A month had passed since Acrune arrived in White City, and he had almost blended into the place.
Instead of the torn rags he wore when he first arrived, he now wrapped himself in a piece of white cloth. Though still filthy, it allowed him to stuff straw inside to keep warm.
"Winter is coming… I'll probably have to work even longer hours."
Acrune muttered. And it made sense—when winter reached this desert, it brought prolonged floods, followed by monsters breeding outside and eventually migrating here. Task forces would be dispatched to deal with them.
That also meant Acrune's workload would increase, even though he already had almost no time to rest. Thinking about it, he could only sigh. Meanwhile, his dream of hearing the Pope's teachings remained far beyond reach.
Clang—
A bell rang in the distance. It came from a clock tower. Hearing it, Acrune stopped polishing the sword in his hands.
He quickly headed to a nearby silk shop. The guard at the entrance merely nodded and opened the door, ignoring Acrune's destitute appearance.
"Good evening, Acrune. You're here again?"
"Good evening, Himel. It's good to see you again."
Himel was the man who had nearly punched him before—who had torn his clothes. Beside Himel sat several others around a round table, all with solemn expressions. Every one of them wore black priestly robes and held a cross in their hands.
They called themselves the 'Fallen Priests'—a gathering of priests and pastors who claimed themselves sinful, coming together to confess and bare their lives to one another.
There were also many ordinary people and townsfolk present. They came to confess, to seek advice, to speak of their lives.
Once every ten chimes—meaning once every ten days—they gathered to talk and recount their lives. Though Acrune was a stranger, he had been invited because it was believed he had overheard fragments of something important—something he himself did not understand.
…
Hours passed in the wooden room with stone flooring, steeped in gloom. Sighs filled the space, making the already oppressive atmosphere even heavier.
Acrune listened as well. He heard countless tragedies and crimes from those present.
A priest who preached the faith, yet had three illegitimate children.
A man who killed someone during an argument with a woman.
Someone who stole from a family, driving them into bankruptcy.
…
There were countless lives laid bare—some blameworthy, some shaped by circumstance, some unforgivable. Yet no one spoke excessively. They answered only when asked.
It was here that Acrune finally spoke of himself.
His mother had once been a believer—deeply faithful to God.
In truth, she had been a noblewoman. She habitually visited the church at the end of each month, praying devoutly.
Yet perhaps those prayers never reached God, for Acrune's mother suffered from a rare illness that left her unable to bear children. It plunged her into deep depression.
She was, after all, merely an ordinary noble—destined to become a political tool, a chess piece of her family. Her prayers were nothing more than a wish for a peaceful future.
The breaking point came at a banquet hosted by a duke. She mistook someone's words as mockery of her condition, and in a moment of fury, she disrupted the entire event.
It was only youthful impulsiveness mixed with crisis—but the banquet was an important one. Her family cast her out immediately afterward. A cruel punishment, yet one no one cared about.
Believing she could never become pregnant, she became a prostitute in the city ruled by her own family. Even with her beauty and education, she could not escape that fate.
As if determined to erase her existence, her family personally destroyed the brothel and imprisoned her, as though declaring her dead.
Ironically, within that prison, she gave birth to a child. Because of the nature of incarceration, she was forced to give birth alone in a kennel meant for hunting dogs.
That child was named Acrune, a name derived from a fragment of the mana language—meaning "Radiant Name."
For reasons unknown, no one was allowed to leave that prison—not the child, nor the inmates. There was nothing there meant for a child's survival.
No one knew who the child's father was. In that damp darkness, in the suffocating filth of the prison, amid curses about life, about imminent death, about names already dead—she chose to raise the child herself.
She taught him morality using the Bible and the teachings of God—things she herself had once rejected. Yet the suffering of imprisonment drowned out the sound of scripture.
At six years old, Acrune witnessed his mother's suicide.
"Look at the semen on her—how many men do you think fucked her?"
Those were the last words Acrune heard that day.
From then on, he earned his own living. No one fed him anymore.
At eight years old, Acrune saw a man attempting to escape the prison. Curious, he followed—accidentally leaving traces. The man was publicly executed. Acrune witnessed it after slipping past the iron fence and escaping the prison himself.
Eventually, he was taken in by a family—who were murdered by a thief just one month later. After that, he worked in a coal mine, the only place that would take him in.
"So… do you believe in God?"
The question came from an elderly priest—one who had confessed to raping a young woman while drunk. Acrune looked at him and answered slowly.
"I believe God once existed.But now, He is dead."
It was not a logical statement—by religious doctrine, social belief, faith, or science. It was merely an unfounded conviction, without explanation.
…
Late at night, the stars hung high—far beyond reach. Himel sat idly by the window, enjoying the incoming winter breeze.
Two hours had passed since the others left. It was time to discuss what came next.
"What do you think?" Himel asked.
He was speaking to Phelion—the silver-haired man. Only the two of them remained in the room.
"Do you think it's the Five Fingers?" Himel continued, recalling that a festival was approaching—one that would come to the lambs of Lebem City.