My Possession Became a Ghost Story - Chapter 231

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Team. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Though he spoke in roundabout terms, I immediately grasped his meaning. He was saying that Jeremiah had taken possession of Azazel’s body. What a brutal metaphor.

“I didn’t know you kept dogs, Bishop. Since you’re such a noble person, I thought you’d surely find dirty strays disgusting.”

Not to be outdone, I indirectly pointed out that while he so vehemently rejected heretics, he himself used demons like servants. Bishop Marik burst into quiet laughter. It wasn’t to get on my nerves, but genuine laughter he couldn’t contain.

“Haha. Of course it’s disgusting. But do I need to let my personal preferences interfere with using tools? I’m simply taking a stray that would otherwise be gnawing on human corpses and putting it to useful purpose.”

If he’d used that rescued Azazel for volunteer work, he wouldn’t have said anything. But Bishop Marik was using Azazel to kill the Crown Prince and frame others who opposed him, consolidating his own power.

“Aren’t you the same as me, Lady?”

“Me, you mean?”

As if this was his main point, Bishop Marik wiped away all traces of laughter.

“I must admit, I didn’t expect you to spray holy water for so long. It must be quite painful. It would feel like your brain is melting and all the blood in your body is boiling.”

With so many ears listening, Bishop Marik didn’t specify who, but it was obvious he meant Pudding. At his question, I fell silent as if he’d hit the mark.

Bishop Marik was stabbing at the conscience I’d been trying to ignore. He wasn’t wrong. I was trash for making Pudding suffer to save people.

“But what a shame. Despite all that suffering, nothing changes. You can no longer show miracles.”

He was referring to the increasingly thin streams of rain. Bishop Marik didn’t seem to realize I had deliberately weakened the rainfall.

“How amusing it would be if, after exhausting yourself trying to save unnecessary things, you fail to prevent your own death. Ah, don’t worry. I’ll save a seat for the Captain to watch your execution. Right next to Lady Rohanson would be best, wouldn’t it?”

Every word scraped at my insides. He hadn’t reached the bishop’s position through power and violence alone. To be worshipped instead of the Sun God, this level of eloquence was necessary.

“When the rain stops, I’ll order my men to subdue the people.”

“You’re going to kill all those innocent people?”

“People? Lady Rohanson raised corpses to use as soldiers, so they were corpses from the beginning.”

Bishop Marik tilted his head as if he’d heard something completely absurd. He seemed intent on consistently pushing that ridiculous excuse. Well, there were plenty of people who would nod if Bishop Marik pointed at the sun and called it the moon.

“I’m grateful to Lady Rohanson. You caught such a sinister demon that it could block out the sun, so Bishop Marik’s achievements have become even more splendid.”

Bishop Marik whispered excitedly, as if disparaging me brought him not just pleasure but joy. Unlike his usual leisurely tone, his words were fast with many slurred pronunciations, clearly showing how elated he was. How delightfully pleased he is. Why doesn’t he just die like that?

And what was with ‘Bishop Marik’? It was a bit odd that he referred to himself as ‘Bishop Marik.’

Was he using an uncharacteristic third-person speech to annoy me? Even I, who thought I was possessed, rarely referred to myself as Evangeline, and the more I thought about it, the more suspicious it seemed. Well, he was probably just trying to irritate me.

Anyway, he was already treating me like a caught fish.

As the rain gradually lessened, Bishop Marik, who had been waiting for the right moment, raised his voice to urge the knights.

“What are you hesitating for? Subdue the heretics and prove your faith in the sun. Show mercy to those who were tragically corrupted by Evangeline Rohanson and save them from their sins. Don’t yield to sorcery, don’t be deceived by what you see. Don’t listen to evil whispers.”

So even if people cried and begged for their lives, don’t even blink.

“Only I, Marik, the chosen one of God, can guide you.”

Listen only to his words. At this point, wasn’t Bishop Marik a cult leader? Once Tenebray became Emperor and devoured the Empire, he’d go beyond being God’s representative to covering one eye and declaring himself the sun.

The false sun lacked awareness. Bishop Marik knew one thing but not two. Pudding hadn’t stopped the rain because her stamina was exhausted. Rico, who had been hiding in my clothes to avoid the holy water, peeked out his face when the rain stopped and delivered a message.

“My Lady, Pudding said to leave it to her.”

Rico’s whiskers trembled wildly as he whispered quietly.

“Thank you, Rico.”

If it hadn’t been for Rico, the situation would have been twice as difficult. Thanks to him, communicating with Pudding was easy.

Bishop Marik was too busy with his speech to notice Rico. I glared at Bishop Marik’s veil. When the rain stops, I’ll reveal that veil to the world. He’ll learn that drawing attention with his speech was a fatal mistake.

“May the sun’s light always shine upon us.”

“May the sun shine upon us.”

Just as Bishop Marik’s speech ended and the knights readied their swords, someone suddenly interrupted with an angry shout.

“Lower your swords, you idiots!”

It was a tremendous echo that could fill the entire temple. The voice, full of indignation and grief, immediately captured everyone’s attention.

When I turned toward the sound, I saw someone whose face was so wet with rainwater or tears that it was impossible to tell which.

The unexpected supporting fire came from none other than Harut.

Gabriel and I made eye contact simultaneously. Besides Bishop Jabaniya, another person had appeared to stand against Bishop Marik.

***

“Harut, please calm down.”

“That’s right. The Bishop has been particularly harsh with Sir Harut lately. At this rate, you might fall completely out of favor, so please be more careful.”

The priests were restraining Harut’s arms and covering his mouth. They couldn’t bear to watch Harut rebel against Bishop Marik.

An old woman who had known Harut since childhood clicked her tongue.

“Why are you acting so foolishly? What’s wrong with knights killing heretics? Your mother was brutally murdered by heretics. As her son, don’t you hate them?”

Instead of praising Bishop Marik for punishing heretics, he was pitying those very heretics, which was incomprehensible.

Harut’s mother had been a Holy Knight.

As Bishop Marik’s knight, she died with her heart pierced while subduing heretics, and Bishop Marik took in the orphaned Harut.

Harut received special treatment from Bishop Marik. Others assumed Bishop Marik treated him well out of guilt over Harut’s dead mother.

It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say Harut grew up under Bishop Marik’s wing. Bishop Marik cherished Harut tremendously. Even when Harut was young, Bishop Marik’s status remained constant, and no other child of his age received such precious treatment.

Harut learned theology from Bishop Marik. When he grew tired of studying, he would eat cake while listening to Bishop Marik’s stories. Among them, Harut loved stories about his mother most. The mother Bishop Marik described was like a hero. Perhaps influenced by this, Harut’s childhood dream was to become a Holy Knight.

That was until he saw a child named Saraka crawling out from the basement.

The child was gaunt, dirty from not washing, and covered in bruises as if abused. The child grabbed Harut and kept shouting something before being dragged away by the Bishop’s knights. He couldn’t remember clearly where they took her.

Bishop Marik held the shocked, frozen Harut and gently comforted him. He said there was no need to pity heretics, and clicked his tongue, wondering what would happen if Harut’s heart was too soft when he became a Holy Knight and had to take heretics’ lives.

From that day on, Harut chose the path of a priest rather than a Holy Knight.

The shock from that day remained, and Harut often dreamed of Saraka.

Her body was so emaciated from not eating properly that her bones protruded, looking ready to collapse at any moment, yet she stood upright like a young beast. Her eyes were swollen with pus, her cheeks were severely swollen, and her lips were split. She was covered in wounds including untreated burn marks, bearing vivid traces of horrific violence.

But only her jet-black eyes remained alive, shining brilliantly. The child struggled in Bishop Marik’s grasp like a beast being dragged to slaughter.

The dream always ended with the child grabbing Harut and shouting something. It wasn’t a plea for help.

“I’m Saraka! Remember, my name is Saraka!”

The child was repeating her own name. As if afraid even she might forget, as if hoping Harut would remember for her. That was why Harut still remembered that child’s name.

Lately, he dreamed of Saraka almost every night. It was probably because Bishop Marik was conducting large-scale heretic massacres.

Perhaps sensing Harut’s wavering heart, Bishop Marik was no longer as kind to Harut as before. Other priests would swagger, saying the Bishop had finally lost patience with Harut.

Harut, no longer a naive child, knew well that if he hadn’t been the son of a Holy Knight killed by heretics, Bishop Marik wouldn’t have cherished him so much.

What if Harut had been a heretic’s child? He sometimes entertained such thoughts. Perhaps that’s why he occasionally dreamed of himself crawling out from the basement instead of Saraka, watching Saraka sitting on Bishop Marik’s lap.

Perhaps that dream would become reality if Harut’s assistance to Evangeline Rohanson was discovered. He might be stripped of his priesthood, treated as a heretic, and executed.

Harut clenched his fists.

But it didn’t matter.

The rain was gradually stopping. Whether Evangeline or the Sun God had brought that rain didn’t really matter to Harut. The problem was that people’s wounds would no longer heal after the rain stopped.

Harut bit the hands of his fellow priests restraining him. Surprised that he would actually bite, the startled priest pulled his hand away from Harut’s mouth.

Harut had freed his mouth. With that mouth, he took a deep breath and let it out.

“Lower your swords, you idiots!”

Harut took another deep breath and shouted again.

“Look closely at who you’re pointing your swords at!”

Hoping his voice would reach everyone. Hoping the knights would stop their violence, even briefly, to listen to his voice so no more people would be hurt.

“Those people just came to make their grievances known, and you’re pointing swords at such people? Are you sane? You’re worse than demons!”

His voice was so powerful that the priests holding Harut felt their ears ringing.

“Keep Priest Harut’s mouth properly shut!”

“Just gag that bastard!”

Harut struggled and actually shouted louder at the priests trying to stop him.

“You all need to come to your senses too!”

Harut’s words were so fierce that several priests trying to subdue him hesitated.

“Priest Harut, what do you think you’re doing?”

Saraka turned to look at Harut and asked authoritatively. They only needed to hold out until the demon’s stamina was exhausted, but Harut had acted rashly, so she didn’t look pleased.

“What are you doing, Bishop?”

At Harut’s rude retort, nearby priests quietly stepped away. They had only cared for Harut because he was a priest cherished by Bishop Marik. Not many would care for Harut now that he’d fallen out of Bishop Marik’s favor.

“Ah, right. I couldn’t answer earlier. You asked if I saw visions, didn’t you, Bishop?”

Harut raised his voice.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Team. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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