400 Somewhere Without Evil

In the darkness, Philip dreamed of a butterfly. Fluorescent light sprinkled down as it flew in the red sky. He slowly opened his eyes. His sword hilt was warm from his body heat as he gripped it tightly. Heavy curtains covered the window, blocking the hot light. In the dimness, he saw Colt's eyes. They were bloodshot as if he had not slept in a long while. His hair was messy as well and he looked like a beggar.

"What time is it?" Philip asked.

"One in the afternoon."

"Oh, I slept for so long," Philip murmured. He reached out and opened the curtains a crack. Sunlight fell on his old face, illuminating some fatigue and weakness. The veins under the skin were dark green. It was the toxic poison that had seeped into his body and lay on his bones like maggots.

Assassins had not stopped since their attack on the ship five days ago. Each attempt was crazier than the last. Fortunately, they had decided without hesitation to go by road rather than sea. No one knew how many traps could be hidden in the sea. But unfortunately, going by land was difficult as well. The killer seemed to have smelled their blood and tracked them. There were so many tricks, from attack to poison to secret attacks. Once, he even received help from a caravan smuggling illegal weapons and met them face on…

There were many undignified musicians. They had to fight off strange tricks of every school. The two red-robed priests had already died. Philip did not even know how one of them died.

When he discovered something was wrong, the assassin disguised as the priest had already stabbed his back with a poisoned dagger. Gravely wounded, Philip had fought out of the besiege with Colt. Using the night and noise as cover, they had gone underground and finally found a safe spot along the river.

They finally had a chance to breathe.

Footsteps approached and the door was cracked open. Someone timidly walked over, metal clanging crisply.

Colt raised his bloodshot eyes. Holding his short sword, he pounced on the shadow, putting him in a chokehold. "Who is it?!"

With a clang, the copper plate fell onto the ground. A few pieces of bread fell into the dust. The young man collapsed. Looking at Colt's fierce expression, he paled. "The F-father told me to bring some food. I'm s-sorry, I didn't mean to…He said you're sleeping so I didn't want to disturb you…"

"Sorry, child, for scaring you." Philip helped the young man up and helped him get rid of the dust on the robe. Finally, he picked up the bread, prayed quietly, and began eating earnestly without caring for the dust.

Colt watched the young man run away. He held the bread but did not eat. "Can we trust the people here?" Over these past few days, he had witnessed too many betrayals. Even an observant Revelations musician could not pinpoint where the truly fatal poison was.

"Don't worry," Grandmaster Philip said. "The priest here graduated from the Sacred City's Trinity College and is a fervent believer. He was originally an ascetic monk but voluntarily came to this faraway town four years ago to do missionary work. His loyalty to the Church is definite. He and his student are the only ones in this church. No one will know we are here."

Colt did not reply. Still suspicious, he carefully lifted a corner of the curtain, looking at the poor church outside. It had not been maintained in many years.

At the church entrance, the ragged priest quietly encouraged the sad-looking student. Then he picked up a bible and left quickly.

Colt narrowed his eyes.

"He is going to teach the local children for donations to repair the church." Philip seemed to know what Colt was thinking. He said calmly, "I told him to do everything as before. Other than giving us water and food, just pretend we are not here."

"This church is too poor."

"This land is directly administered by the Church. It is protected by the Clock Tower and no one would be able to see inside. Rest up, Colt. We are setting off tomorrow."

Colt dropped the curtain. He lay in the corner behind the door, gripping the blankets, but he could not sleep. His eyes were testy. "Is there still no reply from the Ministry of Information?"

In recent days, all their messages to the Sacred City had no replies. It seemed that all messages were locked as if an invisible hand snuffed all of their pleas for help, isolating them. Later, they would gradually be held in the palm of the assassin and suffocated slowly. Colt knew who could do all this. That was why he was panicking and…full of hatred.

His teacher…

His nails dug into his palm, his eyes filled with resentment. It must be you, Heisenberg, Colt thought angrily. Other than the School of Secret Keepers, who can do things to this extent? You truly just want me to die!

There was the sound of teeth cracking.

"Reinforcement will be here soon." Philip chewed the dry bread calmly. The raspy voice had awakened him. "Even if they seal the aether sea, there are other ways to send messages. Don't worry, Colt. This will be my last time comforting you. The Ministry of Information is not like before but should not be overlooked." Before he finished, there was a knock on the door.

Colt tensed like a frightened bird. Philip rose. He opened the door. Outside, a priest clad in red had arrived silently. The middle-aged priest had two long swords and light armor under his robe. The Discipline Hammer was carved into his arm plate. His features were average but lightning seemed to brew in his narrow eyes.

"Teacher, I received your letter and hurried over," he reported, kneeling on one knee. "I brought over the other members fulfilling missions nearby. There are five Purgatory musicians and sixteen members of the Witch Hammer. We await your commands."

In the courtyard, armed priests stood silently like statues. Many musicians were hidden within them. They were quiet but music theory as cruel as purgatory brewed within them. They were the hidden stars of the Ministry of Information. They were the cream of the crop. Even a century ago, a team like this could completely wipe out a satanic sect, raise columns of stakes, and burn the sky red.

"Colt, do you see? Do not feel regret. You made the right choice." Philip patted his shoulder. "God's power cannot be humiliated. Sinners will always pay for their actions. From today, they will be your followers and protect you with their lives. The Ministry will give you much more than the Secret Keepers. From today, you have the status of a saint!"

Soundlessly, the Purgatory and Witch Hammer members half-knelt on the ground and gave Colt their respect.

Colt gaped at the priests and musicians before him. After a long while, a smile appeared on his blank face. He laughed. Lowering his head, he kissed the holy emblem on Philip's ring.

"Everything for God!"

His lowered eyes were blank but seemed like a furnace. There, resentment, hatred, and anger acted as firewood; something terrifying was burning.

-

In the courtyard of a woodworker's home, the recitations came to an end.

"Children, the class will end now." Father Lucca closed his bible. "After going home, please read the section taught today again and copy it. If you have anything you do not understand, ask me next time."

The two-hour reading and writing class was finally over. The playful children cheered and scattered. Looking at the mess, the priest sighed. He bent over, picked up the broom in the corner, and started sweeping.

Perhaps he did not have a talent for preaching. After being here for a few years, there were not many new believers and he definitely did not have enough donations to repair the church. The students were mostly children of poor artisans and farmers. He even relied on the woodworker for the classroom. There was no hope for repairing the church. He sighed but felt someone tug on his robe.

"Father," a young voice said.

He turned around to see a boy hug the heavy bible with pure and curious eyes. He smiled involuntarily. "Little Mueller, you didn't go yet? Did you not understand today's class?"

The boy scratched his head in embarrassment.

Father Lucca chuckled. He pulled a stool over and said gently, "Today's lesson truly is a bit complicated for children. It's normal that you don't understand."

The teaching material all came from the bible. In order to keep the children from feeling bored, he would choose the more interesting stories. Today's lesson was about sinner Lazarus who was brought back to life by God. This was hard to comprehend for adults, let alone children.

Mueller was Lucca's favorite of the students. He did not mess around and studied carefully and seriously. Lucca planned on training him as an apprentice in a few years. With a new apprentice, he could relax a little more. Thus, he taught Mueller without holding anything back.

"Father, Father, why was Lazarus brought back?" Mueller asked curiously. "He sinned so much."

"Because of God's mercy, child." Lucca bent over to pat the child's head. He said kindly, "God loves the people. Even sinners can live. Lazarus had seen Hell; therefore he knew the value of life and the beauty of justice. As long as he lives, he will atone for his sins."

"Then what about kind people?" Mueller asked with a cocked head. "Kind people can't be reborn?"

After a pause, the priest managed a smile. "After death, kind people go to heaven."

"Heaven?" Mueller repeated in confusion.

"Yes, heaven," the priest answered. "Heaven is a place without evil."

Mueller nodded, seeming to understand but not really. After asking a few more questions, he left.

Seeing him off, Lucca sat on the bench and began praying with his eyes closed. Frantic footsteps sounded in the distance.

"Father! Father!" His apprentice from the church ran in. He was out of breath and drenched in sweat as if he was chased by a pack of wolves. Leaning against the door, he panted and could barely speak. "Donation—our donation…"

"What happened?" Father Lucca sighed and said gently, "Everyone has hard lives. It's normal that no one is donating. At these times, we must help each other and—"

"No, no!" The boy interrupted him and stuffed a crumpled piece of paper into his hands. "A kind soul gave this to us… He didn't even leave a name behind!"

It was a check.

Father Lucca took a glance and was shocked by the long number. It came from the 'Central Bank of Asgard,' the national Asgardian treasury. There was no name on the check. This meant that anyone could withdraw such a large sum whenever and wherever.

Confirming that he was not dreaming, Lucca fell into ecstasy. He was as happy as a child. He hugged his apprentice and jumped, laughed, and prayed excitedly.

"Thank you, Lord! Thank you, kind soul! Our church can finally be repaired!"

The apprentice could not help but shake his head. "Father, with that money, it's more than enough to build a new one—"

Boom! He was cut off by an explosion.

The ground shook and cracks snaked through walls. Swept by the furious wind, a black cloud rose up slowly like a mushroom. Under it, red flames shot up, adorning the scene of destruction. But sadly, no one was enjoying it.

-

"What a pity. The entire church was flattened by an underground explosion. Thankfully the priest and apprentice were not there so there weren't any deaths."

A young man in a wheelchair on a hill outside of the town put down his binoculars and tsked. Behind him, his follower gave the other check to the man beside him.

"There will be a ship waiting for you all at the nearest port. Hurry and leave." The man on the wheelchair waved. "Go to the East, the Southern islands, India, wherever. Just don't come back within ten years."

"This…" The frail old man looked at the check and his eyes twitched. It was three times more than what they had agreed on! He carefully put the check away and finally smiled in farewell. "Thank you for your kindness, Mr. Watson! Thank you, powerful 'Saint' Holmes!" After spouting praises, he finally left.

"'Saint' Holmes? You can become a saint by giving money?" Watson held his chin and muttered, "He'll probably like this new nickname."