Chapter 149: The Prisoner

Corleon found the other party, naturally intending to erase their existence.

If it had been the real body breaking free from the seal, Corleon certainly would not have gone.

But since it was only a lingering will, Corleon felt he could give it a try.

Moreover, the Revelation had also informed him that his idea was feasible.

Thus, Corleon searched, and with the help of George’s eyes, he found it.

Then, the eyes were erased.

There was still a tearing sensation in his mind.

After experiencing the feeling of assimilation, Corleon no longer hesitated. He drew the power of Faith from the Light Orb and condensed a pair of radiant golden eyes in the empty eye sockets.

The power of Faith exceeded Top-grade Mystery. It was Mystery at the level of Authority, and for this reason, Corleon exercised restraint with Faith.

Otherwise, with the Mystery level of the power of Faith, even without direct contact, it could easily assimilate Believers.

Those Church professionals who had received the Commandments were even more so.

Just like how Mages needed to use magic power to cast magic, they too needed to use the power of Faith when wielding the Lord’s power.

Commandment ranks not only allowed them to use power, but the thresholds and limits set by Corleon also protected them from being assimilated by the power of Faith.

Just like Nyx. He had not reached the Priest level in terms of will aligned with Faith, yet he could use powers granted to Priests, and thus he was influenced by the power of Faith.

Even if his use of Divine Word was forced, even if the level of Divine Word he used was low, even if he inherently had Intermediate Mystery Resistance, his will was still being eroded little by little by the power of Faith. Perhaps in one year, five years, ten years—if Nyx had not died by then, he would still have become a puppet assimilated by Faith.

He closed his eyes. His eyeballs rotated, adapted, and then he opened them again.

He turned his head to look at the corner where Knight Wolf was.

There, it had already become a mass of dark red flesh stuck between the pews, throbbing like a heart.

And the moment Corleon’s gaze fell on it, the mass of flesh began to grow wildly, taking up a corner of the Church in just a single breath.

Closing his eyes again, he opened them once more and looked at the flesh mass.

Immediately, the wildly growing flesh halted, then began to contract, and finally—boom—it exploded.

Dark red flesh scattered all over the ground.

Corleon withdrew his gaze and continued to look up at the Cross on the Lord’s Throne. His vision crossed the distance of space, meeting those Crimson, Vertical Pupils.

Authority-level Mystery stared back. Corleon finally no longer felt that instantaneous sense of being assimilated.

…

On the border of the Church Nation.

George felt his will blur, and the long vertical pupils before his eyes had turned into pure red dots.

The other stood there, unmoving, as if waiting for something.

Waiting for my death?

George thought.

Was this the mercy of the Patriarch of the Church Nation?

No, it wasn’t mercy.

His body was in unbearable pain—pain from being exposed to the air, a pain that could be felt as long as a sliver of will remained.

Even the organs in his throat had been erased, so he couldn’t even scream.

Crying out in pain was an instinct of the body, but it only made the remaining flesh on his face suffer more.

Then, was this Patriarch of the Church Nation watching his suffering?

Such cruelty—was this truly the Patriarch of the Church Nation?

This already contradicted the Lord’s teachings of Mercy and Compassion!

Aberrants! They are Aberrants! They do not believe in the Lord.

George screamed in his heart.

Then, he saw the Crimson, Vertical Long Pupils once again appear in the eyes of the Patriarch.

Had he seen enough of my suffering?

George thought, and then he saw the other raise a massive sword still stained with dark red, and slash down fiercely.

Suddenly, there was an endless light before his eyes. It was the Holy Light George was so familiar with.

So, am I dead? And is this the Lord’s Heavenly Kingdom?

How warm it was.

But—I still have tasks unfinished, my trial failed, my promise to Landon and the others still unfulfilled.

Thinking so, George’s consciousness slipped into slumber.

…

A massive two-handed sword over three meters long was stopped.

It was blocked by a pale white skeletal hand.

George’s eyes had already turned into radiant gold.

Faint golden light overflowed from those eyes, flowing continuously over his miserable body, soothing its pain.

The charred and scorched flesh peeled away, new flesh grew, followed by skin, and finally hair.

Eventually, George’s original form was restored—only now, his skin appeared purified white, and his hair had turned pale gold. Under the illumination of the Morning Star, from afar, he seemed to emit a gentle golden glow.

The hand blocking the greatsword, its flesh as though stuck against it, prevented its full descent.

“Could you please put away the sword first?” Corleon, descended into George’s body, spoke.

“Patriarch Darks of the Church Nation.” This voice seemed layered, a blend of George’s and Corleon’s tones.

At Corleon’s words, the body of the Church Nation Patriarch seemed controlled by some force, pulling back the arm holding the greatsword bit by bit.

The Patriarch’s body trembled, as if multiple wills were contending for control over it.

In the end, the greatsword was still moved aside.

Corleon withdrew his arm, and the wound on his palm healed completely.

Once the restoration was complete, golden flowing light condensed into a pure white robe, covering the bare body.

“Looks like you’re merely inhabiting this body.” Corleon said.

The light within the opponent’s helmet flickered, sometimes glowing, sometimes extinguished.

“Why torment this poor soul? His spirit sobs in pain. You are an ancient and powerful being, yet he is merely a twenty-year-old boy.” The radiant gold in Corleon’s eyes deepened.

“…Hu…man.” A hoarse voice emerged from the Dark Golden Armor.

The pronunciation was not smooth, as if the speaker had never encountered this language before.

“Still…just as cunning…treacherous.” The raspy voice gradually became smoother.

“This is the body I reserved. This is my body. This is me.” By the end, his speech no longer stuttered.

“Why should I leave my body?” he said.

“He didn’t sell you this body in your deal,” Corleon said.

“It’s only a matter of time. Just like his brother—he ended up selling everything to me. He will make the same choice in the end.” He said, “This is his destined fate.”

“That’s a matter for the future. For now, the deal has not been made,” Corleon said. “This body still belongs to him.”

“Before your eyes, is there still any distinction between past, present, and future?” He let out a mocking laugh. “When a life is born, its fate is already set. That is the inevitable outcome.”

“To sell everything to me—that is the fate already determined for him.”

“No matter what he chooses, what he does, everything he has will be sold to me.”

He said, body trembling. The quality of the Dark Golden Armor was excellent—it didn’t make a sound even under this shaking and collision.

“Then what about your fate?” A smile also appeared on Corleon’s face as he asked.

He fell silent.

Corleon continued.

“To devour enough things, accumulate enough power, then turn around and devour the power of your own true body—becoming the true Gluttony?”

“Or, like a prisoner, bound by this suit of armor?”

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