Farewell to the hero! chapter 74

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I followed Owen up the stairs, quickening my steps to keep up with his longer stride.

Even though the bags I carried were heavy, I held onto them tightly.

This was the temple, but losing anything was still a risk.

We passed through a spacious area adorned with a statue of a woman and then entered a long hallway lined with countless rooms.

If I had to find the Pope on my own, I would have gotten lost by now.

Owen, however, moved confidently, as if this place were second nature to him.

While trailing him, I discreetly observed the temple’s interior.

True to its reputation, the temple was breathtakingly beautiful.

What struck me most was its restrained elegance; aside from the intricate ceiling paintings, there was no trace of ostentatious decor.

As I admired the unfamiliar surroundings, we arrived at a room at the far eastern end.

Unlike the other doors in the corridor, this one opened outward from both sides.

The sheer presence of the door made my shoulders tense up.

Knowing the Pope waited beyond, my throat tightened, and my body grew rigid with nervous anticipation.

Just as I tried to calm myself with deep breaths, Owen, after repeatedly knocking, lost patience.

His fist, initially controlled, pounded faster and harder until he finally pushed the door open without waiting for permission.

As soon as the once-locked door swung open, a delicate blend of aromas wafted out—aged wood, the distinct scent of old books, and a faint trace of tea.

The mixture felt almost like an extension of the room’s owner’s personality, subtly easing the tension that had built in my gut.

A composed voice soon followed from within.

“You could at least knock properly before entering.”

The mildly reproachful tone, laced with amusement, made Owen scowl as though this were a routine exchange.

“I’ve knocked more than ten times already.”

“Ah, then I suppose the sound was drowned out by Lily’s singing.”

At this, I became aware of a sound I’d previously overlooked, lost in the aroma: the soft chirping of a bird.

The simple melody harmonized with the sunlight streaming in from outside.

Inside, a man sat on a sofa.

His light blonde hair flowed down to his chest, and his long lashes veiled vivid golden eyes.

His white attire contrasted sharply with the intricate gold tattoos that stretched from the back of his right hand up to his forearm, almost like a badge of identity.

So this is the Pope…

I swallowed the words forming in my mind.

Until now, I’d assumed the Pope would be an older man.

Yet here sat someone so youthful, he could easily pass as Owen’s blood brother.

His unexpectedly young appearance threw me off.

Sensing my gaze, the Pope shifted his attention from the white canary perched on his finger to me.

His eyes, exuding boundless compassion, seemed capable of embracing all impurities in the world.

“And your name is?”

“Well, um… It’s nice to meet you. I’m Isaac Winter.”

My tongue, stiff with nerves, stumbled over the words.

My self-introduction was painfully brief, though I wanted to say more.

All I could do was swallow hard.

“Welcome. I’ve been expecting you.”

Despite my clumsy introduction, the Pope understood immediately and greeted me warmly.

Although we were meeting for the first time, his friendliness caught me off guard.

The atmosphere was serene, yet an inexplicable pressure lingered, as if I were about to confess my deepest sins.

While I hesitated, Owen gestured toward the seat opposite the Pope.

“Please, have a seat.”

“Yes.”

Once I sat down as instructed, I finally had a moment to take in the room.

My gaze wandered over the antique wooden table and shelves before landing on a massive painting behind the Pope, easily two or three times my size.

The face in the artwork seemed familiar.

It depicted a young man from the ceiling mural in the Schüdelgarten Duke’s estate.

Here, however, the youth was pierced through the chest with a spear, being dragged by a dark mass away from a tree.

His hair, once white in the earlier painting, was now pitch black.

The painting was masterfully rendered, but hardly pleasant to look at.

I couldn’t help but wonder about the Pope’s intent in displaying such a piece.

Noticing my focus on the painting, the Pope spoke.

“It’s called ‘The Price’, painted by Heizen Lever. Beautiful, isn’t it?”

“I’m not well-versed in art, so I hesitate to comment.

But it does seem incredibly detailed.”

“Detailed, indeed.”

At my cautious response, the Pope let out a low chuckle.

He then pushed a freshly poured cup of tea toward me and smoothly shifted the conversation.

“How much do you know about the teachings of the Deity?”

“Just a little… but if you teach me, I’m ready to learn diligently.”

Admitting ignorance of the Supreme Deity’s teachings might disappoint someone aspiring to become a priest.

To avoid that, I quickly added an explanation after shaking my head honestly.

I wanted to leave the best possible impression.

“Good attitude. Oh, that’s peppermint tea. Be careful; it’s hot.”

“Thank you.”

Fortunately, it seemed I made the right choice.

As the conversation flowed smoothly, I cheered internally and lifted the teacup handed to me by the Pope.

The sight of the tea’s delicate amber color caught my eye.

My throat had been feeling dry, so I covered my mouth and sipped the tea.

The bittersweet liquid eased my parched throat, bringing a sense of relief.

The Pope remained silent until I set the teacup back down, then spoke in a calm tone.

“In the case of paintings related to the Supreme Deity’s teachings, you can interpret their meaning through the colors used. For instance, pure white represents divinity. It’s primarily used to depict the Supreme Deity and their children.”

“Ah.”

“And gold symbolizes the Supreme Deity’s love.”

So that’s why the apple was gold.

Listening to the Pope’s explanation, I studied the painting.

It depicted a young man struck by a spear while attempting to steal a golden apple.

It made sense; humans who covet what belongs to the divine deserve punishment.

But what puzzled me was the youth’s hair color.

If the Pope’s explanation was correct—that only the Supreme Deity and their offspring are depicted in white—then the white-haired youth must have divine blood.

While I wrestled with this curiosity, Owen muttered softly beside me.

“If pure white is the color of divinity, then pure black is interpreted as the color of demons. You’ve likely heard that Riblion, the demon of slaughter among the Eight Demons, is entirely black.”

“No, this is my first time hearing about demons. But what about gray? There’s gray over there too.”

I pointed to the youth’s hair in the painting.

A distinct shade of gray stood out between the pure white and black.

“Well… Not every color has a specific meaning—”

“Gray represents corruption.”

Before Owen could finish, the Pope interrupted.

Gray represents corruption.

Repeating the Pope’s words in my head, I clenched my hands on my lap.

The dull, ashen hair I’d seen in the mirror before flashed through my mind.

No wonder the nobility disliked me—though I hadn’t known the deeper implications.

Owen, perhaps annoyed at being cut off, raised an eyebrow.

“Enough. Let’s stop with these grim tales.”

“I was enjoying the conversation. Why take away my little pleasure?”

“Don’t mind his words, Eshe. He’s just a cranky old man being spiteful.”

“Fine, I made a mistake.”

The Pope gave Owen a sidelong glance before turning back to me, his gaze as steady as before.

“Our small talk has gone on longer than expected.”

“No, I enjoyed listening.”

“Come to think of it, you mentioned being from the Kingdom of Hadelver.”

“Yes, but please, just call me by my name.”

“Then you must’ve had quite a rough time. Likely faced a lot of hatred.”

“……”

“You’ve endured much, haven’t you?”

For some reason, the Pope’s expression was one of certainty.

It didn’t seem like he knew every detail of my experiences in Hadelver.

Rather, he was simply expressing his thoughts, but they struck a nerve.

A lump formed in my throat.

Unable to find the right words, I bit the inside of my cheek out of habit, and silence settled over the room.

Only the sound of measured breathing broke the stillness until Owen scoffed beside me.

“Well, it’s a shallow and materialistic place.”

“More precarious than materialistic.”

“I don’t like it. That cesspool reeks more foully with each passing day.”

“Every golden age must eventually end.”

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