[※ This chapter contains unsettling themes and disturbing scenes. Reader discretion is advised!]
༺[Noel's POV]༻
"…tor…"
"…oel…"
"…Praetor…"
A voice echoed in the void.
My eyes snapped open.
A violent sting shot through my temple as I struck it with my fist. A cry tore from my throat before I even realized it.
I forced my gaze down to my arm.
Letters were fading.
Carved into me like the remnants of a nightmare.
S.G.
D.I.E.
W.F.
The words blurred, dissolving until my skin was bare once again. But before they vanished completely, something clicked inside me.
Crushing Pain... My head felt like it would split apart, but amidst the agony, clarity surged.
The meaning. I remembered.
I had died before. And returned.
But this time… I carried my memory over.
I blinked, and the world solidified.
I was sitting on the train. The rhythmic rattle of wheels against steel came back to me, steady, almost mocking.
The man opposite me same uniform, same division stared.
"You've been asleep half the ride.
Are you alright? You woke up like you were in pain."
I swallowed. My lips curled into something resembling composure.
"I'm fine.
Prepare yourself.
We're not staying in Gresha for long. As soon as we arrive, we arrest him. We find the children immediately."
He tilted his head, confusion flashing across his face.
"Arrest who? The culprit wasn't even listed in the dispatch document."
My chest tightened.
How could I explain? That I had gouged the truth into my own flesh just to remember? That dying and returning was my curse? That the world itself would stop me from revealing it?
"I already know who it is...so when we arrive...tell the others to play along with what I say...or do."
"Y-yes...yes sir!"
He said getting up to head to the other train carts.
I clenched my fist, replaying the three words in my mind, gripping them as though letting go would scatter them into nothingness.
But what unsettled me more was… why?
Why had I not remembered in the last cycle to the point I had to carve the words in blood at the brink of death just to preserve them?
I summoned the system window.
[Status Window]
Name: Noel Saint Grenn
Character Setting: Dark RoFan
[Current Mission]
Mission: Investigate the Incident at Gresha
[Reward: Fragments]
Nothing about memory loss.
How many times had I died already?
How many times had I forgotten, only to repeat the same mistakes like a puppet myself?
The thought was suffocating. My chest tightened, and madness crept at the edges of my reason.
No.
Focus.
The clues. The three words.
S.G. → Sick Girl. The missing child I had to save.
D.I.E. → A reminder. Death was not the end. Forgetting was...
W.F. → Wretched Faith. The true hand pulling strings...
The memories rushed back in fragments. Seris, Bran, Aelwen.
I clenched my jaw so hard it hurt.
"…I'll do anything to have those children live.
Even if it means killing myself again and again…"
My whisper dissolved into the clamor of the train.
Yes. Back then, Brother Elian was still human when we arrived. His corruption hadn't taken root yet. Which meant…
It started at the performance. After the meal.
The stuffed animal Aelwen carried had been nothing but a distraction.
What about the dolls on each child's door?
It now made it clearer this wasn't an authority under the 8th law as I had thought initially.
If Aelwen had clung to her doll, she would've went missing too.
And then, the deductions came sharper. One by one.
Every puppetified child still wore their most precious belonging. Toys, ribbons, trinkets. Symbols of trust turned into chains.
The nun was already infected before Elian. Her puppetry spread like a contagion, meaning there was more than one vector at play.
The chapel veil wasn't Elian's doing. That black barrier was beyond him. Someone else from Wretched Faith sealed the area.
The missing children's dates didn't align. They were taken in separate weeks, yet appeared together. Which meant their bodies were preserved unnaturally.
Piece by piece, the picture sharpened. The strings weren't Elian's to begin with. He was merely bound by them, just as the children were.
Which only confirmed that his transformation was due to a ritual.
I leaned back, staring out the train window. The world outside blurred as the train pressed forward, closer and closer to Gresha.
*sigh...
"Now that I think about it...I really hate trains."
While looking out the window I shifted my leg over the other, and it bumped into something on the floor beside me.
It was the travel suitcase I had brought. It wasn't large, just a simple case containing the usual accessories Noel carried.
I remembered only seeing it halfway out of the room earlier, as if the original Noel had packed it in advance or maybe he always kept it ready, being someone who traveled often.
Either way, it had proven useful when the Minister suddenly called me to this mission.
Curious, I pulled the suitcase closer and opened it carefully. Inside were nothing but facial and hair products.
"Wow… this guy…" I muttered.
But then, buried deeper, something caught my eye. My eyes widened.
***
We arrived in Gresha soon after.
As we stepped off the platform, two carriages waited for us, bound for the chapel.
This time I made sure to take my cane.
Leaving it behind would've been like throwing away gold...anyone could sell it if they found it.
I realized now why I hadn't noticed its absence before: as Ju-won back on Earth, I had never used one, though I had spinal problems. The pain had simply become part of life, turning into dull backaches. Even now, walking without the cane felt similar...though slightly annoying, a throb that grew worse after long hours of standing.
We boarded and headed toward the chapel.
Upon arrival, Father Gideon greeted us. He stood tall, with the exact cross from his neck pressed close to his chest. His face bore deep lines that looked almost carved in. He extended his hand, and I shook it, introducing myself formally.
"Noel Saint Grenn. Imperial Security Department. We're here under direct order, regarding the missing children."
Father Gideon inclined his head. His voice was soft, carrying an air of rehearsed piety. "Then, how many are you? Shall I prepare rooms for accommodation?"
"Apologies, Father Gideon," I cut him off, my tone firm.
"We won't be staying."
Behind me, my team glanced at one another, confused, but they held their composure. I had already instructed them beforehand to play along, no matter what.
Father Gideon's eyes narrowed slightly.
"You mean… you already found the one responsible, on your way here?"
"The culprits are inside the chapel," I said flatly.
"And we have official notice to arrest them. Two of your staff members are guilty of kidnapping children and conducting rituals in violation of the Holy Church of Lumina."
For a brief second, silence blanketed the chapel entrance. Then Gideon's lips curved into a thin line.
"I see…"
We were led inside. Soon we stood before one of the nuns—Sister Magdalene. Her hands trembled as I read aloud the formal charges under the Holy Empire's law clauses. She protested, of course, but the order was clear. We bound her wrists.
At that moment, Cassel's unit called in through the comm.
"Sir… strange dolls in the doorways."
"Already," I murmured.
"And the children?"
"They're all in the theatre room together, being watched and safe."
That much was a relief. But time was against us. If I didn't move fast, the same tragedy would repeat. I ordered Father Gideon to stay with the children while Phoebe and I rushed toward the wing Cassel's team had secured.
When I arrived, I saw Tallen firing his pistol at the dolls.
"These things are radiating strong demonic energy!"
"NO—DO NOT FIRE AT THEM!"
I shouted, but the damage was done.
A foul, rotting stench flooded the air. My team as well as Phoebe fell to their knees, groaning.
"We… can't see anything…" they said, voices trembling.
My own vision blurred. The world swayed as if drenched in purple haze. I collapsed, and the suitcase I'd carried with me dropped to the floor, spilling open.
Desperately, I reached inside and pulled out the very item that had startled me earlier on the train.
A crow mask.
It was a plague doctor's mask—black leather, round glass lenses for eyes, and a long beak stuffed with herbs. Back on Earth, I had read about such masks in history. They filtered the air, protecting doctors from foul miasma. I slipped it on, and immediately the stench dulled, my vision clearing bit by bit.
So that was it. The dolls weren't simply cursed.
They released toxins hallucinations that attacked the mind. To others it seemed like blindness, but it was only illusion. Shooting them unleashed the gas in full.
I was surprised the mask came in handy...but what was the reason Noel always carried this with him?
I didn't waste time. With the mask on, I pushed forward toward the theatre.
Inside, the children lay collapsed together, Father Gideon sprawled among them. My heart raced, but when I knelt to check, they were breathing. Only unconscious. Relief flooded me.
I noticed a doll by the theatre door, pulsing faintly.
Tearing a piece of my trench coat, I wrapped and tied it, smothering the energy. Immediately, the air cleared a little, the purple haze thinning.
I locked the theatre doors behind me. There was still one problem.
Elian.
I moved through the corridors and reached his office which he wasn't in when we were searching for him earlier.
There he stood, clutching items that looked like ritual materials in both hands. His face was pale, sweat dripping from his brow.
I raised my revolver.
"Hands up."
His body shook. His lips trembled.
"P-please… I-I didn't want any of this to happen… I'm just… I'm just a Father. Please… mercy… try to understand… I never wanted it…"
His arms rose slowly, and the items clattered to the floor. His voice was barely a whisper, words breaking into stammers I could hardly make out.
For a moment, I thought I had stopped it in time. He hadn't changed yet.
But then, in a flash, threads whipped out from his palms. I barely dodged as one struck the wall behind me, splintering wood.
His voice shifted and went deep like he wasn't nervouse and stammering a minute ago.
"You must forgive me..."
He said, a wide grin crawling across his face.
"But it is time to meet my children."
Then he muttered something else that I didn't understand.
"If you came to punish me for being caught, then tell the Bishop I decline his invitation. I am already here. I am already fulfilling it."
Despite the mask, anyone could have seen the confusion etched on my face.
Before I could think, more threads burst out, slamming into my arms and pinning them. My revolver fell to the floor. My cane clattered beside it.
My ragged breaths fogged the inside of the crow mask, every inhale rough and heavy.
My head felt like it was being crushed, squeezed from every direction, yet the moment I forced another deep breath, the pressure began to ease.
Again and again I pulled air through the mask, and slowly, everything calmed. The sharp edges of fear dulled away, my body and nerves unwinding as if submerged in warmth. Was it the herbs woven inside this mask?
The timing was perfect. Elian's transformation was still incomplete. His body was twitching, but he hadn't fully become a puppet yet. I seized the chance.
A glass sashimi knife materialized in my hand. Without hesitation, I drove it straight into his chest.
Elian screamed. Not from pain like I thought.
His eyes went wide with horror, the sound of his voice more like a curse spat into my face than a cry of agony.
I knew then I had pierced the very core of what was turning him into a puppet.
The threads connected to him snapped apart one by one, shattering into nothingness. My strength collapsed with them, and I dropped to the ground, panting.
But Elian wasn't done.
He staggered toward the corner of the room, dragging his feet until he reached a heavy wooden table.
His trembling hands seized a small glass bottle. With desperation flooding his movements, he poured the yellow liquid into a shimmering glass bowl and fell to his knees.
The air thickened. A presence formed.
An entity emerged from the bowl like darkness being given shape. Its body was entirely black, featureless except for a smile that split its face.
Around its head floated rings, diagonal bands etched with countless watching eyes. Each eye widened, one after another, and every blink pressed down on me like the weight of the world.
I recognized it perhaps from a past cycle.
Elian's voice cracked as he prayed, his words tumbling out like the ravings of a lunatic.
"O Manifestation of the All-Seer, protector of truth, lord of sight unseen! Grant me your protection! Take me into your gaze!"
The room erupted.
Flames devoured him instantly, roaring up from his skin as if the sun itself had opened above his body. The fire was merciless, scorching flesh, burning him down to nothing. Yet Elian did not waver. His arms spread wide, his head tilted back in reverence, his lips still moving even as his body blackened and cracked.
The flames pulled inward, merging with the writhing black entity that had taken hold of him. The next moment, he lunged at me, faster than a beast.
The impact slammed into my chest, sending me crashing back into a row of pews. Wood splintered against my back as I rolled, coughing blood inside the mask.
The metallic taste slid down my throat, hot and bitter.
My vision blurred, but I forced my body to rise.
Elian or rather, the thing that wore him now was already in front of me. His fist came down like a hammer.
I crossed my arms to block, but the sheer force cracked the tiles beneath my feet and drove me deeper into the floor. Pain shot through my ribs.
I staggered back, barely catching my balance. He didn't give me a moment. His knee shot up, colliding with my gut. I gasped, air escaping me in a dry heave.
The next strike was a backhand, catching the side of my mask and throwing me into the wall.
Stone shattered around me as my back smashed through the chapel wall. Dust exploded outward, the cold night air rushing in.
I fell onto the courtyard outside, coughing inside the mask, my breath fogging the lenses before clearing again. My body screamed at me, every muscle trembling, blood dripping from my lips.
He followed, stepping through the hole in the wall, his burning rings filled with eyes illuminating the night like a torch.
I clenched my fist, trying to summon a blade from my Authority. Yet, as my consciousness faltered, something else appeared.
A handgun.
It shimmered into being, floating in the air beside me, its frame sculpted from translucent glass. The trigger clicked without my command. A single bullet formed, sharp and crystalline, and the gun fired.
The sound was unlike metal. It whistled. A high-pitched, slicing cry that cut through the night as the bullet tore forward.
It pierced straight through the entity's stomach. The force left a gaping hole that hissed with white heat, smoke curling around the wound. For the first time, the monster recoiled, stumbling back.
I pushed myself up from the ground, breathing hard, blood dripping down my chin. Yet beneath the exhaustion, something felt different.
My body was lighter.
The herbs that the original Noel had stuffed into the filters of this mask… their effect was something else entirely.
The pain dulled, my senses sharpened, and even my drained energy began to surge again.
I raised my head.
More handguns began to materialize around me.
Long-barreled rifles all formed of glass, their surfaces catching the moonlight, gleaming with otherworldly beauty. They floated in a circle around me, their barrels aimed at the burning figure.
The air screamed as they fired.
Whistling bullets shot out, dozens at once, tearing through the monster. Each impact carved holes through its flaming body, one after another. Its body twisted unnaturally, expanding grotesquely under the barrage. And then, beneath the silver moon, it exploded.
The shockwave rattled the trees and shook loose fragments of the ruined chapel.
I stumbled forward, the mask's lenses fogging with each ragged breath before clearing. My knees buckled, and I fell for a moment, staring up at the dark sky.
The entity was gone.
What remained of Elian lay crumpled on the ground, charred and lifeless. My chest tightened, a part of me refusing to accept it, but I knew.
A body burned this far was beyond saving. He was dead.
I swallowed the bitter lump in my throat, bent down, and lifted him onto my arms. His weight was heavy, but I carried him into what was once his office, stepping through broken beams and shattered walls.
When I laid him down, the moonlight streamed through the shattered rooftop, bathing his body. From his half broken shelf I picked up a cross, and placed it gently on his chest.
Silence fell.
Until I heard a voice.
"Good evening, Mr. Arsene."
I froze. Slowly, I tilted my head upward.
At the edge of the destroyed rooftop, a woman sat casually, her legs dangling over the debris. She wore a black ballroom mask that covered only her eyes, her long hair flowing down.
She smiled faintly.
"Quite the spectacle you've made here. But I suppose that's what happens when the Bishop's words go ignored for too long." Her voice was low, smooth, dripping with a knowing charm.
Her eyes though hidden felt sharp enough to pierce through me.
"The Bishop requires your presence… a meeting."
She let the words hang, like a command disguised as an invitation.
"You'll get the invitation in 3 days time...prepare yourself accordingly as we always have..."
I said nothing.
A soft chuckle escaped her.
"Oh, don't be so stiff, Mr. Arsene."
She leaned forward, resting her chin against her palm as if appraising me.
"Although we of the Black Pilgrimage are forbidden to show our faces to prevent unnecessary targets on loved ones, or little weaknesses that come from mortal attachments....I find myself aching…"
Her voice dropped to a whisper, almost sultry.
"…aching to see who hides beneath that crow mask.
With that body… mmh, it doesn't take a genius to know you're easy on the eyes.
Isn't that right?"
She placed a hand delicately against her cheek, pretending to swoon.
"Oh great, Mr. Arsene…"
She sighed, mocking reverence, her tone twisting seduction and mischief into one. Then her head tilted again.
"Such a shame, though, what the Wretched Faith has done to the poor old man of this chapel.
Cruel, cruel fate.
But then again…"
She shrugged lightly, her legs still swinging.
"…such is the way of rotting faiths, isn't it?"
She stood then, a single fluid motion, and blew a kiss down at me.
"Until next we meet…"
And just like that, she vanished into the night, her laughter trailing faintly behind.
I remained where I stood, hands clenched at my sides, jaw tight beneath the mask.
Footsteps echoed from the far hallway, growing closer.
Without hesitation, I lifted the crow mask from my face, the cool air biting at the sweat along my skin.
I stuffed it deep into the inner pocket of my trench coat, the leather swallowing it whole.
***
༺[Phoebe's POV]༻
The carriage door slammed shut as the nun was taken away, her pale face pressed against the barred window, headed for the Imperial Security Department.
Another group of men carefully lifted the charred body of Brother Elian into a dark wooden casket, its surface still faintly warm from the embers.
They carried it to the back of a wagon, where it disappeared beneath a heavy sheet.
My eyes lingered on the chapel entrance.
Noel stood there.
One gloved hand resting against his silver-headed cane, the other gently holding onto the hands of two children.
His black coat moved slightly with the breeze, and his gaze softened in a way that made the world pause.
"Now then..."
He said, his voice calm and warm.
"...who wants to be a knight?"
A boy, with that spark of charisma that already set him apart from the others, raised his hand high.
"I do! My name is Bran and I'll become a knight trainee once I finish the clergy exams!"
I could see Noel's lips curve in a smile, genuine and approving.
"Ambitious and brave. I see a future where you'll be carrying a sword, protecting not only your faith, but the people you love. That's the kind of knight the world needs."
The boy's chest swelled with pride, eyes shining brighter than the moon above us.
"And what about soldiers?"
Noel asked, tilting his head, his tone playful now.
"Who wants to become a soldier like me?"
Hands shot up everywhere.
Little voices chimed together, "Me! Me! Me!"
But Noel's attention fell on the smallest of them, a girl clutching a stuffed animal to her chest.
She raised her hand timidly, as if afraid the world would laugh at her.
Noel crouched slightly, lowering himself to her eye level.
"Why so shy?" he asked softly.
"Listen to me, okay?
When you want something, you can't just whisper it to the world and hope it listens. You have to say it loudly, clearly, with your whole heart. If you're shy, if you hesitate, the universe thinks you're not ready. So raise that hand like it's the only hand in the world, and claim what you want."
Her lips quivered before slowly curving into a smile. Her tiny arm lifted higher, this time firm and proud.
"That's it," Noel said warmly. "That's the spirit. Never doubt yourself."
Bran's voice broke through the moment.
"Then I'll be her knight! I'll marry her, and protect her forever!"
The children burst into laughter.
The girl smiled and looked down...her cheeks turning a soft pink.
Noel chuckled, reaching out to ruffle Bran's hair.
"Yes, you will. A knight who protects with both sword and heart...that's the truest kind of knight."
The boy beamed, standing taller.
"But that stuffed bunny looks strong. Maybe I should recruit him instead of Bran. Do you think he'd protect you better than Bran?"
The children erupted in laughter that echoed through the ruins of the chapel.
"Now, then..."
Noel continued.
"Who wants to be-"
Before he even finished hands shot up one by one.
"So many hands up? Goodness. At this rate, we'll run out of enemies before you all grow up."
Yet again the children laughed...and I found myself chuckling a bit.
Even Father Gideon joined them, raising his arms as if blessing the joy itself.
Noel lifted his cane slightly.
"I'll make sure you're taken to the main Holy Church in Parnonia. There, you'll be safe, cared for, and you'll have everything you need."
The children gasped before breaking into wild cheers, clapping, jumping, shouting over each other with excitement. Their voices rose into the air, pure and alive.
I felt my lips curve into a smile without realizing it.
"Such a great man, don't you think?"
The voice startled me, low and steady at my side. I turned to find Cassel, his eyes fixed on the same figure I couldn't look away from.
My gaze drifted back to Noel, standing tall among the children, his gloved hand still resting lightly on the smallest girl's head.
His eyes were closed and a wide smile was plastered onto his face.
I didn't answer Cassel and I didn't need to.
Because in that moment, I knew he was right.