Chapter 41: Faith Outside the Order

Belmias was a being who had lived since the time of the fallen ancient civilization of Pranagenis.

He had watched again and again as humanity rose, built new civilizations, and declined.

Even after total annihilation once, humankind proved itself capable of starting over. Though no matter how they tried after Pranagenis, they never quite reached the same heights of technology.

If a civilization held faith, Bel often became the object of that faith.

For he was, at the core, a being who granted human wishes.

The calamity that destroyed Pranagenis did not only crush one nation; it burned an entire age of civilization to ash. Its aftershocks lasted long. Humanity endured a prolonged dark age, and such harsh times gave fertile ground for faith.

Primitive civilizations sought to break through their suffering. They offered sacrifices—tokens of devotion to a god, in hopes of care and protection.

Precious minerals or crafted goods, sometimes even animals, slaughtered and presented in their finest parts.

But for Bel, who fed on the will of humans, such offerings alone held little power.

What truly mattered was the will bound into ritual.

A ritual meant several people, often led by a respected figure of high standing. And during such solemn ceremonies, many hearts usually wished for the same thing.

In times of famine and hardship, they prayed for plenty. In peace, they prayed for its continuation.

God. Savior. Deliverer.

The names differed, but the invocation was the same.

Even if no single person bore a strong enough will, the shared yearning of many together stirred Belmias awake. Summoned most often at moments when the peace of a nation was at stake, it was natural he came to be treated as a god.

Of course, there were times he was branded humanity’s enemy.

Demon. Devil. Dark King.

That usually happened when only one person—or a small sect—summoned him. And such groups tended to harbor selfish desires.

Burning vengeance, gnawing regret, mortal terror.

Sometimes, they themselves became the sacrifice. Other times, they forced countless others into death, feeding him unwilling offerings.

When such raw, negative will pointed toward a target, Bel would remove it. Killing one person was nothing to him. An entire village, even a nation, could fall by his hand. Naturally, those who suffered at his coming feared and hated him, treating him as an enemy to be destroyed.

There were also cases when he was shunned not for violence, but for granting wishes too ambiguous to interpret cleanly.

“I want to love someone.”
“Bring back the dead.”

Especially the latter. Raising the dead was physically impossible. At best, he could craft something similar, but the results were seldom good.

The reason all these outcomes varied was simple: the sacrifice Bel took was not of matter, nor life, but of human will itself.

And Belmias did not weigh good against evil when acting. After countless experiences, he learned to speak with summoners first, define the wish clearly, and only then fulfill it.

But this time was different.

Never before had he been summoned under the banner of “righteous cause”—to destroy what humanity itself called good.

Was such a cause truly righteous? Or wicked? He could not interpret it.

And what shocked him most—it had come from the wish of a single person.

“So that’s why you so urgently need the summoner.”

Lema had grasped the heart of it far more easily than Bel expected.

Until the summoner was found, he would have to rely heavily on this human. And though their conversations often drifted astray, Bel had taken the long miles of travel as a chance to explain things.

He had thought a man raised in a household so consumed by Luxlon’s creed would struggle to understand. But to his surprise, Lema understood well.

Ever since he had asked whether destiny was already set, he seemed to accept any explanation Bel gave with calm resignation.

“You don’t interpret wishes on your own. That makes sense. I can only interpret so far myself. It must have been frustrating for you, so… thank you for explaining.”

Even after such revelations, Lema’s attitude toward him had not changed.

Bel had thought the man’s Luxlon training would turn his eyes on him with suspicion or disgust—seeing him as demon rather than god.

But instead, Lema’s true character seemed to surface more.

Like now.

“Please, sit.”

“…Mm.”

Before ordering food, Lema pulled out a chair for him at a good spot in the inn, making sure Bel was comfortably seated.

“I’ll be right back. Please wait.”

Why did he act as if caring for a helpless companion?

It was only a noisy inn, yet he seemed uneasy leaving Bel alone even for the short while it would take to place an order.

Perhaps he wasn’t worried about Bel at all—but about others around Bel.

Given the place, it was possible.

The two were headed toward the place suspected of harboring the summoner. Mirgas had given them travel funds, and they were gathering information along the way.

Here lay outside Lucilonia’s Order.

To understand that, one had to first understand what lay inside it.

The Holy Empire of Lucilonia, where the Saint and Apostles resided, stood at its center. All clergy strove to enter there in pilgrimage.

Around it, the Order spread to adjacent nations. Those nearest either took Luxlon as official faith or else worshiped another name for Luxlon. Lema’s Balkyte family and domain had been among them.

Beyond that lay countries without a formal state religion, but who maintained amicable ties with Lucilonia. Many of their people still worshiped Luxlon freely. The Mirgas belonged here.

And then there was here—

The lands belonging to neither.

The world outside the Order.

Bel had first awoken in such a place, though this one lay even farther from the center.

To Lucilonia’s faithful, it was nothing but a lawless frontier.

Yet still, people lived here.

Without divine order and blessing, they created order of their own. There were nations of their own, old noble houses, guilds of merchants, and mercenary bands driven by coin.

Perhaps nowhere gathered so many kinds of people.

The great difference was this: without holy protection, monsters roamed freely here.

This land was never as safe as that within the Order—least of all for a woman of Bel’s striking beauty.

So it was no wonder the eyes in the tavern kept straying toward her. Only the intimidating presence of her companion kept them at bay.

‘He adapts quickly.’

Not long ago, Lema’s demeanor had been shaky, unstable. He had been so afraid he could hardly look Bel in the eye.

He had chosen to worship Bel over Luxlon—but that devotion had been born of fear, the awe of a man facing the unknown. Perhaps now, in his own way, he had begun to understand Bel’s existence.

And yet, his politeness remained unchanged. Bel wondered what was stirring within him.

Maybe he truly was just living as he always had.

If that was fanaticism, so be it.

Soon, Lema returned with a plate of fruit snacks and a bottle of liquor.