Regressor Of The Fallen Family [EN]: Chapter 427

Looking at the thin, hungry children in the slums, Viktor remembered his own empty stomach as a boy. Every day off, he would carefully prepare food and gather old clothes, then go to help those in need.

He was handing a piece of bread to a small girl when he heard a gentle voice. “Ah, you must be a knight from the royal palace.”

He looked up and saw her. Her hair was like spun moonlight, catching the dim light of the slums and shining silver. Her eyes were a bright, clear blue, and when she smiled, a warmth spread through Viktor, making his chest tighten and his breath catch in his throat. He didn’t understand it then, but that feeling…

“Sir Viktor! You’re here again! And look at all this! The children will be so happy. Thank you, truly!” Ilia’s smile was like sunshine in the gloomy slums. She moved among the children, her shabby robes flowing around her, but there was a quiet authority in her voice when she spoke to the younger priests helping her. Viktor had been surprised to learn she was not just a priest, but a Bishop.

“Status means nothing,” she said, her voice clear and strong. “I am a priest, and my duty is to heal the pain of the world.”

As she spoke, her eyes seemed to glow with a deep inner light. Viktor had never met a high-ranking priest who cared so little for wealth and power. And he had never seen anyone, even in simple robes, who possessed such beauty. He thought it was respect he felt for her, nothing more.

He wondered, even then, if the strange warmth in his chest was something more than respect. If someone had told him it was love, would he have acted differently? He pushed the thought away. Then, everything changed. Rumors spread through the city – whispers of heresy, of forbidden healing. Viktor was shocked when he saw temple guards dragging Ilia away, her silver hair disheveled, her blue eyes filled with a quiet sadness. She was to face a religious trial.

“…Sir Viktor?” Her voice was soft, hesitant.

He pushed through the crowd. “Yes, it’s me,” he said, his voice firm despite the fear twisting in his stomach. “I’ve come to take you away. We must leave now.”

Relief flooded Ilia’s face when she saw him. A small, grateful smile touched her lips, and in that moment, Viktor knew he would do anything for her.

Viktor fought bravely, but Max was stronger. He fell to his knees, blood staining his armor.

“Blood, blood…” Ilia cried out, kneeling beside him. “No! Please, no more blood!” She placed her hands on his wounds, and a warm, golden light flowed from her, healing him.

Later, Viktor learned the temple wanted to punish him for helping Ilia. They brought out the Sacred Sword, a weapon said to judge the guilty. It pulsed with power, trying to trap Viktor. Ilia stepped in front of him, her voice trembling but firm.

“You must accept it,” she said to the temple guards. “Or the Commander will have to watch me die.”

Viktor was stunned by her bravery. He didn’t understand why she was risking everything for him.

“Even if everything goes wrong,” Ilia had whispered to him once, her blue eyes filled with a strange sadness, “please remember I am grateful for your kindness, Sir Viktor. I will never forget.”

He hadn’t understood her words then, hadn’t understood the weight of her gaze. Now, standing here, sword in hand, tears blurring his vision, Viktor finally understood. He loved her. He had loved her from the moment he saw her smile in the slums. And now… now it was too late.

He remembered another moment, a secret meeting in the shadows.

“Sir Viktor,” Ilia had said, her voice low and urgent, “if… if I am ever no longer myself… if something changes me… I need you to promise me something.”

An ominous promise he hadn’t wanted to make, hadn’t wanted to believe he would ever have to keep.

But now, looking at the creature before him, the *Apostle* – a monstrous being that had taken Ilia’s form – Viktor knew what he had to do. He saw a flicker of Ilia’s soul trapped within the monster’s eyes, a silent scream for help. And that’s why, without hesitation, tears streaming down his face, Viktor plunged his sword into the Apostle’s heart. He would avenge Ilia. He would save what little remained of her.

*Crack!* The sound echoed in the chamber as Viktor pushed the sword deeper into the Apostle’s chest, tears streaming down his face.

– Ugh… Th-this…!? The Apostle gasped, its voice a distorted version of Ilia’s.

“I, I have come, Lady Ilia,” Viktor choked out, his voice thick with grief.

Even as he wept, he saw the dark gray aura around the Apostle’s heart growing stronger, even as the bright blue light that had been surging from it began to fade. It seemed that even a powerful being like the Apostle, trapped in a human body – Ilia’s body, the body of the Saintess – was vulnerable. In this world, all magic, all power, came from the heart.

He remembered Ilia’s desperate plea, spoken in hushed tones weeks ago.

“Sir,” she had begged him, “if… if something ever takes control of me, if I am no longer myself… I will try to give you a chance. Please, Viktor, if that happens, you must end it. You must call my name.”

He hadn’t wanted to believe it would ever come to this.

– Ugh, ugh… Th-this foolish woman! the Apostle choked out, its voice cracking and breaking. In the depths of the Apostle’s eyes, Viktor saw something else – a flicker of blue, a hint of Ilia’s soul, and… tears. Were they tears of pain? Tears of relief? Viktor didn’t know. He only knew he was crying too.

“I… I have come at last, Lady Ilia,” he sobbed, his voice breaking. “I am sorry… I am so sorry.”

Viktor wondered why Ilia had chosen *him* for this terrible task, and not a high priest, or even the Lord God himself. Did she somehow sense his feelings for her? Or was it simply because he was a knight, trained for combat, a *superhuman* warrior in this world of magic and monsters? It didn’t matter now.

– Do you know what a terrible sin you commit, daring to defy me! the Apostle shrieked, its face contorted in rage.

Viktor felt a surge of anger at the monster that had stolen Ilia’s body. But looking into those blue eyes, still holding a trace of Ilia’s soul, he couldn’t bring himself to curse. He hesitated. Just then, he heard a calm voice behind him.

“The noise will have reached the temple guards,” Harmon said quietly, stepping beside Viktor. Harmon, his fellow knight, his friend. “We must finish this quickly, Viktor.”

Harmon understood Viktor’s hesitation. Even though the sword in the Apostle’s heart had weakened it, it was still a powerful being. If Viktor removed the sword, it might heal itself. The only way to be sure was to destroy it completely – to cut off its head.

‘…Yes, I have to,’ Viktor thought, steeling himself. He *knew* it was necessary. He *thought* he was ready.

But his hands trembled. He looked into the Apostle’s eyes, and there, deep within, he still saw Ilia. This was the last moment he would ever be connected to her. The final goodbye.

Harmon saw Viktor’s struggle.

“If it’s too hard,” Harmon offered gently, “I will do it.”

“No,” Viktor said, his voice strained. “I will…” He tightened his grip on the sword.

The Apostle seemed to sense its end. – Hmph, no choice then, it hissed, its voice now sounding less human, more reptilian.

*Flash!* A blinding blue light erupted from the Apostle’s body. The air crackled with energy. And then, rising above Ilia’s form, a monstrous shape began to solidify – a giant, lizard-like creature, scales shimmering in the light, eyes burning with cold fury.

“Ugh!” Viktor gasped, stumbling back.

“Gasp!” Harmon cried out, shielding his eyes.

A wave of raw power slammed into them, a force so strong it felt like their very souls were being crushed. The lizard-Apostle roared, its voice echoing through the chamber. – You arrogant fools! This is not over! You will face the wrath of the gods!

With another surge of blue light, the creature smashed through the ceiling and vanished. But some of the light split, striking Harmon and Viktor.

“Hmph!” Harmon grunted, shaking off the light with a snarl and slashing at it with his sword. But Viktor, his arms full of Ilia’s falling body, couldn’t move in time.

*Flash.*

“Ugh!” Viktor cried out, expecting a terrible blow. But instead of pain all over his body, he felt a searing, burning pain in his left hand, the hand still gripping the sword. He looked down. Blue letters glowed on the back of his hand, burned into his skin like a tattoo.

*Haeresis.* The word pulsed with dark energy.

“Huh?” Viktor stared at the glowing word.

“*Haeresis*,” Harmon said, a wry smile on his face. “Heretic. Well, has God even proven he’s on the right side in all this? If this is the worst they can do, maybe I should have taken the curse myself.” Harmon chuckled, trying to lighten the mood.

But Viktor knew this was no laughing matter. The *Haeresis* mark was more than just a label. Harmon could sense it too – the dark energy radiating from it, twisting divine magic, making it dangerous.

“Well,” Harmon said, his voice turning serious, “you won’t be getting any healing from the temple now. But that doesn’t matter to you, does it?”

Viktor didn’t even hear him. His gaze was fixed on Ilia, her face pale and still in his arms. Her eyes were closed, her breathing shallow. He looked at her with a dazed, desperate hope. Harmon sighed and placed a hand on Viktor’s shoulder, a silent gesture of sympathy.

“Pull out the sword,” Harmon said gently. “We need to… we need to let her go, Viktor. She’s gone.”

But Viktor stared at Ilia, his face blank with shock. “She’s still here…” he whispered.

“What?” Harmon frowned.

“……Her soul,” Viktor said, his voice rising with a desperate hope. “Lady Ilia’s soul… it’s still here!”

*Swoosh.* Viktor yanked the sword free. Blood gushed from the wound in Ilia’s chest. Her heart, torn apart by the dark magic of the Apostle, was beyond any normal healing. Even for the most powerful priests, this would be impossible. But Harmon was no ordinary priest.

“Sir Harmon! Please heal her! Please!” Viktor cried out, his voice filled with desperate hope.

Harmon understood Viktor’s pain. He gently placed his hand on Ilia’s chest, channeling his divine power. A soft golden light glowed around his hand. “Viktor, I know how you feel, but this is not the time for…”

He could heal her body, yes. He could close the wound in her heart. But it wouldn’t matter. The Apostle had consumed her soul. It was gone, vanished, taken to some unknown realm. Even if he brought her body back to life, Ilia would not be there.

But Viktor wouldn’t listen.

“Lady Ilia’s soul is still here! Please, Sir Harmon, please!” Seeing the raw hope in Viktor’s eyes, Harmon sighed and focused his power, trying to heal the impossible.

*Whoosh. Bzzzt!* Harmon poured his divine power into Ilia, mending the torn flesh, knitting the broken heart back together. But even as the wound closed, he knew it was pointless. He could feel it now – a tiny spark, a faint echo of Ilia’s soul, barely there. A tenth, no, a hundredth of what it once was. It was hopeless. Even if her body was perfectly healed, Ilia would never open her eyes again. Viktor watched him, his face flushed with desperate hope. Harmon knew he had to be honest, for Viktor’s own sake.

“……If I stop giving her energy,” Harmon said gently, “her heart will fail again within a day. And even if I keep doing this… she will not wake up, Viktor. She is gone.”

But Viktor shook his head, his voice firm with a stubborn hope. “It doesn’t matter. I will do it. I can feel her soul, Sir Harmon. It’s still here. She’s… she’s talking to me. I will keep her alive. I can do it.” His eyes burned with a fierce, impossible hope. Harmon looked at him, a knot of sadness and pity tightening in his chest. He knew, with a certainty that chilled him, that those bright eyes would soon be filled with despair. *Should I stop him now?* Harmon wondered. *Or let him learn the truth for himself?* He felt torn.

– This is the Saintess’s chamber! Guards!

– Damn it, where are the Holy Knights?!

The sounds of shouting and running footsteps grew louder outside the door. Harmon knew they couldn’t stay. He had to make a decision. He couldn’t stop Viktor now.

“Carry Ilia,” Harmon said quickly, correcting himself. “Carry her body. We can’t leave her here. If the temple finds her… especially that Papal Judge, Sententia… they might try to use her again, to control her soul, to… to let God swallow her whole.”

“Yes, of course,” Viktor said, his voice numb.

“……Hurry,” Harmon urged. He grabbed the Papal Judge Sententia – a heavy book of holy law – and leaped towards the window, smashing it open and jumping out into the night. Viktor, cradling Ilia’s body in his arms, followed him like a ghost.

The next morning, chaos erupted in the temple. Former Pope Austin, the highest religious leader, had been found in his chambers, weak and pale. He claimed he had been attacked. Then, the horrifying truth was discovered: Pope Austin had vanished. And with him, the four sacred objects – ancient relics of immense power – were gone. Even the Sacred Sword, the holy blade that was the symbol of the temple’s authority, was missing. It was as if the Sword itself had turned against them, *betraying the Holy Order*.

“This is impossible!” priests cried.

“The Sacred Sword? Gone?”

“Why would the Pope do this?”

“Why?”

Shockwaves rippled through the Holy City of Noviens and across the entire world. Rumors spread like wildfire, twisting and changing as they traveled.

“It’s not normal,” people whispered. “Why would the Pope steal the sacred objects?”

“Maybe… maybe like the mad Pope from the old stories…?”

“Could it be…?”

Soon, a darker rumor took hold, fueled by fear and suspicion. The *Black Snake’s wizards*, a shadowy group known for their dark magic and forbidden knowledge, had brainwashed the Sacred Sword, forcing it to steal the sacred objects for them. This rumor, mixing truth and fear, spread across the land, becoming accepted as fact.