Chapter 153: God's Grace Is Like A Sea, And God's Power Is Like A Prison!

Novak observed the figures now gathered before him.

As one of the most formidable forces on the Western continent, the Holy See piqued his curiosity. Was there any trace of extraordinary power during the ancient times of Kepler? The incident with Ian had left Novak contemplating more than ever before.

The legendary seventy-two pillars of Hell, the demon gods and kings—somehow, they were tied to Kepler's history. Could it mean that Kepler had once experienced the emergence of extraordinary abilities?

It seemed possible.

However, despite this intriguing prospect, Novak was somewhat disappointed in what he found. Following the so-called leader of the Knights Templar all this way, he had yet to sense any trace of extraordinary abilities among them.

Even through his spiritual perception, this leader remained no more than an ordinary human, a mere Level 1 mortal.

If there were any differences, it lay in the man's physical attributes. All five dimensions of his body—strength, endurance, agility, intelligence, and charisma—had been pushed to the peak of ordinary human potential, each reaching a full five points.

That, in itself, was quite rare.

But, ultimately, that was all.

Novak had now been led to the grand square, an imposing platform two stories high, where a massive cross loomed ominously. The leader of the Knights Templar stood there, tightly gripping the long spear in his hand, eyes filled with righteous fury.

"Heretic! You have deceived the world and defied the will of the Lord. In the name of God, I shall see you nailed to the cross! You will repent for eternity in the Lord's Kingdom!" the knight commander declared, his voice ringing with conviction.

Novak met his gaze with calm indifference, then glanced casually at the masses of Roman citizens gathering in the square. 

They were hesitant. Uncertain. Doubtful.

Yet, even now, few dared to challenge the authority of the Knights Templar, an institution that held absolute credibility in their eyes.

Novak was unbothered. This was how people were. Who they sided with often depended on who appeared to be the victor.

In this respect, East or West made no difference.

Novak had never truly set out to be a savior. To him, the Western world of this era was merely a garden—one he could walk through at his leisure, picking its fruits as he pleased. That was all.

And if this garden had thorns? It was simple enough to cut them down.

Turning his gaze back to the knight commander, Novak smiled faintly and asked, "How have I bewitched the world?"

The question seemed to catch the commander off guard. For a moment, he stood there, dumbstruck, unsure of how to respond.

Yes, how exactly had he bewitched the world?

The Roman citizens below began to murmur among themselves, exchanging uncertain glances. The black-haired, dark-eyed man standing before them had cured countless plague victims, rescuing them from the brink of death. Could such deeds be considered deceit?

Even some among the Knights Templar began to falter in their certainty.

Just as confusion spread, a cardinal dressed in red robes stepped forward, his face stern.

"Heretic! You are the one who spread the plague, and now you seek to play the hero. Solving the plague was nothing more than a charade orchestrated by you. My Lord has sent down an oracle. As soon as we rid the world of this heretic, the plague will vanish and never return!"

He turned to the knight commander. "Zoto, your faith wavers. After this heretic is dealt with, you shall atone by spending time under the sun, cleansing your spirit."

"Yes!" Zoto replied sharply, his voice resolute once more.

In that instant, the lingering doubts vanished, and the Knights steeled themselves for the task at hand.

The anger in their eyes had fully replaced the reverence they once held. Both the knights of the Templar Order and the common people below—who had been kneeling in gratitude moments earlier—were now filled with rage and resentment.

Humans, after all, are often foolish and fickle creatures.

Novak observed the shifting mood without concern. In every religious scripture, beneath all the rumors and stories, there was always a notion akin to "God loves the world." Yet, alongside that love came the reminder: God's grace is as vast as the sea, but His power is like a prison.

In this world, untouched by the existence of the extraordinary, Novak's very presence was godlike.

He shook his head slightly.

The lead cardinal, his lips curled into a cold smile, spoke with venom in his voice: "You are nothing but a demon crawling from Hell, spreading plague and deceiving the masses. The Lord's oracle demands your death by the sacred Spear of Longinus! The Lord—"

Before he could finish, a sudden, sharp cough cut through the air, silencing him instantly.

All eyes turned to the cardinal, fear flashing in their expressions. They dreaded that sound—because it was the heretic standing before them who had taught them the truth.

Plagues and diseases spread this way, through the air, carried by rats, fleas, and flies.

The crowd, even the Templars, instinctively began to draw back.

Yet, the cough came again, not from the cardinal this time, but from among the knights themselves.

It seemed impossible. How could these devout warriors, blessed by God, fall ill? Surely, they couldn't be infected. Even if they had been, they had always recovered quickly before.

Of course, by modern standards, this was simply because of their stronger physical constitutions and better nourishment. 

But for those who had died? That was explained as their lack of faith—a failure to serve God loyally.

Now, however, the coughing seemed to spread like wildfire. In mere moments, all the knights, including Zoto, their leader, were hacking violently, as if their lungs might collapse from the strain.

In the vast square, the attention had shifted. No one could spare a glance at the figure cloaked in dark green anymore.

Suddenly, Zoto's pale blue eyes flew open. With all the strength he could muster, he gripped the spear of Longinus—the sacred weapon once stained with divine blood—and hurled it toward Novak.

But as soon as he came near, all the strength drained from Zoto's body, and he collapsed in front of Novak, his feverish body burning uncontrollably.

Novak's gaze fell upon the sacred artifact discarded before him. He picked it up slowly, studying it before turning his attention to the fallen knight.

As he held the feared weapon, he calmly asked, "Will your Lord come to save you?"

Zoto, weak but unwavering in his faith, laughed through heavy breaths, his voice thick with defiance. "Yes! Even in death, my soul will follow the Lord's guidance, to His eternal kingdom!"

Novak knelt down beside him, his voice soft. "Your Lord knows all, but He does not care. A child, pure in heart and noble in belief, is as fragile as crystal. Beautiful, yes, but easily shattered with a single touch."

He paused, then added, "I admire your innocence. Let me guide your confused soul and lead the lost sheep back to their cage."

Novak stood and walked away.

——

On that high platform where so many others had been judged and condemned, someone had died.

But no one dared call it an execution.

Some whispered it was a miracle of the Lord.

Yet, throughout the city of Rome, the truth was known. Among the common people, the knights, and even the most devout believers of the Holy See, they understood.

It was not a miracle—it was mercy.

He, like a loving father, had shown the world His immense power. But more than that, He had chosen to restrain it, carefully guarding the fragile crystal souls of the people.

The plague spread like a flock of sheep, and He alone was the shepherd.

In the days that followed, as whispers spread across the city, a new church was erected—right in the heart of the Holy See, in the city of Rome.

The Church of the Plague.

Its first priest? None other than Zoto, the former leader of the Templar Knights.