The train came to a halt. Aloken, a bishop of the Blood Heaven Cult, was utterly neutralized. Metin approached with heavy steps, his gaze fixed on the fallen man’s condition.
’A massive explosion from a sanctified zombie... It’s on a completely different level than an exorcism.’
The Hellhound armor Aloken had been wearing was annihilated without a trace. The man himself was spewing a black ichor from his mouth, his mind utterly shattered—a classic symptom of a destroyed Core. Metin could tell from the stench alone. Aloken would never wield Jet-Black again.
’And I wanted to be the one to catch this bastard.’
In the end, it was not Metin the Inquisitor, nor Lethe of Efnel, who had captured Aloken. It was a necromancer. An immense conflict churned within him as he snapped a pair of cuffs onto Aloken’s wrists.
Meanwhile, Lethe, having bound the female inquisitor and tossed her into a passenger car, strode over to Simon.
"Well," she began, a grudging respect in her tone, "I have no choice but to acknowledge your skills this time."
Simon was sprawled on the roof of the train, gasping for breath.
"You saved every single passenger on this train..." she continued, then trailed off. "Huh?"
Something was wrong. He set down the crown as if it weighed a ton, his entire body wracked with tremors. Then, his shaking arms reached for it again, trying to place it back on his head.
With a superhuman effort, Simon slammed the crown back onto the metal roof. Beads of cold sweat dotted his forehead.
"What’s wrong? What’s happening to you?"
"Don’t come near me!" he roared.
Lethe flinched, freezing in her tracks. She had never heard him shout with such raw force.
"Take this and get away from me!"
Simon hurled the crown at her. She fumbled to catch it, hugging it to her chest with a bewildered expression.
"Why?! You have to tell me what’s going on!"
"Ugh...!" he groaned. "There’s no time to explain! Just get away! Hurry!"
She wanted to cast a healing spell, or at the very least a blessing to calm his mind, but his command was absolute. She backed away cautiously before turning and breaking into a dead run.
’What is it about this crown?’
Simon couldn’t hold out for long. The whites of his eyes showed as he let out a guttural, beastly roar and charged at Lethe on all fours, like a feral animal.
He closed the distance in an instant. As his hand shot out for the crown, a startled Lethe spun around, clutching it even tighter.
The sound of impact echoed across the roof. Simon was sent flying, tumbling across the metal surface.
[I knew this would happen.]
Prince appeared, approaching with a nonchalant air, one hand planted on his hip.
"You’re...!"
As Simon struggled to rise, Prince lunged, grabbing him by the hair and slamming his head into the floor with a sickening thud.
[Stay out of this, Priest.]
The brutal impact seemed to do the trick. Simon’s body went limp, and a hollow, dazed laugh escaped his lips. The golden glow in his eyes faded, returning them to their original color.
"...Thanks, Prince."
[You think this is funny?] Prince snapped. [If you get hurt from overdoing it, I’m the one who gets an earful from Pier!]
"He was too strong. I had no choice," Simon rasped. "And please, take the crown back. I’m losing my mind."
At his plea, Prince turned and walked toward Lethe. She clutched the crown warily, her eyes darting between Simon and the undead boy. Simon gave her a slight nod, assuring her it was okay. Hesitantly, she held out the crown. Prince snatched it from her and placed it on his own head.
[Call if anything happens. Got it?]
"Yeah. Thanks."
Prince’s entire body, along with the crown, dissolved into pitch-black smoke, his form dissipating as if his very soul were departing. In his place, only the corpse of an ordinary zombie remained.
"H-He’s gone?"
"He just returned to where he belongs," Simon explained, groaning as he pushed himself into a sitting position.
Lethe rushed to his side. "Are you okay? Do you need healing magic...?"
"I don’t need healing," he said, shaking his head. "Just a blessing to restore my vitality."
She cast a long-lasting blessing on him, and he staggered to his feet. Lethe moved to support him, her voice laced with concern.
"Don’t push yourself. If you’re tired, you should just get some sleep."
Suddenly, Simon shoved her away with a rough, startling sound. She tumbled backward, landing hard on her rear. Her eyes widened, a flicker of hurt crossing her face before it hardened into fury.
"I was just trying to help you! Do you have a death wish—!"
"There’s no need for such a forced performance."
She turned. The Heretic Inquisitor Metin was walking toward them, dragging the unconscious body of Aloken behind him.
"In the name of the great Goddess," Metin declared, his voice heavy, "I promise that no harm will come to you or to Priestess Lethe."
Simon merely touched the mask on his face, his identity still concealed. Lethe’s mind raced. Should she deny knowing him? Or should she help him take this inquisitor down for good?
Then, Metin spoke again.
"You are a necromancer, yet you risked your life for the people on this train. You saved hundreds of us. The inquisitors, myself included, were pathetic. I admit it. We were less useful than a single necromancer."
He tore the inquisitor’s badge from his chest and hurled it into the darkness.
"Therefore, I am abandoning my interrogation of you."
As the atmosphere shifted, Simon and Lethe remained silent.
"For saving hundreds of lives, you deserve to ascend to the Sky Island and receive a great reward. But you are a necromancer. You will receive no compensation here, and you knew that when you saved us. On behalf of the entire Heretic Inquisition, I thank you."
Metin bowed deeply.
"Thank you."
Hearing the raw sincerity in his voice, Simon finally allowed the Jet-Black he’d been channeling to recede. But he didn’t lower his guard.
"Are you sure you’ll be alright?" Lethe asked, her gaze fixed on Metin. "You might fall into a severe slump."
A priest’s Divinity stemmed from their faith. Once doubt crept into that faith—the very medium for their power—it could snowball until it became irreversible. Priests called this phenomenon a ‘Divinity Slump,’ a state where a traumatic event damaged their faith so severely they could no longer wield their power as before. The Holy Federation was filled with stories of priests who had abandoned their calling after experiencing a slump brought on by war or a superior’s unreasonable command. Those with the most fervent passion and conviction, like Metin, were especially vulnerable.
"It doesn’t matter," Metin replied, his eyes on Simon. "What’s wrong is wrong."
He seemed to be waiting for a response, but Simon’s lips remained sealed. ‘He’s incredibly thorough,’ Metin thought.
Simon turned his back and descended into the passenger car.
The situation was more or less under control. Lethe, an Efnel student wielding absolute authority, and Metin, the sole surviving inquisitor, worked together to calm the passengers and round up the remaining cultists. The captured members of the Blood Heaven Cult were bound and thrown into the cargo hold. Metin personally sealed Aloken and the treacherous female inquisitor with magic before hanging them on a torture wheel.
"Don’t go anywhere, and keep a close eye on these two, Ellen," Lethe ordered.
"Of course! You can count on me!" Ellen replied with a crisp salute.
Lethe and Metin returned to the engine room.
"Welcome back," Simon greeted them, his palms pressed together. He had already removed his mask and donned his white acolyte robes once more.
"Oh, you want to die? Such a slacker," Lethe teased with a chuckle.
"I’m not sure what you mean, Priestess."
"Showing your face so shamelessly after the fight is over. Where have you been?"
"I know my place. I was clearing out the stragglers in the tail car."
Metin let out a dry laugh as he watched the two of them trade blatant lies.
"Well then, shall we?"
The three of them entered the engine room. It was spotless; the bodies had already been removed. In the center of the room, a permanent divine magic circle used to control the train glowed softly.
"Priestess Lethe, will you be able to operate it?" Metin asked.
"Let me take a look."
The magic circle was so complex that Simon felt dizzy just looking at it, but Lethe seemed to think it was manageable as she began to slowly analyze its structure. In the meantime, Metin started his briefing.
"We’ve regained control of the train, but the threat from the Blood Heaven Cult is far from over."
Simon nodded grimly. "We don’t know when their headquarters might send reinforcements."
"Exactly. Those bastards intend to sacrifice every passenger on this train. Their headquarters must have realized they’ve lost contact with Bishop Aloken, so they will undoubtedly dispatch additional forces."
"So we need to get the train moving to escape."
"That is correct." Metin held up the briefcase he was carrying. "While Priestess Lethe sees if she can move the train, let’s go through this intelligence from the Blood Heaven Cult."
The briefcase was filled with the cult’s confidential documents. Simon’s eyes widened.
"Where did you get this?"
"It was in Aloken’s Subspace."
The two of them meticulously combed through the documents, searching for any clue. As he spread the papers out, Simon immediately noticed something odd.
"All of these directives are signed by a bishop. But it’s not the signature of Aloken, who claimed to be a bishop himself."
Every directive bore the scrawled signature of a different bishop.
"Except for one." Simon pointed to a document on the far right. "The mission request to hijack the Divine Train. This is the only one with Aloken’s signature. And even this one was approved by another bishop."
"I see."
It seemed Aloken was little more than a figurehead. Perhaps there were different ranks among the bishops, or maybe Aloken, a newcomer to the position, had orchestrated this whole affair in a reckless attempt to prove himself.
’Hmm.’
Simon carefully examined the materials.
’Divine Train Hijacking Plan’
- Persuade Heretic Inquisitor ‘Sarah Crawford’. - Prepare to hijack Divine Train No. 1631, under Sarah Crawford’s supervision. - Assassinate Inquisitor ‘Odel McFadin’, Sarah Crawford’s fabricated lover, and secure his biological face.
Sarah Crawford was the traitorous inquisitor Lethe had captured. Simon already knew that much. He flipped to the next page.
- Hijacking of Divine Train complete. Transport to headquarters. - Convert captured passengers into Blood Zombies. - Leak information to the Heretic Inquisition. All headquarters personnel to evacuate.
Simon’s hand froze. ‘What the hell is this? Intentionally leak information to the Heretic Inquisition?’
His expression turned grave as he turned to the next page.
- Inquisitor-General ‘Rate’, a known war hawk, will raid the scene. - Rate will secure evidence at the headquarters proving the Dark Alliance is behind the Blood Heaven Cult, fueling anti-necromancer sentiment. - Induce war between the Holy Federation and the Dark Alliance.
’...Wow. This is...’
Simon felt his lips go dry.
’The scale of this is getting insane.’

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