A Secretly Capable Child Is Seeking For Her Dad

“...Leave.”

At that broken voice, as if it might snap at any moment, Morien turned sharply.

Nordix was struggling to lift his body, trying to rise from where he lay.

“Nordix!”

Morien rushed over and supported him.

There was no telling how many days he had gone without food, but the body in his arms was terrifyingly emaciated.

Remembering how Nordix had once helped him as a child, Morien couldn’t hold back—tears welled up on their own.

“No, how could this—what happened to you...!”

Nordix quietly pushed his hand away.

On his bloodstained face, only his faded eyes flickered with calm.

“Don’t you understand that you’re being tested?”

At the word “tested,” Morien flinched.

His face turning pale, he glanced toward the door of the purification room.

The door Papa had exited through was tightly shut, as though it had never been opened at all.

“The fact that you, who are connected to me, were called here today—and that you were shown all this... in the end, it will all become a test, Morien.”

“......”

“So just leave. There’s nothing good that will come from forming any connection with me right now.”

Morien’s hand dropped limply.

But in the end, he couldn’t suppress his emotions and his eyes flew wide open.

“Are you saying I shouldn’t help you because I might fall out of favor with His Holiness?”

“......”

“If it weren’t for you, I would’ve starved to death in that orphanage! Not just me—every brother and sister who was there with me back then would have!”

“......”

“We kept in touch sometimes, and every single one of them asked about you. You suddenly disappeared, and we didn’t even know if you were alive... We didn’t even know you were a priest!”

Tears filled Morien’s eyes.

“If I’d known you were this close, I would’ve come to see you long ago. How could I....”

He wiped his eyes and nose, then looked at Nordix.

“I can’t leave you here alone. I know I shouldn’t say this, but honestly...!”

Before his eyes rose the image of Papa mercilessly tormenting Nordix.

Nordix’s face twisted in pain, his expression— even the tears.

Morien’s clenched fist trembled faintly.

‘If you think about it, torture at this level is usually only used on the most brutal murderers, isn’t it?’

A doubt he had never once entertained since becoming a priest began to stir within him.

It wasn’t doubt in his faith.

Rather, it felt as though he had glimpsed the reverse side of the holiness he had believed Papa embodied absolutely.

‘Maybe that’s why I always felt uneasy whenever I was told to carry holy water.’

Morien shook his head, forcing away the confusion, and looked back at Nordix.

“Anyway. I don’t know what crime you committed, but I...!”

“Shh.”

At that moment, Nordix pressed a finger to his lips.

With a quiet, compassionate expression, he let out a breath.

“I understand. You don’t really have a choice either.”

“......”

“And you’re right. I have no right to ask of you what I couldn’t do myself.”

Staggering, Nordix forced himself to his feet.

And in a pale voice, he said:

“The east wing. At least take me to my cell.”

The east wing consisted of dozens of small rooms.

They were meant as living quarters for priests, but most of them now stood empty.

‘Why don’t you use the north wing...? The priests who reside in the Temple of Serkanos usually live there.’

Recalling ✪ Nоvеlіgһt ✪ (Official version) Morien’s words from the entrance, Nordix sat down on the hard bed.

A searing pain rose from beneath his chest, and a groan escaped his throat.

The modest room held only a bed, a small chest, and a bedside table.

From the day he first put on priestly robes, he had owned nothing beyond those three things.

‘If you can’t control it—eliminate it.’

Luciano’s final words echoed in his mind.

‘A malignant sprout must be cut down before it grows.’

The cloth in Nordix’s hand crumpled.

His head lowered without him realizing.

“Why....”

A cold wind slipped in through the window, making the candle flame flicker.

“Why did you come back at all.”

On the Sacred Bulletin lying on the table were reports from temples large and small across the continent.

Among them, two words at the very top caught the light and glimmered faintly.

[King of the Dead, heading toward the capital.]

He had hoped Astie would never appear again.

Day and night, throughout his return to the central continent after leaving the ancient palace behind, he had wished for that over and over.

Nordix clenched his teeth and curled up on the hard bed.

His chest and abdomen felt as though they were being torn apart.

It meant the internal organs destroyed by Papa were regenerating.

In an almost inaudible voice, Nordix whispered:

“...This is my fault.”

Behind his clouding gaze—

Memories from long ago surged forth as vividly as if they had happened yesterday.

And the furious voices of his brothers, directed at him.

‘Omen! How could you—how could you betray us!’

‘How dare you form a connection with that demon!’

‘Do you know what happened to the Mother Tree...? The roots of life were torn out! All six branches broken! All because of that one monster!’

Back then, Omen had stood on this side of the river, and his brothers on the other.

And so they were all beheaded—while he alone survived.

Why... it was hard to say.

‘Priest... please... save us...’

Maybe it was because he had seen too many innocent children lying in pools of blood.

‘Save... us... sa—’

Maybe it was because he had witnessed too often how their final breaths slipped from their lips and vanished without a trace.

‘You said you became an archpriest to save people, Omen?’

The Pope’s smile, directed at Nordix in the prison where his comrades’ screams echoed, rose vividly before his eyes.

‘Think carefully. Which choice will allow you to “save” more lives?’

It was the whisper of a demon.

And yet at the same time—an unbearably sweet temptation.

His unconscious mind kept speaking.

‘Omen, only fools would call you a traitor. You’re merely taking the right to choose.’

‘Will you disappear like all the lives you’ve seen—or survive and gain a chance to change something?’

The silent god was helplessly powerless.

Such a god—a dying god—could not be relied upon.

Nordix had seen everything.

He had seen countless comrades quietly buried in the Roxe Forest.

He had seen innocent children vanish, becoming dew for the Great Temple of Serkanos.

‘I curse you! Traitor to the great cause, traitor to the Mother—I will curse you even in the world of the dead!’

With his own eyes, Nordix had watched the heads of five archpriests fall.

He hadn’t looked away until the very end.

Because it felt like something he had to witness.

Magic Crystals first appeared on the day the World Tree broke.

But the Pope framed their emergence as the fault of the archpriests—and executed them all.

Only Nordix survived, yet it was announced that his head, too, had been severed that day.

‘What does it feel like to be dead, Omen?’

The Pope, forcing him to kneel at his feet, smiled more brightly than ever.

‘You are no longer an archpriest. You will become my branch. I hear you still possess “that eye.”’

“That eye” meant the spiritual eye.

In other words—the eye of an archpriest.

It was an essential trait for those who served the World Tree.

Through it, they could see and perceive the state of the tree, as well as the tens of thousands of spirits under its dominion.

Lesser deities capable of dwelling within places, objects, emotions, and bonds.

To communicate with them was the highest honor for one who possessed the spiritual eye.

Naturally, Pope Luciano had once possessed that gift as well.

Before becoming a demon, he had been nothing more than an ordinary, devout high priest.

But—

‘At the very end, it seemed to resist me. The spiritual eye disappeared completely.’

After damaging the World Tree and devouring its power, the Pope lost the spiritual eye.

He gained immense power, but could no longer perceive the tree or the spirits.

‘In a rotten nest, even the eggs rot. In any case, sooner or later, they’ll all go out of control and turn into Magic Crystals—nothing to regret. But.’

‘.......’

‘The black dragon must be found. If it’s the World Tree, then it’s surely plotting something through that cunning creature.’

A single dried tear slid down from Nordix’s closed eyes.

All the memories cut off, and in their place appeared himself from a few months ago, reporting to the Pope.

‘Your Holiness, its presence has been detected in the Brioud Forest.’

He didn’t know how many times he had regretted that moment since.

‘Grandpa!’

Every time he saw that small head running toward him, throwing itself into his arms.

Every time he heard that bright laughter echoing through the quiet refuge.

“Now I’ll never, never see you again....”

Nordix slowly curled in on himself.

And for a long, long time, he groaned soundlessly.