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 me toward it.
My hands were bound in handcuffs, limiting me to merely sizing up my surroundings as we moved.
The hooded cultist turned to me, 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 someone else than face such a fate themselves, and you certainly don't strike me as the type willing to risk yourself for others."
"How can you tell?"
"I've seen countless people in my time; 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 becomes evident when you subject them to enough torture. Hehehe!"
A twisted smile formed on his lips as he spoke.
He was undoubtedly insane, that's for sure. But it seemed 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.
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Suddenly, I remembered something from the past.
During the time 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 some sort of mediocre 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 mediocre demonic cult."
"Then?" I tilted my head, confused.
"That's only how it seems on the surface. In truth, our name 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 same 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. Come this way."
The hooded man dragged me down the hallway. We continued walking for a long time and finally stopped infront of a portrait hanging on the wall.
Despite its enormous size, It was something 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 seemed 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 immeasurable resolve.
I couldn't guess her age, but she seemed to be youthful probably around her early 20s or so.
Either way, It was clear that someone like her would be referred to as a 'lady' during the Victorian Era.
But she looked somewhat 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.
"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 formed—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 somehow 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 mean It died?"
The hooded man hesitated, as if choosing his words carefully.
"We don't know for sure. Some 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 replacement 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 some miracle, what makes you think she'll answer your wishes."
Attempting to summon someone 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 something. 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 merely a means to acquire that information."
"You could say that. But don't feel too down about it. Once you're sacrificed, you'll be welcomed by Lady Minerva in the Kingdom of Gods. Isn't that wonderful? Some of us are even envious of your fate. Just the thought of meeting Lady Minerva fills me with immense 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 meet 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 extremely 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 me forward. "Come now. The time 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.