Hero: Part Ten
La Sacrée Cathédrale Notre-Dame Des Saints Miraval had grown accustomed to being far less crowded than it had been a century earlier. Except for the weekly Mass, only a small fraction of the student corps regularly participated in organized spiritual life, but, even in this case, it was more out of social obligation than an act of devotion. However, this did not mean that people were slowly embracing Crypto-Atheism like the Suzerains. Rather, it was a symptom of the new rhythm imposed by the modern world, which rarely granted its people unproductive moments—free time to ponder whether consuming was truly the meaning of life.
Nevertheless, the church remained an artistic masterpiece. Three colossal statues, each representing a member of the Holy Trinity, hovered above the central altar, and above them, on the dome, painted with monsters’ fluids to never fade, was a depiction of the World’s End, featuring a faceless Adam extending his warm embrace to welcome the worthy in Paradise. Thus, even if it failed to attract worshippers, the same could not be said for tourists, although, right now, half of its former beauty and fame had been lost, as wooden planks covered what had once been magnificent stained-glass windows—only Hero Roland at the top and Hero Mario at the bottom were still standing.
Like all classic churches of the Holy Rolandish Empire, the cathedral followed the traditional Trinitarian Structure—three aisles whose ends converged at the center of the building, where the priest’s altar stood upon a triangular, elevated platform. The Original Aisle was used for daily services, the Imperfect Aisle for funerals, and the Romantic Aisle for marriages, and only on rare occasions were all three aisles opened to the public at once, forcing the priest to shift awkwardly from one side of his triangular altar to another.
That afternoon, only a handful of souls were present to hear the good word of Adam. Among them was a class of orphaned students from Lady Étiennette’s People Collegium, whose administration accepted any offer to host the children while their own facilities were being repaired to meet the Miraval Family’s strict security standards, and the only other attendee was a lone man seated at the far end of the Original Aisle. Although he occupied the place sinners instinctively chose out of self-shame, the church’s remarkable acoustics allowed him to hear every word of the priest as clearly as if he had been seated in the front row.
“And this is how the Holy Trinity kept Adam’s Promise, but as the Imperfect Axiom dictates, heresy will never be fully eradicated. Hence, we must never lower our guard against sin.” A relatively old priest, dressed in ill-fitting casual clothes, sat casually on the higher steps of the altar as he addressed the students below. “Any questions?” The children promptly violated every conceivable code of decorum for such a holy place, their curiosity ignited as they began shouting out whatever crossed their minds. Eventually, a professor, out of stress, arbitrarily selected one of them. “Do heretics know that they are evil?” The priest nearly betrayed his professionalism by chuckling.
Maurice De Miraval was one of the few nobles who directly descended from a Holy Hero who had the misfortune of being born Ungifted. Thus, as a thousand-year-old tradition demanded of aristocratic Soulfuls, he was forced to take the vows. Historically, the Church had been the only path through which a Soulful could climb the social ladder in a world dominated by Essentias, and Maurice was among the last of them—a living fossil from a bygone age. Had he been born just two centuries earlier, as a member of the Miraval Family and a Cardinal of the Trinitarian Faith, he would have been a puppet master of ’HRE’s’ politics by now. Instead, in these enlightened times, influencing the new generation was the closest he could come to replicating that power.
“To answer this more-clearly-than-it-may-appear-at-first-glance question, I have a perfect story—would you like to hear it before you go?” The children nodded eagerly. “A long time ago, in a land forgotten even by the dustiest of books, a beautiful young couple succeeded in uniting their souls through the holy sacrament of marriage. However, unlike in fairy tales, their story did not end there with a happily ever after.”
As the priest began his tale, the thud of heavy footsteps echoed through the cathedral, juxtaposing with Maurice’s soothing voice. “I never imagined I’d find you here.” Jude whistled at the sight of the man who decided to sit, like him, in the Sinners Row. “Did Adam visit you in your sleep?” Asked the ’Mafioso,’ who came to the church every day at the exact same hour.
“I have a deal to honor,” the ’Javelinist’ calmly replied, fingers intertwined and eyes closed in prayer. “But today I’m here to thank the 'Romantic Dreamer' for what she did—I kneel to her glory.” There was an unusual lightness over Jacques’ expression, one that made Jude very uncomfortable. Still, he resisted the urge to slit his throat, instead taking a seat beside the ’Javelinist’ and retreating into prayer himself.
“Day after day, the couple discovered new facets of adulthood. Some were beautiful, but most were not, and the stacking of these painful experiences began to strain their bond. Yet, their love appeared strong enough to endure every thunderstorm—like a blade forged by repeated hammering, each hardship tempered their relationship, shaping it into something stronger and more mature. But could their love truly withstand everything?” The children, veterans from hundreds of fairy tales, answered yes without hesitation, but the priest pitied them, for they did not yet know the true boogeyman of the adult world.
“One day, the greatest storm of all struck them—financial problems. The couple sustained themselves with the wealth generated by a modestly successful farm, but times were changing. The world was growing smaller, and market prices collapsed under the pressure of cheap grain imports from the Emerald Lands, draining their pockets to the bone. It’s no hard to imagine that living without the comforts one had always taken for granted became a daily struggle. So, stress accumulated, feeding endless quarrels, and with each passing day, the situation worsened. In the end, exhausted by the constant sense of failure, the husband unleashed unspeakable words to the woman he had sworn before Adam to love for eternity, and then he fled the home they had built together.”
“So, motherfucker, do you want to tell me why you decided to copy my brilliant idea and join the Miraval Academy?” Jacques peered at him, hoping to catch even just a flicker of irritation, but there was none. Jude’s head was bowed, his hands clasped, his eyes closed—the ’Mafioso’ was no longer the man the ’Javelinist’ had once had the displeasure of knowing at The Free City of Maria.
“Same question to you,” Jude replied without opening his eyelids. “Any reason you abandoned your perfect life to become a pathetic shadow of your former self?”
“Perfect?” Jacques swallowed a loud laugh. “Try living with my cousins for more than a week, then tell me. Compared to that, this life is so relaxing.” He stopped for a moment, thinking about everything that had happened so far—becoming the weakest Essentia in history, enduring the pettiness of the nobility, surviving the roasted chicken who had kidnapped Elf GF, the sudden avalanche of debt, and the Marvelous Siege. “Yep, no comparison—I switched my life to easy mode,” he concluded with a wide smirk. “Now it’s your turn.”
After a long breath, Jude finally relented. “My life has been ruined, and I had nowhere else to go but here.”
“You deserve it, you fucking piece of shit.” The ’Javelinist’ raised both middle fingers. “Anyway, now I’m interested—who did it? I’d like to reward them with a Di Mario Family’s Medaglia Al Valore for delivering justice to the most wretched being in our world.”
Despite such a tricky tone, Jude’s face betrayed nothing. Then, suddenly, his eyelids snapped open—blood-red stains flooded the windows of his soul. “You.”
”As the husband wandered throughout the woods, burdened by guilt over his childish reaction, he recalled every tender moment he had shared with his wife—as countless as the stars shining above on that beautiful night. ’Shall a single earthquake destroy the palace we have built together?’ He whispered, sinking onto the green carpet of grass to be bathed by the crimson aura of the Romantic Moon. “I know she is right, yet the humiliation is too heavy for me to bear. Oh, Holy Trinity, I beg you—free me from the weight others have placed upon me.” As he finished his prayer, he heard footsteps behind him and turned abruptly, witnessing something he could describe with only one word—divine. Although the stranger shone brighter than the stars and possessed a beauty that put the gods themselves to shame, it still resembled a human. The entity strode toward the petrified husband, extending his glowing hand before speaking to the mortal—’I might be able to help with that.’”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Jacques snapped. “The last time I saw you—six long months ago—you were bragging about the millions of Marini you’d made by killing a Starshitter. Did I telepathically ruin your life from my hiding place?”
He leaned in as he shouted, forcing Jude to a sharp inhale as he endured his spits on the face. “That was your sin—running away. It may come as news to you, but your presence ensured stability for many people, myself included.”
“Who the fuck do you think I am? Your babysitter?! Only filthy parasites can’t survive on their own!” Jude abandoned any hope of a reasonable discussion. Thus, he lowered his head once more, returning to prayer while ignoring Jacques’ many objections.
“’I propose a deal. I will solve all your problems, but in exchange, I will take the most meaningful thing in your life—your wife.’ The entity made its offer to the stunned husband, and before he could refuse, it added—’Do not worry. Your beloved will find another man, a prince, who will grant her the happily ever after she deserves, far from your shameful poverty. Isn't self-sacrifice the ultimate proof of love?’”
“If I were him, I would accept the deal,” Jude admitted. “Someone has to do it, someone must sacrifice himself for the greater good—refusing would be the greatest act of greed.” He turned to Jacques, who grimaced in disgust.
“Are you stupid or what?” The 'Javelinist' snapped.
“What’s your solution, then? I see no other way.”
“I’d point behind him and scream, ‘Holy shit, dude! The guards are coming for you!’ and after that piece of shit turns around, I’d smash the first rock I could find into the back of his fucking head, then cut his throat while the bastard is on the ground. After that, I’d sell his organs on the black market, getting enough money to pay my debts—good ending.” Jude blinked several times at Jacques’ smiling face, but before he could respond, the priest concluded the tale.
“The husband asked the entity for time to think, and it agreed, granting him thirty-six hours to decide. Yet, after only three hours, he returned escorted by the city guards, who arrested the divine creature on the spot. It turned out that the entity was a serial killer of young couples, with a juicy bounty on its head. With the reward, the husband diversified his farm, replacing most of his grain with grapes to produce expensive wine, planted fruit trees to open a bakery for his wife, expanded his cattle, while cultivating only the highest-quality grain. These innovative investments made the couple very wealthy, and with their new sources of income, all the problems they had ever faced got solved, and husband and wife lived happily ever after—the end.” The children, their teacher, and Jude all wore expressions of utter disbelief.
“Police? Oh yeah—that works too.” Jacques shrugged.
“How did you know?” Jude asked, speechless.
“Are you a retard or what? Imagine you’re out jogging and some crackhead stops you, asking where your wife sleeps. What the fuck would you do?”
“But that was a fairy tale, not real life!” Jude protested, and in response, Jacques simply pointed toward the priest.
“The story I’ve just told you is a perfect example of how sin spreads throughout our society because even the most absurd of lies might sound reasonable when backened by the right atmosphere. In this case, you were all fooled by the very premise of this story—it being a fairy tale. That alone made you trust the entity’s ridiculous claims as if they were facts printed in a newspaper.” And so Maurice did, taking from the altar a yellowed copy of the Daily Evernightmare. “This story actually happened twelve years ago—almost an eternity by today’s standards—in a small town in the Cobra Buffer Zone—a land forgotten even by politicians during election season—and although the serial killer disappeared before the execution, that couple is still united in the sacrament of marriage, more in love than ever.
”In short, I have not told you a single lie while narrating this story, and that, my children, is the Devil’s strategy. The ’Dawn Sovereign’ never argues about sin because he wants us to reach his twisted conclusions on our own, patiently creating the right atmosphere—sometimes for years—for us to accept his lies as the logical outcome of the doubts weighing upon our hearts—he seeks to be seen as your savior, even as he feeds upon your flesh.”
Jude bitterly rose, striding toward the exit. “One last thing,” Jacques’s voice stopped him. “Before you go crying in your bed over how stupid you are—are you really going to kill me?”
“Soon, but not now. You’re still profitable to me alive.” The ’Mafioso’ coldly replied, and the ’Javelinist’ cheerfully waved at his classmate before turning back to listen to the end of the sermon.
“How do we fight this?” Father Miraval asked, offering the students one final question to carry with them. “By never forgetting about the Original Axiom—for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. So—
"Dig! Dig! Dig! Evil has no roots.”
