Surviving without God

The Holy Capital of the Theocracy, Agnor. The conference hall was steeped in heavy silence.

Clap—

Only the soft sound of banners embroidered with the seven symbols of the Cult occasionally fluttering in the wind broke it. Despite the fact that six people were seated in the hall, the silence dragged on unnaturally long.

Abundance, Healing, Protection, Trust, Justice, Repose. The archbishops of the six cults, excluding the Cult of Light, had gathered in one place. Normally, such meetings were held once a quarter, but in times of emergency, the cycle was accelerated. ...Like now.

— Hm-m.

The first to speak was Masiu Beltirein, Archbishop of the Cult of Repose. Disheveled chestnut hair, a thick beard, a worn robe. At first glance, he looked like an ordinary monk, but his narrowed eyes and the old bell neatly resting on his knees drew attention in a strange way.

— It seems His Holiness will not grace us with his ✪ Nоvеlіgһt ✪ (Official version) presence today either. Very well, let us begin on our own.

At these words, all the archbishops rose from their seats. Turning toward the vacant “Throne of Light” at the center, they reverently made the sign of the cross and bowed. Once everyone sat down again, Masiu continued:

— First, I shall report good news. Rejoice: the expansion against the Alliance of Kingdoms is proceeding smoothly.

Each of the seven cults of Luthien had its own responsibilities. The Cult of Repose had been assigned the mission of conquering the northwestern part of the continent—the territories of the Alliance of Kingdoms.

It was a union composed of three powerful states:

The knightly Kingdom of Valloren. The mage kingdom of Seiran. The maritime pirate kingdom of Nereus.

These were the forces that had resisted Luthien’s expansion most stubbornly. However, recently, with the Cult of Justice joining the front alongside the Cult of Repose, the fate of their nations had begun to tilt rapidly toward decline.

— The Archbishop of Justice has done great work. The Grand Admiral of Nereus has knelt before her hammer.

At these words, the Archbishop of Justice, Bellesa Lucan, silently inclined her head. At her feet lay a hammer weighing over a ton—“Divine Punishment.” Even with her eyes bound by a red ribbon, her presence was overwhelming. It was a weapon capable of bringing down fortress walls with a single swing.

The neutralization of the Northern Fleet following the death of the Admiral of Nereus. Numerous spies infiltrated into the magic towers of Seiran. A grueling war of attrition with the Kingdom of Valloren.

Step by step, Masiu concluded his report on how they were dismantling the Alliance.

But at that moment... the Archbishop of Justice, Bellesa, who had remained silent until now, suddenly spoke:

— However... a rather filthy problem has arisen.

Even blindfolded, her gaze was directed precisely at the Archbishop of Abundance, Silen Preva.

— It concerns the Laska Plain.

Laska Plain. Silen’s brow twitched ever so slightly.

The Cult of Abundance governed the Border City and at the same time supported the other cults. The attempt to trigger a great famine on the Laska Plain had been part of that plan. It was an operation that had consumed an enormous amount of offerings, and failure was unacceptable.

— I have heard rumors that the “Magnificence” of Abundance has gone missing. They say a crow has appeared.

A crow. At that word, the gazes of everyone present converged instantly on a single point. Archbishop Silen of Abundance lowered his head guiltily. But Bellesa did not even glance at this display. Her voice came out as a low growl:

— The problem is the identity of that crow. You all know perfectly well who it is. That insolent bitch who, ten years ago, cut off the head of a pious bishop, stole a sacred relic, and fled.

The air grew even colder. The name of the traitor who had been destined to become a Saint, but rejected the revelation, was spoken aloud.

— And while that bitch, having become a crow, keeps pecking at us, what exactly are you doing...

— Bellesa. We will discuss this later. We did not gather here to exchange reproaches, — Masiu interjected.

Bellesa fell silent, but did not avert her gaze. For a brief moment, the gazes of Silen and Bellesa clashed fiercely in midair, then parted as if by mutual agreement.

“Ignorant wretch.” “Pathetic bastard.”

In truth, Silen was seething. When she had complained that the war with Valloren was difficult, he had even sent her “Magnificence” as support. And now she was dragging it into public discussion, making him the one responsible for the failure.

“...A headwind is blowing due to the weakening of influence.”

Silen quietly clenched his fists, glanced briefly at the Throne of Light, and relaxed. Then the flawless, sculpted smile returned to his face.

Several more reports followed.

— In the Desert Empire, everything also proceeds according to the Lord’s will. The palace of the “Khan” is already soaked in the smell of blood. Concubines tear each other apart, and children wave swords over the corpses of their mothers.

— On the Nomadis side, things are equally smooth. Once external connections were severed, they began to rot from within. It seems the epidemic sent by “Seren Mayra” is doing its job perfectly.

These were the Cults of Healing and Trust, responsible for Badland. The Desert Empire and the states of other races under their domain were collapsing helplessly from within.

— Ou... r... si... tuation... is... the... same... as... always.

Wrapped entirely in an iron straitjacket, wearing a mask depicting a screaming face, the Archbishop of Protection, Molta Brach, spoke next.

— In Pendrox... it is quiet...

His area of responsibility was the core territory of the Theocracy. He dealt with identifying unreliable elements, sending them to “Pendrox,” “re-educating” them, and then distributing them as resources for the needs of each cult.

Yes. The affairs of all cults were proceeding successfully. With the exception of one place. Masiu looked at Silen with sympathy.

— It seems there have been some difficulties in the Border City, Archbishop Silen.

Some difficulties? Silen almost lost control of his expression again.

The events of the past months. What had been happening in the Border City could not be described with such words.

“Everything is going wrong to an absurd degree.”

If one were extremely generous, the decline in the quality and quantity of offerings, as well as the deaths of the Elder and the Youngest among the Perfumers, could still be tolerated. But the failure of the “worm operation,” which Albino had prepared so meticulously, and the destruction of the old “vessel”—those were losses no one had expected. But worst of all, as Bellesa had said, was the disappearance of “Magnificence.”

“I have to admit he’s dead.”

The body had not been found, but the connection had completely vanished. If the archbishop was the spirit of the cult, then “Magnificence” was its flesh. With its loss, the combat strength of the Cult of Abundance had been cut in half.

...That was why Silen understood better than anyone: this was his last chance. If he faltered here as well, the Cult of Abundance would be pushed aside by the other cults and lose its place. And then the “promised salvation” could be forgotten.

Silen’s gaze briefly passed over the Throne of Light and moved to the other archbishops. Sharp determination burned in his eyes.

— Today, I intend to deploy all remaining Perfumers and mobilize all combat groups under our control.

He continued without giving the others a chance to interrupt:

— As soon as the forces arrive in the vicinity of the Border City, Bishop Albino will personally handle the capture of Mayor Mikhela. At the same time, our people inside the city will raise an uprising to eliminate all anti-Luthien forces.

Masiu asked:

— You intend to deploy even the Holy Army?

— No.

Silen shook his head decisively. The moment large-scale military forces reached the city’s borders, the adventurers would riot. They didn’t care about politics or faith, but they were extremely sensitive to anything that threatened their income. There were thousands of them in the Border City. There was no need to provoke them.

— Small elite groups are sufficient to quietly and discreetly replace the city’s leadership.

One thing was an external threat—but when a strike came simultaneously from within and without, how could they possibly endure? Silen took a breath and moved to the main point. The decisive move that would conclude the plan. A strike that would eliminate all possible variables... one that neither the crow nor Mikhela could counter.

— In this regard... I request authorization for the deployment of the Society of the Holy Flame.

Silence fell over the hall again. The archbishops exchanged glances.

The Society of the Holy Flame. They were a “joint punitive organ” that did not belong to any single cult. It consisted exclusively of Inquisitors, and their deployment required the approval of all six archbishops... or the direct will of the Pope.

— Traces of the Society of Forgotten Books have been detected, — Silen pressed, breaking the silence. — There is more than enough justification. Please, make a decision...

But the archbishops did not respond. Formally, they could influence the deployment of the Society of the Holy Flame, but in practice, this authority had never once been exercised. Their actions had always remained under the personal authority of the Pope, and to make such a decision in his place was unthinkable. In the end, only Silen’s desperation hung in the air.

But at that moment...

-----------!

A blinding radiance began to flow around the vacant Throne of Light. A cold golden light flooded the hall, and the icons carved into the walls began to stir. At the same instant, the flags of the seven cults standing in the hall fluttered violently.

Breath caught in their throats. The archbishops immediately rose, then prostrated themselves on the floor, pressing their foreheads against the stone. The silence that had lasted for three years was broken.

Within the shimmering light, no voice was heard. But the will of the Pope was unmistakable.

— O, Your Holiness... Envoy of Light.

Silen covered his face with trembling fingers. His lips quivered, and tears, reflecting the light, fell in glittering drops. A smile froze on his lips—a mixture of fear and ecstasy.

The Throne of Light. The silent consent that descended from it... would become the signal that the Border City would soon be engulfed in the flames of Holy Fire.

***

— Attention!

At that voice, sharp and cold like arctic ice, Ryan straightened instantly. The only thing he allowed himself was a sideways glance at the “senior” standing beside him. Golden hair of a rich shade swayed softly before his eyes.

“What a beauty...!”

His eyes almost shamelessly lingered on her, but Ryan held himself back.

“One mistake here—and my entire life in the organization will go to hell...!”

Right after finishing training, Ryan had received a short order. Transfer to the Fourth Platoon of the Executive Division. Below it, a single address sat alone.

The notice was extremely dry, but it didn’t matter. His heart pounded wildly the moment he saw the word “Execution.”

Had he really performed that well in training? He wasn’t being sent to a regular combat unit, but to an elite squad for real operations!

“Now I’m in the same league as Gunther.”

Excitement boiled in his chest. That was why, the moment he stepped into the Eterno Cheongdam shelter, he shouted a greeting at the top of his lungs, full of fighting spirit:

— Reporting for duty!!

The problem was that Tarsha heard it—just as she was cultivating in the mana concentration hall.

“...She’s strong.”

Ryan believed he had grown quite a bit during training, but the density of magic radiating from Tarsha belonged to an entirely different world.

— Hey, rookie. Ryan, right?

— Yes, ma’am!

Tarsha crossed her arms and tilted her head slightly.

— I like your spirit. Our platoon runs on strict discipline—it’s an elite unit built on true military ethos. Keep that attitude to the end.

— Yes, ma’am!

— Good, Ryan. I’ll personally introduce you to the members of our platoon. A warning in advance—prepare yourself mentally. The people here are... a little unhinged.

— Understood! Thank you! — Ryan shouted so loudly his voice almost cracked.

— You’ve got a solid build, so vanguard? Warrior class?

— Yes, that’s correct!

— Excellent. You’ve got one senior in the same role. Incredibly... terrifying guy.

Ryan’s Adam’s apple bobbed. A terrifying senior in the same position—just hearing that made his stomach sink.

— I-is that so?

— Yeah. Moves so fast that by the time he charges, the enemies are already on the ground.

She smiled viciously and traced her finger across her throat.

— That’s why they call him the Snow Leopard.

— S-snow leopard...

— Exactly. A beast that falls into ecstasy at the smell of blood, so be careful around him when you meet.

— Yes, understood!

Inside, Tarsha was snickering, but outwardly she played the role of a strict veteran perfectly.

— Next, we have a healer.

— O-oh...

“A healer too.”

Ryan’s eyes lit up. A healer was a rare class—he hadn’t seen one even once during his time as a mercenary. What kind of person could it be...

— He loves being beaten.

— What?

— He’ll probably beg you every day to punch him. It’s one of the junior’s most important duties.

— ...He’s a man?

— Bigger than you.

Seeing Ryan’s face go pale, Tarsha decided to tone it down a bit.

— There’s also a thief, but nothing special there. Complains too much.

— ...Excuse me?

— Acts like a mom sometimes.

Caught off guard by the sudden shift in her tone, Ryan hesitated... but still gathered the courage to ask the most important question.

— And what kind of person is our platoon leader?

— Ah... our leader?

The corners of Tarsha’s lips slowly curled upward. Ryan stared at her bright smile as if dazzled.

— The best. You’ll like him.

— ...Oh, really?

— Of all the commanders I’ve met, he’s second place. Though... hmm, maybe he’s already tied for first.

Tarsha broke into a grin and shrugged.

— I won’t tell you about him. You’ll understand everything when you see him.

— Ah... excuse me, but where is he now? Is he here?

To be honest, Tarsha herself would have liked to know the answer to that.

— Exactly. Where the hell is that bastard wandering off to again? It’s starting to feel a bit unsettling.