you ever seen the primordial gods?

"..."

Joan of Arc nodded, but quickly bit her cherry lips with her sharp teeth and shook her head uncertainly.

The information she knows is all from the descriptions in the book, but even the Bible cannot be trusted. How much of it is true or false? Who can say for sure?

"They also have anger, jealousy, laziness, and arrogance; they also have kindness, tolerance, diligence, and humility..."

The snake raised its head and gazed at the golden sky, its eyes seemingly transcending the boundaries of time and space, seeing one familiar figure after another.

Zeus, Apollo, Odin, Ares, Ereshkigal, Ishtar, Ra, Vishnu...

Soon, Samael's mind was filled with thoughts, his gaze distant and insightful, and he shook his head with a sneer.

"So-called divinity is essentially no different from human nature now. Do you really need our guidance?"

"But……"

Joan of Arc was stunned once again, her lips twitching several times as she tried to speak, but she didn't know how to answer.

The ancient snake's mind was filled with memories of the past, none of which had faded.

He recalled the magnificent tragedy in Uruk, where the dead crawled out of the depths of hell to leave hope for the living.

He recalled how, in front of the Temple of Aea, humanity raised the banner of rebellion and resistance, and stood up to fight for the goddess without hesitation.

He recalled the great journey of the heroes on the Sea of ​​Oceanus, where they broke through the vast ocean and defeated the gods:

He recalled the sky above Ava Island, where countless lives fell, burning themselves out to become starlight, sacrificing themselves to fight against that white giant.

In the end, Samael seemed to see in the void of Mesopotamia the loving figure who had once abandoned himself and willingly degenerated from a god into a beast...

"Humanity's childhood has passed, and you will eventually step out of the cradle and no longer need your parents' embrace."

Samael looked down at the saintess before him, a faint smile appearing on her face in the darkness, and made his declaration in a gentle and calm tone.

Upon hearing this, Joan of Arc turned even paler and repeatedly covered her ears and shook her head.

She couldn't believe this answer, nor could she accept it.

The saintess of Orleans was like a child abandoned in the wilderness, her pearly teeth biting her cherry lips, her pretty face filled with fear, and what came out of her mouth was like a child trying to attract the attention of an adult through crying.

"But we believe in you so much, we believe so much in your existence!"

"Then you should work even harder to learn to walk on your own!"

The ancient serpent raised its hand to interrupt the labored plea, looked at the girl before it with a solemn expression.

"Religion can be the enlightenment of mankind, but it should not be the end of mankind!"

In an instant, a deafening low murmur, like muffled thunder, exploded in Joan of Arc's chaotic mind, causing the Saint of Orleans to experience a surge of emotions.

The saintess looked up and saw blessings and hopes in that abyss, in that darkness...

Furthermore, we see God's love and tolerance towards humanity...

That seemed to be the gaze I had always longed for, the light I had always yearned for.

I never imagined that the purest light would be hidden beneath the deepest darkness.

Joan of Arc was once again bewildered, standing there blankly. The perfect world she had built in her heart with common sense and the solid fortress she had built with faith over the past ten years was disintegrating and collapsing inch by inch.

"Alright, as you wish, I've said everything I needed to say. Let's end our conversation here. I'm a little tired."

Samael raised his hand to cover his lips and nose, yawning lazily, his face full of weariness.

The numb, stunned Saintess of Orleans, upon hearing the voice, instinctively and mechanically shifted her gaze to the man's face. His azure eyes were empty and chaotic, and he seemed like a soulless puppet.

"Don't look at me like that. To be honest, I don't want to get involved in human messes unless it's absolutely necessary. I just want to get a good night's sleep..."

Samael sighed, waved his hand helplessly, and glanced at the pendant on Joan of Arc's chest, giving a light snort of annoyance.

"But during this time, someone kept whispering in my ear all day long, making it impossible for me to sleep."

Joan of Arc, under the scrutinizing gaze, raised her hand in surprise to hold the small, warm wooden cross. Her pretty face flushed red, and she stiffened in embarrassment, her lips moving as if she didn't know how to answer.

The snake waved its hand, stretched its body, and casually lay down in the golden wheat field.

"Don't worry, I don't mean to blame you. I'm just a little tired and want to take another nap. Is that alright?"

Joan of Arc nodded in response, still looking blank and mechanical.

"So, I've done what I needed to do. Now, it's up to you to figure out your beliefs and your answers."

A faint murmur reached her ears, and the Saintess of Orleans felt her mind in turmoil, even more at a loss. She moved her lips repeatedly, but did not know where to begin.

"Don't rush to tell me your choice. The one thing I have plenty of right now is time. Think about it carefully yourself."

The snake's casual, peaceful whispers interrupted the turmoil, and as it murmured, its dark eyes slowly closed.

Then, this ruler of darkness, the original sin of this world, actually lowered his gaze and fell into a deep sleep right in front of the Saintess of Orleans.

The dream seemed very sweet, and the man had a serene and joyful smile on his face.

In the gentle breeze, the golden wheat fields rippled like waves. Joan of Arc stood frozen in the field, gazing down at the sleeping deity, or perhaps the demon, for a long, long time…

The next day, early morning.

Amidst the melodious chirping of birds and insects, a languid figure rises from the golden wheat field and stretches.

However, when the man brushed the dust off his clothes and looked around, he found that the standing figure was no longer there.

Or is it still unacceptable?

Samael paused slightly, lowered his eyes, and sighed wistfully.

But when its nostrils twitched and it caught a lingering scent in the air from a certain direction, the snake slowly opened its eyes, a faint smile playing on its lips. It shook its head and then started to follow.