Chapter 25: Zetsumei
The Supreme Pontiff's voice stopped dead.
Then came a sharp, almost cracking cry —
"Zetsumei! Stop!"
The air in the sacred ground went still for an instant.
That cry had torn through some invisible barrier.
Lucian had never heard the Supreme Pontiff speak with such urgency. Even when confronted with the revelation of Lucian's identity, this old man had shown mostly reverence and excitement.
But now there was genuine alarm in that voice, as though something had ripped through it.
The scythe did not lower.
But it made no further move.
It stayed against Lucian's neck, a silver arc frozen in the air. He could feel the breathing of whoever stood behind him — slow and easy.
Then that voice came.
"Supreme Pontiff."
Lazy, carrying a faint coolness. Like the first snowflake settling onto the surface of a winter lake.
"Even if this child is your illegitimate son, you still can't bring him into the sacred ground. This is holy ground where the Six Great Gods' relics are kept — not even the Supreme Pontiff is allowed exceptions."
The corner of Lucian's mouth twitched.
He couldn't see the person behind him, but he could read the complete indifference in that tone — discussing this the way one might discuss the day's weather, or what to have for dinner. That casual ease against the cold, sharp blade at his neck was a deeply strange combination.
The Supreme Pontiff's expression shifted, and he was just drawing breath to speak when the scythe came slowly down.
"That said..."
The voice from behind drew out its ending, carrying the particular quality of someone settling into a lazy compromise. "Since you brought him yourself, there must be a reason."
Lucian felt the pressure against his neck disappear. He turned without thinking.
Standing behind him was a girl who looked to be about fifteen.
Split hair, black and white. From left to right, pure black and pure white divided cleanly at the crown, like two rivers with no confluence, falling loose behind her. A few strands were draped deliberately in front of her ears, as though trying to cover something.
Heterochromatic eyes. The left was pure white, the right a deep black — colors that ran exactly contrary to her hair, as though some deliberate symmetry had been arranged.
Her face was too flawless to look real. Her features had the quality of something carved with extraordinary care, a beauty that didn't seem to belong to an ordinary world. But her expression was so blank it had almost left indifference behind, and for all the youth in that face, she carried a composure entirely at odds with her apparent age.
"This child looks..."
Zetsumei tilted her head, those mismatched eyes looking Lucian over with a faint curiosity.
"Quite cute."
She reached out and patted his head. Naturally, as though it were the obvious thing to do.
Lucian went rigid.
The hand was very light, as though afraid of breaking something fragile. The fingertips were soft, carrying a slight coolness.
"Stop!"
The Supreme Pontiff's voice came again, with unmistakable agitation. "Zetsumei! This is a profound offense against the God of Judgment!"
"The God of Judgment?"
Zetsumei's hand paused, but stayed where it was, resting on Lucian's head. She looked down at him, and something like confusion moved through those mismatched eyes.
"Supreme Pontiff," her voice was still unhurried, but something more deliberate had entered it, "are you saying..."
The Supreme Pontiff drew a slow breath, straightened his robes, and gave a deep bow.
"This is the Theocracy's seventh god." His voice was solemn and clear. "The Master of Gods spoken of by the Lady of Death herself — the God of Judgment."
Zetsumei's hand stayed on Lucian's head.
She blinked.
Then those mismatched eyes curved, and something that was almost a smile settled onto her face.
"But..." She gave Lucian's head a light pat. "This child doesn't look very strong."
The hand was still up there, patting him with a slow, gentle rhythm, like someone calming a ruffled animal. Zetsumei's expression remained blank. But there was something in the motion itself — something that was almost, inexplicably, tender.
Lucian's face had gone somewhat red. Talking about this sort of thing online in his past life was one thing, but in person — honestly, who in the world would turn down getting their head patted by a centuries-old immortal with a face like Paimon.
"There is a reason for it..."
The Supreme Pontiff was drawing breath to intervene again, and then stopped.
He had caught the faint flush passing across Lucian's face.
Only for an instant.
But it was there.
The Supreme Pontiff's expression did something subtle.
"Ahem."
He cleared his throat. The urgency of a moment ago, the clear intention of stopping Zetsumei, quietly dissolved. In its place came a manner of deference so deliberate it was almost theatrical.
"God of Judgment, sir."
A deep bow. "Please allow me to apologize — I have just recalled that there is an urgent matter of state requiring my immediate attention —"
Lucian blinked.
"The introductions from this point," the Supreme Pontiff straightened, wearing an expression of perfectly calibrated regret, "will be handled by Antirin. She knows the sacred ground as well as I do and will not disappoint you."
"Ah?" Lucian said before he could stop himself. "But just now you were —"
"Truly an urgent matter. It cannot wait."
The Supreme Pontiff's tone was entirely sincere. His feet, however, were already moving backward.
Something about this felt wrong.
A few minutes ago this old man had been taking his time walking Lucian through everything at the unhurried pace of someone with the entire day — the descent of the Six Great Gods, the founding of the Theocracy, the passing of the Six Great Gods.
And now there was suddenly an urgent matter of state?
But Lucian nodded anyway. "...Go ahead, then."
"Many thanks for your understanding, God of Judgment, sir."
Another bow. Then the Supreme Pontiff turned.
His pace was startling.
Far too fast for an old man. His figure flashed between the stone columns of the hall, the movement trailing only the faintest displacement of air — there and then not there, too quick to follow cleanly.
Did he use a Martial Art?
The corner of Lucian's mouth twitched. What kind of state business could possibly be that urgent?
But there was something faintly satisfying in it too. Until a moment ago the Supreme Pontiff had been perfectly content to keep the tour going, and had only left when someone else could take over. Whatever the real reason, Lucian's standing as a "temporarily powerless god" was apparently still held in reasonably high regard.
He pulled his attention back quickly, because the hand on his head had moved again.
"God of Judgment, sir?"
Zetsumei's voice came from above him, still carrying that cool, unhurried quality. But Lucian had the distinct impression something had shifted in it — some small note of amusement that hadn't been there before.
"Why has your face gone red?"
Lucian: "..."
He looked up and met those mismatched eyes directly.
Left eye pure white, right eye deep black. That young face was as expressionless as ever, but Lucian had the inexplicable sense she was laughing.
The hand was still on his head.
So Zetsumei didn't seem particularly respectful of this God of Judgment. Was it because the gap in their strength was too obvious? Or because he currently looked far too small?
"Well," Lucian cleared his throat, attempting to produce something approaching an authoritative tone, "you can take your hand off now."
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