A long time ago.
“Telmere, what do you think about the devil’s love?”
Ziffnel, the the Angel of Mercy, and also of Love, was stroking her silky black hair, and asked indifferently as she looked at the elderly man writing something with his thick fingers.
“… Are you talking about love?”
“No matter how much I think about it, I don’t understand the devil’s love.”
As she spoke, the angel spread her wings and began shaking off the water droplets clinging to them.
She looked exactly like a drenched chicken, and the man, a saint, desperately held back the laughter threatening to escape.
“Hmm, the love of a being tainted by evil is nothing more than a mockery of humanity.”
“That may be true for low-level devils, but wouldn’t it be a little different for high-ranking ones?”
Ziffnel, who had once witnessed beings called minor gods and objects of worship from the era of kings, frowned slightly and glared at the saint before him.
‘Do you dare to smirk at me? You, with that bald head.’
Heavenly radiance filled the small hut.
As Ziffnel observed the saint’s hairless head shining under the light, the corner of her mouth twitched.
“Hmm… if it’s a high-ranking devil, then the story might be a little different.”
“Right? Since they transcend mere mimicry, could the love they express toward humans be true love?”
“… Probably not. Yes, they might be high-ranking devils. But to them, love is nothing more than a means to fill their own emptiness.”
“Hmm… I see. Then, is the devil’s love also false?”
Was it nothing more than an illusion?
At the dazzling gleam of the saint’s head, Ziffnel subtly turned away and muttered under her breath.
Telmere, watching this, slowly blinked before lowering his head once more, focusing on transcribing the Scripture.
After a brief silence—
An answer suddenly came from the saint, who had been meticulously writing.
“If one gives up their human body for love, fully aware that they will return to the void—”
“What if they do?”
“Then, that can be called true love.”
To die once more was an unfathomable fear.
The saint delivered his answer to the angel in a solemn tone.
Ziffnel, who had been staring blankly at him, suddenly grinned mischievously and shouted, “Woh, that’s awful! What kind of love is that? It’s way too heavy!”
“Tapnel, Sister Lionelta! Come here! Telmere is saying something weird again!”
Ziffnel, who would rather disrupt the mood than let it turn solemn, cried out loudly. At her call, the Angel of Faith and the Angel of Death turned their heads toward the saint.
Telmere, the elderly saint whose smooth head had turned bright red, chewed his lip and glared at the Angel of Charity.
“… According to the Scripture, Raynell is undoubtedly the most beautiful. I will write that down.”
“What? What did you just say?”
And thus, an angel and a saint bickered like children, their pride on full display.
Tapnel, walking toward them, gave a meaningful glance to her other sister.
“… It seems like you are the most trustworthy being in Heaven, Lionelta.”
At her words, the Angel of Death merely smiled as she always did.
Her answer to the Angel of Faith would not come until 500 years later—when Saint Telmere had long since become a legendary figure.
“… Lionelta has descended.”
A golden altar, now completely corroded by black demonic energy.
As Ziffnel gazed upon the Altar of Advent, which no longer emitted its mysterious blue smoke, she heard Tapnel’s exasperated voice.
“Could it be that you, like Raynell, have come to love humans?”
It was a strangely off-putting question.
Ziffnel, watching from behind, shook her head as if pitying her, someone who had seemed like the most trustworthy being in Heaven.
***
Now, let us learn about a man named Julius Tapnel.
Lyriam’s strongest heretic inquisitor.
Tapnel’s emissary.
The greatest disciple of the legendary priests Brukin and Priestess Emily.
One of the pillars of the kingdom—the man who ensured that the small nation of Lyriam remained unshaken by the fires of war.
A man adorned with grandiose titles, yet in truth, a simple man who never sought much.
“I love you, Cecil. Will you marry me?”
He only wanted to spend his whole life with the woman he swore to love.
He was not greedy, but his only greedy wish ultimately did not come true.
“…Krail, maybe I was hoping for too much.”
He poured the strong, cheap drink into his mouth, looked at his close friend with his messy hair, and lamented.
“Please, please spare me. I just wanted to see my daughter again!”
“…someone like you who used the devil to r*pe women?”
The man recited a prayer, smashing alive the bones of the heretic who was talking nonsense.
It was all his fault, and it was his disrespect for not faithfully believing in God that took Cecil away.
“Haa…haa…it’s fall and it’s already this cold. I really thought I was going to freeze to death.”
When she returned, the demon inhabited her body, and he eventually had no choice but to accept the bet.
“Julius! Look, the flowers are really beautiful.”
He swore on top of a dreamy garden that one would see in a dream.
‘I will definitely be happy with my wife.’
Because there was no other alternative.
He forced himself to shake off the little questions that were lingering in his head.
***
“Now, this is a gift for you, a faithful follower of God.”
And then, a perfect future peeked out before his eyes.
If she was not a woman who had been changed by the devil, but a gift from an angel that allowed him to go back and correct his own mistakes.
Who could refuse that?
Humans were naturally reluctant to hear the whispers of evil. However, if it were a revelation from heaven, humans would be willing to accept it without question.
He thought it was compensation.
God’s mercy to those who had swallowed unbearable pain.
All he had to do was close his eyes, cover his ears, and throw away the woman who was holding onto his legs, shedding bloody tears for him.
Then, he could escape this crappy reality.
He could meet Cecil Lionelta again, to whom he had pledged his eternal love!
If only he could get rid of that abominable devil pretending to be his wife…he could go see her.
‘I’m sorry, I’m a weakling, and I guess I can’t do that.’
***
Squishy mud.
Dirty rainwater mixed with filth soaked the ground, making it feel unpleasant.
The blond-haired man didn’t care about the mud drenching his neatly angled black uniform.
Julius Tapnel did not let go of the woman in his arms.
When he turned his head towards his firm arms that were gently holding her, what he saw was his right hand, now stabbed by a magic sword.
Despite the painful sight that would make anyone furrow their brows just by looking at it, not a single groan came from his mouth.
The angel watching the scene tilted her head, unable to understand, and gestured toward the inquisitor.
“It is just an illusion. If time goes back, it will be swept away by a huge current and disappear. It’s just an ugly thing you have to throw away to meet your wife.”
Despite the angel’s sharp tongue, he felt the heat of the devil burying her face in his arms, yet he did not reply.
He thought it was just an alternative.
Because it couldn’t be helped. Because the reality was that she could not be completely saved.
Every time he saw the current Cecil, who looked subtly different from his memory, he tried desperately to come to terms with her, suppressing the hesitation in his heart.
That was why, when the angel’s hand reached out—
He thought he could abandon her.
It was an unavoidable sacrifice to meet the perfect Cecil. That was what he had convinced himself to believe.
The result was this.
He did not even heal her with divine power for fear that he might hurt her, but the magic energy of the dagger lodged in her right hand cleared his mind.
I am Inquisitor Julius Tapnel.
I always follow the justice I believe in.
Instead of praying to God as he always did, he recited the immature bravado he had once clung to as a child.
He spoke blasphemous words without looking at the angel, who gazed at him disapprovingly.
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