56 — Necromancer Of The Black Bible (56)

The ancestral spirit, Ceres.

She was the youngest daughter of Lucas I, the founder of the Principality of Tarnia.

Long ago, when the Principality of Tarnia was still known as the Kingdom of Calderion.

Ceres was born during a peaceful time, after King Lucas I had pacified the surrounding lands.

She had been frail since childhood, and thus received much care and affection, but she also possessed a special ability.

That was the power of healing.

Everyone who came to care for her bedridden form bore witness to that healing power.

The bent back of an elderly maid straightened, and the fading sight of the butler was restored.

That wasn’t all.

A maid attending her was cured of infertility, and even her father Lucas was healed of his chronic athlete’s foot.

At this point, Lucas realized that divine power had been bestowed upon his youngest daughter. He granted Ceres the title of “Saintess” and tasked her with healing the Kingdom’s people.

Ceres lived until the age of ninety, healing countless people in her lifetime.

At the moment of her death, Ceres held the dagger given to her by her father Lucas against her chest and left behind her will.

With this dagger, I shall protect the Kingdom. So do not grieve. I will always be with you.

Ceres kept that promise.

Even when the Kingdom fell and became the Principality of Tarnia, Ceres remained bound to the dagger and protected her family.

When an heir fell ill, she used her healing powers to cure them, and appeared in the dreams of the princes to warn of dangers.

Yet Natasha’s illness was strange even to her.

No matter what she tried, she could not cure it, and at best she could only slow its progress.

That wasn’t all.

After that, her healing powers weakened. Even with the dagger she inhabited—Gladius Animae—instances of healing diminished, and all she could do was guide the souls of her deceased descendants.

Ceres gazed at Natasha’s back, sinking into thought.

‘Why has my power weakened?’

In truth, she had a suspicion.

Long ago, when God died, she had felt an overwhelming surge of emotion.

She had instinctively known it would affect her in some way.

‘Perhaps the time has come.’

Now that the Demon Kings had slain God and sat upon the heavenly throne, it was only natural that the power received from God would wane.

It was strange, in fact, that it had lasted more than three thousand years.

In truth, it had been Ceres’s will that Natasha be sent here, and that the dagger Gladius Animae be given to her.

She had inspired the Grand Duke and Duchess to do so.

She had judged that in Kallios Theocracy, which wielded divine power, there might be a way.

But Ceres’s expectations had missed the mark.

No divine power like hers could be sensed in the Theocracy.

Instead, it was enveloped in a strange energy difficult to describe.

That energy was closer to chaos than purity.

‘Can Natasha truly be healed here?’

As a high-tier soul, Ceres could usually glimpse the near future. But here, even that ability failed her.

She had seen a future where Natasha was healed here and regained her old self, yet reality did not match.

Nor could she see any future or knowledge within the Theocracy.

The chaotic energy surrounding the Theocracy was interfering with her powers.

‘Raiernov… If only I could learn more about him…’

She had tried to learn about the High Priest Raiernov, but could discover nothing beyond what Natasha and her maid had heard.

Being inside the Theocracy, she could not peer in further.

Thus, Natasha’s attempt tonight was important to Ceres.

It was both the first chance to face Raiernov, and an opportunity to observe the interior of the Theocracy.

‘If he truly possesses such a powerful healing ability, perhaps I can learn what is happening to me… and what we must do next.’

Somehow, she felt that way.

That she and Raiernov were connected.

But it was only a feeling.

Without meeting him, she could never know.

Then a voice came from behind.

Mother. Natasha has met someone. She is entering the sewers with him.

Yes, I know.

Will you follow?

Ceres slowly turned back.

Countless souls, glowing faintly, were all watching her.

They were the souls of her family, gathered by Ceres.

For over three thousand years, under Ceres’s protection, they had been reincarnated within the Principality of Tarnia.

Since arriving in the Theocracy, they had been uneasy.

The eerie energy surrounding the Theocracy felt ominous to them.

Ceres looked back at them and spoke.

Natasha is our descendant, a part of us. Of course I must follow her.

But this is not our domain. You may not return, Mother.

At her son’s words, Ceres fell silent.

What he said was true.

Inside the Theocracy, beings stronger than she could handle might appear.

No—surely they would.

This place held more souls than anywhere else.

Especially the chaotic wraiths, lurking everywhere.

To them, souls shining like Ceres’s group were nothing more than prey.

Had Ceres not built her following, she would have been devoured long ago.

Ceres looked at her son with deep eyes and asked.

You may be right that I won’t return. But are you saying we should just stand by?

Her son, Adrian, could not answer.

Then Ceres continued.

Natasha is our descendant. I have not abandoned her.

Then…

You all remain here. As long as you stay together, they cannot harm you. Until then, Adrian, you will lead in my stead.

Understood.

Ending the conversation, Ceres calmly followed Natasha.

Unknown darkness swallowed Natasha, hiding her from sight, but Ceres did not hesitate.

She followed the faint glow emanating from Natasha’s dagger sheath, stepping straight into the darkness.

---

It had already been a week since I began the healings.

Roughly 800 patients had passed through my hands during that time.

That meant more than 120 a day.

As expected, most of them had been afflicted by spirits.

Those not afflicted I sent to other healing priests, focusing only on the ones I could cure.

Thanks to this, I had gathered many Soul Orbs.

Three Orbs of the Flame of Resentment, four of Chaos, and five of the Cold of Resentment.

I also obtained several incomplete orbs whose attributes were still unknown.

According to Equinox, one cannot discern their attribute until they are complete.

‘I need to gather more orbs.’

The Soul Orbs were the source of my power.

They were useful in many ways.

Consumed directly, they helped multiply my Mana Rings; set into the Soul Harvester, they allowed me to wield attribute-based skills.

Their power far surpassed that of my usual spells.

At present I had only three Mana Rings, but with enough orbs I could easily expand them, and then I would be able to oppose Illinas.

I fingered a Soul Orb of the Cold of Resentment, glowing with a brilliant blue light, lost in thought.

‘Illinas…’

Thinking back to my contact with Shador after returning to the past, I realized leaving Illinas unchecked was dangerous.

He could sense me through the binding thread woven into my heart.

I had brainwashed Shador to my side, buying some time, but the situation still unsettled me.

‘Is there a way to gather orbs faster?’

I had seen patients with minimal rest, so speeding up any further would be difficult.

Today too, I had treated patients nearly nonstop from early morning until past midnight.

Cutting sleep was an option, but it might raise suspicion.

If a priest spent day and night healing without rest and never showed fatigue, people would find it suspicious, even of a High Priest.

The key was that my healings must appear “sacred” to those watching.

‘There is one thing I could try.’

Healing many at once.

If I summoned dozens at a time and absorbed their spirits, I could see even a thousand in a single day.

But to do that, certain conditions had to be met.

All of them must share the same cause of illness.

And not natural illnesses, but ones caused by spirits—those were the only kind I could heal in groups.

‘How can I filter them?’

Not just anyone could see spirits.

Even shamans and mediums could not easily perceive them, for spirits could conceal themselves.

Even I had to fully focus to find them; only I could separate such patients.

‘Should I line up those with tickets and pick them out? Or…’

As I pondered, a knock sounded and Sanchez entered.

It was Sanchez, who had suggested I resume healing; he had been dispatched from the Bureau of Investigation to assist me.

With an awkward expression, he spoke.

“High Priest Raiernov, thank you again for your efforts today. All patients have been sent back. Today’s healings will end here.”

“You’ve done well too. But… is there nothing unusual?”

In truth, there was something on my mind.

The promise with the Grand Vicar.

When I first arrived, the Grand Vicar had said the Pope wished to meet me. I had delayed it by about two weeks under the pretense of needing rest.

And today was a day past that two-week period.

By now, surely, a summons from the Archpriest should have come.

I looked at Sanchez briefly, and he immediately spoke.

“There’s nothing significant besides the patients.”

“Has the High Priest said nothing?”

“Ah! I forgot to mention. The Archpriest fully supports your current healing work. He requests that you continue until the patient queue has been sufficiently reduced.”

“Is that so? Then it seems the meeting with the Pope isn’t so urgent.”

When I pointed this out, Sanchez chuckled awkwardly and replied.

“Hehe. The Pope herself approved it, so you can rest assured.”

That was a relief.

I had been somewhat tense about meeting the Pope, but this gave me an excellent pretext.

In hindsight, their reaction was natural.

With me healing on such a massive and satisfying scale, the Theocracy stood to gain greatly.

So of course the Archpriest and the Pope would support me and wait.

I asked Sanchez again.

“How many patients remain?”

“As of this evening’s report, numbers have been issued up to 2034, so about 1,200 remain.”

Twelve hundred.

At my current pace, that would take about ten days.

With nothing urgent, I could take my time.

“Then today’s healings are…”

I could not finish the sentence.

For someone was staring at me from the doorway.

A woman with pure white hair.

Clad in the fine clothes of the far northwestern continent, she slowly approached me.

Passing straight through Sanchez, who stood before me, she knelt quietly at my feet and spoke.

Priest… Forgive me for this late hour, but please, see my granddaughter. Without you, this child cannot be saved.

She was a spirit.

And not just any spirit, but one radiating a soft glow.

Since becoming a necromancer, I had never seen such a spirit before.