(Third POV)
"IMBECILES! All of you! Nothing but IMBECILES!"
The furious roar shook the chamber, punctuated by the violent crash of shattered wood and overturned furniture.
Beyond the heavy doors, a lone subordinate waited, head bowed, hands clasped behind his back. He had long since learned not to interrupt when his eminence was in a rage. The Cardinal's fury needed room to burn itself out—preferably without collateral damage to anything but the furniture.
The cause of this outburst was obvious. Another failure. Another wasted effort. Even with the assistance of the Water God, one of the world's most formidable swordsmen, the second attempt to eradicate Paul Greyrat and his family had ended in humiliating defeat.
For half an hour, the storm raged. The walls trembled with the force of destruction until, at last, silence reigned. Even then, the subordinate waited a full minute before daring to open the door.
The sight within was expected. Splintered wood, broken glass, and debris littered the once-grand room. At the heart of the wreckage stood the Cardinal, his crimson robes slightly disheveled, his broad frame rising and falling with each labored breath. His fists remained clenched at his sides, the leather of his gloves groaning under the strain.
His back was turned. A small mercy for the fearing subordinate.
"…Any news?"
Though spoken softly, the words carried a weight that made the subordinate's stomach knot.
He swallowed hard. "N-No, Your Eminence… There have been no updates on the Greyrat family's whereabouts."
Silence. A suffocating, dreadful silence.
The Cardinal's jaw tightened, veins bulging at his temples. The air in the room thickened, charged with barely restrained fury. It was another failure, another humiliation as the days passed without a proper update to settle his mind.
For a fleeting moment, the subordinate feared the Cardinal would explode again, reducing what little remained of the chamber to dust. But instead, his eminence exhaled—a slow, measured breath, forcing himself to the edge of composure.
"…Useless." The single word dripped with venom.
The subordinate flinched but wisely kept his head bowed.
Still, something in him refused to remain silent.
"My Liege… perhaps our focus should shift to more pressing matters." His voice was barely above a whisper, yet it cut through the stillness. "The Church has greater enemies than one family. Resources spent on this pursuit might be better used elsewhere."
The room turned deathly still.
Slowly, the Cardinal turned, his piercing gaze settling upon the insolent subordinate. For a long moment, his expression remained unreadable, save for the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth—a ghost of amusement laced with restrained malice.
"The elimination of the Greyrat family is important," he said, his voice unnervingly calm.
The subordinate suppressed a shudder. The storm had not passed. It had merely changed form.
But he refused to back down. His fists clenched at his sides as he took a step forward, his voice rising with uncharacteristic boldness.
"With all due respect, Your Eminence, you've already lost too much!" he snapped, his fear overridden by frustration. "Half of our faction's members have vanished without a trace, and you made an unauthorized handout of one of our church's King-class Healing Magic, but thankfully that came out as a lucky precaution, since Water God's life got saved. If she had died, if we had lost her entirely—the Asura Kingdom would have had every reason to get into conflict with Millis!"
The Cardinal's nostrils flared, but before he could speak, the subordinate pressed on, voice trembling with fury. But the cardinal wasn't having any of that.
"Watch your tongue, you ungrateful bastard!"
"The one I am grateful for is Paul Greyrat, for sparing my younger brother when he faced him," The subordinate retorted. "He may have killed several of our knights, but it is obvious that he didn't want conflict. Have you even listened to the witnesses? He could have finished slaying Water God while she was being treated, but he didn't. It's obvious that he doesn't have anything to do with what you're accusing him of."
"Where is this insubordination coming from!? Are you defying my orders?"
"Can you blame me for doubting your leadership? You nearly got us entangled in a conflict with the strongest kingdom in the world—all because of your obsession with one family!" His voice cracked as he took a shaking breath.
"Don't be absurd! That decrepit hag couldn't possibly be the Water God. If she truly deserved that title, she wouldn't have suffered such a disgraceful defeat."
"If she actually wasn't, wouldn't that justify mine and everyone else's doubts to you?"
A dangerous stillness filled the chamber. The Cardinal's expression darkened, his entire frame taut with barely contained wrath as the frustrated subordinate stood his ground before his soon-to-be demoted superior.
Before he could lash out, the heavy doors swung open with an echoing creak.
"That is enough."
The voice carried an undeniable authority that immediately ended the argument.
The Pope of the Church, Harry Grimoire, stood in the doorway, four Temple Knights flanking him in disciplined formation. His presence alone was enough to command silence.
The subordinate dropped to one knee, head bowed low.
The Cardinal, however, did not kneel. Instead, he glared at the Pope with open defiance, his jaw clenched so tight it looked as though he might shatter his own teeth.
The Pope regarded him with a calm, piercing gaze before speaking again.
"Have you lost your manners, Leblanc?" he asked, his tone cool but pointed.
The use of his name only intensified the Cardinal's glare. The Pope, despite ranking above him, made him all the more furious to see after his failure yet again.
The Pope's calm, authoritative voice broke the stillness that had followed the Cardinal's venomous retort.
"Leblanc, what your subordinate said is true, and I have to agree fully," the Pope said, his gaze unwavering.
"If you continue with these baseless accusations and reckless actions, you'll lose your position as Cardinal entirely—maybe more. The Circle of Millishion is already considering it. Your failures have mounted, and the consequences will soon be unavoidable."
The Cardinal's jaw clenched as his eyes flashed with barely contained rage, but he couldn't deny the truth of the Pope's words. He opened his mouth to argue, but the Pope raised a hand, silencing him.
"You have done nothing but stir conflict and bring dishonor to the Church, especially against Paul Greyrat, who has proven himself to be a more formidable and dangerous foe than we initially thought. Still, you persist in standing your point like a madman. They are not the real threat. It is your obsession with them that is lowering your status, and as a result, weakening and embarrassing us too in the process," the Pope continued, his tone steady but sharp.
The Cardinal's fists tightened at his sides. "They've caused nothing but trouble! The Greyrats—"
"Enough," The Pope cut him off, his voice colder now. "Getting angry over the past should not be your priority. The Church has greater enemies than a single family, and your petty vendettas are clouding your judgment. The more you waste resources on this, the further you jeopardize the Church. There are more pressing matters at hand."
The Cardinal opened his mouth once more, but the Pope's gaze silenced him before a word could escape.
"Leblanc," the Pope said with finality, "I pray that you find a way to better yourself before another misfortune befalls us. You have already nearly lost the trust of your comrades and the Blessed Child. Do not let your arrogance cost us even more."
With that, the Pope turned on his heel, his Temple Knights following in disciplined formation as he made his way to the door.
The Cardinal stood in the wreckage of the room, his fists still clenched, his breathing heavy. The words of the Pope echoed in his mind, but he refused to let them sink in.
"Fools. All of you," He muttered under his breath.
"This isn't over," he hissed through his clenched jaw, about to forge another plan and use the last of his connections before judgment fell on him.
"No," a cold voice echoed, startling him in the room. "It is over for you."
Before he could react, he gasped. Something cold and suffocating gripped his neck, tightening with a force that made him choke. Panic surged through him as he clawed at the air, gasping for breath, but the invisible restraint only constricted further. His hands fumbled frantically around his throat, but there was nothing to grasp, no tangible form to attack.
Then, he felt it—a slick, squishy sensation against his skin. His fingers brushed against something soft yet firm, something that did not belong. He yanked at it desperately, but it was no use. Whatever it was, it was too strong, too relentless.
The sensation morphed, spreading down his body. The constriction around his neck began to shift, expanding, coiling around his arms, binding him in place. A new sensation of weight settled over him as black tendrils, like thick, writhing snakes, wrapped around his limbs, each movement of the dark matter cold and unnatural.
Suddenly, one of the tentacles jerked toward a broken drawer, plucking a pen from the wreckage as if it were a toy. The Cardinal's heart pounded in his chest as he tried to fight back, but the dark presence controlled his every movement, bending his body to its will.
The voice echoed again, cold and mocking, dripping with disdain.
"You made a bad choice listening to that wannabe god."
The words slithered through his mind like poison, with the fear of the unknown entity intensifying his anxiety.
"Now... repent with your life and blood."
Before he could process the horror of the situation, the tentacle forced the pen into his hand, cold and unyielding. His fingers, no longer under his own control, closed around it. He fought with every ounce of his being, but the black tendril seemed to override his will, its grip firm and unbreakable.
Without warning, the pen was driven into his own flesh. The pain was immediate and excruciating as the Cardinal's body jerked involuntarily, the ink-stained tip of the pen burrowing into his stomach. His mind screamed for him to stop, but his body obeyed the twisted force that controlled it.
The tentacle pulled him again, forcing the pen deeper. Blood began to pool around him as he was helplessly stabbed over and over, each thrust sending a jolt of agony through his body. The Cardinal's breath came in strained gasps, his body trembling with sheer violence, unable to break free.
***
In the days following the tragic demise of Cardinal Leblanc McFarlane, rumors and reports regarding his actions and death have spread rapidly throughout Millishion, causing widespread alarm.
According to Temple Knights who arrived at the scene, the Cardinal was discovered dead in his chamber, an apparent suicide. The cause of death was determined to be excessive blood loss from multiple stab wounds to his abdomen. Strangely, these wounds were inflicted with a common utensil, found gripped tightly in his hand, suggesting a frantic and disturbed state of mind.
The room where he was found was a scene of chaos, with blood staining both the floor and walls, the destruction mirroring the state of his mental collapse. A final message was discovered scrawled on the interior wall of the chamber in the Cardinal's own blood, written by his stained hands.
'May Millis forgive me.'
This cryptic inscription has sparked much speculation about the true nature of his final moments, whether they were aimed at those he had harmed or at his final regrets over failing to eliminate Paul Greyrat and his family.
Following evaluations of the situation, it was concluded that Leblanc McFarlane's mental state had deteriorated to an unsustainable and undetected level. Attempts at providing care came too late, and his instability rendered him unfit to maintain his position.
The day after the Cardinal's death, further shocking developments emerged. The victims of the mass kidnapping orchestrated by McFarlane's Demon Expulsion faction were located. Several testimonies revealed that McFarlane had been behind the abductions, intending to use the captives as leverage in his plans to execute Paul Greyrat and his family. This revelation only reinforced the conclusion that McFarlane's judgment had become dangerously impaired.
However, among the victims who were returned, a troubling detail emerged: many men aged 18 and older were still unaccounted for. Ten days later, the body of one of these missing men was discovered floating in the Nikolous River by a patrolling knight. Shortly thereafter, the remaining missing individuals were also found at the bottom of the river, their bodies in various stages of decomposition.
This discovery prompted concerns about the contamination of the waters, but an even more alarming question arose regarding the cause of death. A thorough examination of the bodies by medical professionals revealed no signs of external injury or poisoning, leaving the cause of death a mystery.
Many argued that it may have been a plot against the Demon Expulsion faction, using the cardinal as a tool, who instigated the deaths and suicide scene themselves. However, the reported behavior of the cardinal made the judgment of the deceased's actions a case of lost sanity.
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