The Execution Ground.
That was the place where players were to be sacrificed as offerings to the Evil God worshipped by the cult, and the hooded cultist was dragging toward it.
My hands were bound in handcuffs, limiting to rely sizing up my surroundings as we moved.
The hooded cultist turned to , with his voice tinged with disbelief. "I really don't understand. Why would you choose to sacrifice yourself?"
"No particular reason."
"Is that so? Most people would rather sacrifice soone else than face such a fate themselves, and you certainly don't strike as the type willing to risk yourself for others."
"How can you tell?"
"I've seen countless people in my ti; it's easy to spot their true nature. People emit a sort of aura, much like how animals radiate heat to adapt to their surroundings. It takes practice, but if you observe closely enough, you'll uncover many surprising truths. Of course, a person's true character becos evident when you subject them to enough torture. Hehehe!"
A twisted smile ford on his lips as he spoke.
He was undoubtedly insane, that's for sure. But it seed his character was not solely defined by madness.
How could I know? I was not exactly sure. Maybe It was just my instinct as a writer, that's why.
... Ah. That reminds . Find your next read on m_v l|e-
Suddenly, I rembered sothing from the past.
During the ti when I was still reading the Song of Nightmares, I always found myself curious about one thing.
Unsure of how much information I could glean from this man, I decided to speak up anyway. "What exactly is the motive behind your demonic cult? Is it simply about killing and torturing people? That seems rather shallow, don't you think?"
"What? Did you just refer to us as so sort of diocre demonic cult?"
The hooded man bristled at my words. His reaction was so intense as if he had received a personal insult.
What a surprising reaction.
I continued speaking, "Sorry, dude. But from what I can see, that's how it appears at face value. It's not like your group embodies any clarity or purpose, right? In that sense, you're not that much different from a typical demonic cult, are you?"
"Hmph. If you put it that way, then our cult truly looks like a diocre demonic cult."
"Then?" I tilted my head, confused.
"That's only how it seems on the surface. In truth, our na isn't the Demonic Cult, and we have no ties to demons from the demon plane. We prefer to call ourselves 'Black Apostles.'"
"Dude, isn't that the sa thing?"
"No, our goals are nothing like those of a demonic cult. I don't mind sharing the details with you, especially since you're about to be sacrificed for that very reason. Co this way."
The hooded man dragged down the hallway. We continued walking for a long ti and finally stopped infront of a portrait hanging on the wall.
Despite its enormous size, It was sothing I never would have noticed if the hooded man hadn't pointed it out in the dimly lit hallway.
I gazed at the portrait, and upon closer inspection, I found myself utterly captivated by the artwork.
The portrait truly seed out of place in such a gloomy setting, and the woman depicted in the aged painting radiated an air of elegance and grace.
The woman wore a long, beautiful dark gown, with a hand fan delicately held in one hand. Her long hair which flowed down to her hips was as dark as the night, and her piercing eyes carried an imasurable resolve.
I couldn't guess her age, but she seed to be youthful probably around her early 20s or so.
Either way, It was clear that soone like her would be referred to as a 'lady' during the Victorian Era.
But she looked sowhat different from the composed, middle-aged ladies you would normally see in famous pictures.
She was utterly ethereal, as if she were an angel that descended from the heavens to grace humanity.
Unbeknownst to , I found myself staring at the picture in a daze.
I couldn't help myself; I was certain anyone else would feel the sa way if they beheld this portrait. But for so reason, she felt oddly familiar as if I had seen her before sowhere.
Was there soone like this in Song of Nightmares?
If I rembered correctly, there were no artworks for the characters. Even the characters' appearance was described sowhat vaguely.
My thoughts were slowly dragged back to reality as I heard a voice.
"Isn't she marvelous? Around the beginning of October last year, the 'master' commissioned several paintings of her to adorn the hallway, instructing a painter to capture her likeness."
"So who is she?"
"Her na is Lady Minerva Blackthorne, the goddess and object of our worship. For simplicity's sake, you may call her the 'Witch of the Night.'"
The hooded man answered my question as if he was an old man introducing his most cherished black cat.
More importantly, this woman was the Witch of the Night?
I looked back at the portrait in shock.
At that mont, I thought the author of Song of Nightmares failed as an author.
How could one fail to do a fine lady like her any justice?
If I managed to find the author, I would definitely hit the back of his head.
... Shit! I'm getting too carried away.
Refusing to lose my composure any further, I straightened my posture and turned to face the hooded man.
I asked, "How is she connected to your goals as Dark Apostles? If she is your object of worship, then you must surely desire sothing in return, correct?"
"The answer is rather simple. Have you heard of the creation myth?"
"Creation myth?"
"You don't know the myth about creation?"
The hooded man seed disappointed then his expression as his eyes lit up.
"Ah, of course. How could I forget? Given that you're just a street rat we picked up, it's no surprise you wouldn't be the religious type or belong to any church."
Of course, my words were a lie. But I had to maintain my role as an actor to keep this man from growing suspicious.
The Fifth Fable was an old story that had already happened a long ti ago. The players had assud the roles of captured prisoners who once tried to escape from this very place.
The hooded man began recounting the myth of creation. "According to the Book of Revelations and the words of the Saints, there are Four Epochs that define the creation of the World Order. In the First Epoch, the Divine Creator and the Gods created 'Fate' and dread the world into existence. During the Second Epoch, the gods descended to the mortal realm and lived among humanity.
In the Third Epoch, the Gods departed from humanity and returned to the Kingdom of Gods. Finally, in the Fourth Epoch, humanity advanced their civilizations and beca part of History and Stories."
"During the Second Epoch, the Gods descended onto the world, infusing it with mana and magic. They decide how mana behaves and to harness its power, one had to join the church of a specific god and undergo the baptism ceremony. From that point on, the gods could monitor the actions of the baptized, and grant various blessings, with the ability to wield mana being the most basic.
However, you could view it more as a ans to control people's actions rather than simply bestowing power. The goddess Iris views righteousness as virtue, the god Orion views justice as virtue, so they influence others to take actions that represent their virture."
Reflecting on it, didn't the gods perform sothing similar in Myth?
The hooded man's gaze flickered with interest as he noted my contemplative expression.
"You catch on quickly. The gods have always sought to mold humanity according to their will. Deities like Iris and Orion manifests their will through their followers, and use their inherent beliefs to steer the actions of the masses."
The idea that divine beings could influence human behavior through constructs like faith and rituals wasn't new, but it felt particularly sinister coming from his mouth.
The man continued impatiently.
"Ordinary people worship their gods, but the gods have twisted this devotion into a system where they harvest 'faith' from followers and use it to manipulate their lives. That's why the Black Apostles were ford—to rebel against this imposed system and restore true free will. At least, that's the aim of the organized among us. Most Dark Apostles just want to cause chaos and indulge in bloodshed. Tch.
It's really distasteful, you know? Because of them, most people see us as nothing more than a demonic cult."
I interrupted him. "And the Witch of the Night—where does she fit into all this?"
He gave a slight nod. "Didn't you listen? Only those baptized can wield mana. That baptism ritual creates a contract with a god, and without it, no one can wield mana. In fact, those who remain unbaptized cannot live like normal humans. The mana density of the Planet would crush them.
Even if they sohow survived, they'd suffer from a deadly illness called 'Mana Corruption,' where their bodies deteriorate under the strain of uncontrolled world mana and collapse. The Founder of the Black Apostles questioned this and searched for a solution. The solution was... the Witch of the Night."
"How is she the solution?"
"The goal of that Black Apostles is to create an era where the System of the Gods and their stories no longer exist. We create this era the Fifth Epoch. But to create such a world, they need a God of Freedom after the disappearance of the Old One."
"The old god disappeared? You an It died?"
The hooded man hesitated, as if choosing his words carefully.
"We don't know for sure. So think It died after the 'Great War of Saints and Demons,' while others believe It's in a deep slumber. But one thing is certain: It no longer exists in this world. That's why we look to the Witch of the Night as a replacent for the reason that she was able to ascend to the Territory of Gods despite originating from the Fourth Epoch."
"You're crazy. Even if you manage to summon her by so miracle, what makes you think she'll answer your wishes."
Attempting to summon soone of her power would inevitably lead to disaster, and yet these people were determined to do exactly that.
Besides, It was not like witches were genies trapped inside a bottle. They were just as incredibly selfish as the Gods. Even if they managed to summon her using the sacrificual ritual, there was no guarantee that she would grant their wishes.
The man only shrugged. "I think you're mistaken about sothing. We are not trying to summon her."
"What?"
"Her presence is not what we desire. Rather, we desire the knowledge she has to create a New God. This is the goal of the Black Apostles."
"I see. So we were rely a ans to acquire that information."
"You could say that. But don't feel too down about it. Once you're sacrificed, you'll be welcod by Lady Minerva in the Kingdom of Gods. Isn't that wonderful? So of us are even envious of your fate. Just the thought of eting Lady Minerva fills with imnse jealousy and longing.
You really don't know the value of the gift you're about to receive."
The hooded man spoke with such conviction that you'd almost believe he was completely serious.
But it was just a load of bullshit.
If you truly wanted to et her, then why don't you sacrifice yourself instead. Why bother suffering other people?
Disregarding his words, it was clear he had no intention of sacrificing himself. In fact, his love for life was obvious—after all, if he died, he wouldn't be able to indulge in his twisted pleasure of torturing others.
The rest of the Black Apostles were just like him.
They longed to witness the birth of their so-called new world, all while reveling in the misfortune of others and indulging in their twisted desires along the way. To them, a world without the system of the gods was one where chaos and order clashed. It was a world where people could act freely, unburdened by the constraints of fate or stories.
That was the Fifth Epoch.
I sighed inwardly.
Aren't they ultimately just a delusional cult? I've seen many similar stories before. Or do they genuinely believe their way of life is right?
The idea was tempting. A world free from divine control sounded like a dream. But what was the price to pay for such a world?
It was clear that the Black Apostles were extrely selfish, but their end goal wasn't completely evil.
The end goal was rather similar to the world I wanted to create. Of course, without the chaos.
Before I could dwell further on it, the hooded man yanked forward. "Co now. The ti of your sacrifice draws near."
As we approached the execution ground, I knew one thing for sure: I had no intention of being their offering.
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