Crimson Servant

This answer was not what Vivian wanted.

John saw that Vivian's expression was still one of silent sadness. He knew what Vivian was feeling. Vivian, who had regained her strength, regained her sensitive empathy like an artist.

She is sympathizing with the innocent and suffering people in this broken world, even if they are just strangers to the adventurers who have never met.

The warlock wanted to put an end to this situation because he could imagine what would happen next.

"This is what was destined to happen, Vivian, and it's not our fault. Morgan doesn't care about other people's lives. The God of Sacrifice who is obsessed with vengeance on the gods will definitely lead to the destruction of the world. We have defeated the God of Sacrifice conspiracy to prevent this disaster from affecting our world."

"We've done enough."

Vivian nodded reluctantly and agreed with the warlock's point of view.

The fragmentation of the world causes the concentrated gravity to gradually dissipate. Soon, the concept of the physical level will completely disappear here. For now, John and Vivian can safely leave this high ceremonial platform with the help of the Sin Chain and jump to the debris of the building at their feet.

The noise of the battle attracted the attention of the two people. They looked down, where the Knights of the Round Table were fighting the descending purgatory creatures. The huge energy released by the sacrificial ceremony once made both sides afraid of fighting, but after the ceremony, the devil who vented violence once again triggered the conflict.

Without the blessing of the Queen of Vanity and many knight lords, the strength of the Knights of the Round Table is not as good as before, especially after the death of Morgan, the charm that enveloped the Knights of the Round Table was lifted. They no longer face terrifying enemies with a fanatical state of mind. They are still fighting now, just for survival.

Fight to survive in a lightless and dark future.

There was a smell of despair in the roar.

Vivian couldn't help but speak again.

"John, what are they to you now?"

"Those who have nothing to do with it." The Knights of the Round Table were once enemies of the adventurers, and Morgan's death ended their hostility. To the Warlock, the Knights of the Round Table were just strangers with no grudges.

They were being slaughtered by demons, and the splash of familiar colors made the warlock add another sentence.

"Remember? The Kingdom of Lies, the only truth of Seclonfas created all lies. Those inversions like us are not real. The individuals in this world are only illusions that exist because of the power of blasphemy. Because of us cognition but like life.”

"The death of truth means the end of lies."

"They will eventually disappear, like mist."

The warlock has already found a way to leave. A continuous line of floating debris allows the two of them to bypass the devil's battlefield. The blood mark left by John in advance has already sensed the general location of the remaining companions. They were slightly scattered, but they were not disturbed by the battle between the knight and the devil. It was only a matter of time before they regrouped.

John was just about to leave when the activity of divine power in the center of the battlefield made the warlock's heart tighten. He turned his eyes and looked at the source of the divine power.

An old man with gray beard and hair, his hands clenched into fists, pressing down on a dagger inserted in his chest. The crimson power blew his dirty priest's robe, and the meager divine power was like an afterglow that was about to burn out. The mouth squirmed, whispering something, and tremblingly walked towards the center, where it fell into the blood-red abyss.

John frowned: "A priest?"

Vivian raised her head and whispered the old pastor's name.

"Mordred. A friend who saved my life."

John turned his head and saw Vivian's sparkling eyes. He re-observed the actions of the old priest Mordred, continued to whisper, clenched the dagger in his chest and staggered forward. John roughly analyzed Mordred's thoughts.

He is performing self-sacrifice. The priest with the crimson gift is as immortal as John. Perhaps this sacrifice chosen by the world regards his own survival as an unfinished sacrifice. At the cost of one's own death, the god's return is the naive idea of ​​a fanatical believer.

"Foolish, self-sacrifice will not bring the dead gods back to life. You overestimate your capabilities."

Vivian stared at Mordred's every move, as if observing something on his old body.

The sacrificial ceremony started.

Even though Seclonfas is dead, the rules he created still carry out the rituals.

Mordred tightened his grip on the dagger in his chest and thrust it into his body. Blood flowed from his wound and dripped to the ground, like sparks from the collision of flint, igniting his body.

Mordred uttered his final plea in agony.

"The god of ritual sacrifice, the eternal white flame, the sacrificer Seclonfas."

"Your servant, Mordred would like to offer all the wonders in this corrupt body."

"This is the best time to awaken...the lost..."

"My master...please save them..."

Mordred's figure was blurred by the flames, and he fell forward and fell into the abyss.

The warlock no longer used harsh words to mock this stupid believer, because in the firelight, John and Vivian discovered the same answer.

When the flames burned away Mordred's dirty beard and hair, the old priest's true face finally appeared in the flames.

Although weather-beaten and full of wrinkles, those familiar features can still remind him of a magician.

This face he had seen many times not long ago, on the faces of Seclonfas, Galahad, and himself.

The last believer and the blasphemous warlock, a god who loves him and a master who despises him.

Mordred, the sole priest of the God of Ritual, is the mirror inversion of the Blasphemer.

"I just remembered what I had forgotten." Vivian covered her lips, looking for similarities between the two vague memories, "Mordred, the taste of your blood is almost the same. The difference in aging And the influence of the crimson power interfered with my judgment, making it impossible for me to confirm. "

"John, even if you are behind bars, you will still be kind to others. This is the truth in your heart."

Vivian's words were in his ears, but John did not turn to look at her. The warlock stared at the position where the old priest fell, looking at the crimson power spurting out from the abyss. Mordred's sacrifice only inspired a tiny beam of light. This was a sacrifice destined to be impossible to achieve. Even if it was a rule, a god of sacrifice could not be fabricated out of thin air.

"Those who believe deeply in gods are destined to perish. His fate is exactly what I expected."

"Vivian, you are wrong. My kindness will only provide limited help as long as I can. I will not harm myself or others."

Vivian and John looked at the place where Mordred disappeared, and the two did not make eye contact.

A minute later, John heard Vivian's voice again.

"I will fulfill my mission."

"Become the god of blasphemy."