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The sound suddenly quiets down.

Just like the ground solidifies after rain, the unexpected silence tensed the atmosphere like a tightly pulled knot. It felt as if that knot might snap with just a light touch, preventing anyone from daring to move.

Bewilderment or shock. Somewhere amidst that, gazes turned towards one angel. Yet, the thick darkness left no room for them to see the angel’s face.

Unable to even find their bearings, the gazes wandered in the dark and inevitably scattered, unable to coalesce.

“……”

I thought it would all end once we found the angel.

Now I was caught off guard, hearing about the existence of demons sealed in the Mauritania Continent and secrets I never wanted to know.

And now, we were even fighting angels.

A sigh slipped from Frederick’s lips without him realizing.

“Veronica. Let me just ask one thing.”

The sudden voice broke the silence. It was a different tone from the atmosphere that felt like something was about to explode.

The saint, who was caressing the wooden grip of her checkered revolver, glanced away.

“Is it really a question that needs to be asked right now?”

“Perhaps.”

Her obsidian-like eyes rolled around. The two pairs of eyes crossed in silence, seeming to question each other’s motives without having spoken yet.

Click, the safety mechanism clicked as Frederick began his response, his head buried against the gunstock.

“If I attack the angel, I can still go to heaven, right?”

The tightly pulled knot released with a pop. Light and flames began to flare up like an announcement of the start of the play.

At that, the saint, with her finger on the trigger, let out a hollow laugh.

“I’ll make sure to follow you to the entrance of hell, even if you end up going there.”

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Episode 17 – The Tree Drinking Blood

Light and fire have long been considered symbols of festivals.

Martin’s Day. A traditional event held in Germany on November 11 serves as a good example.

Unlike the holiday created by the marketing of a confectionery company that epitomizes capitalism, Germany’s festival holds its own history and tradition.

In around the 4th century AD, during a cold winter, a man named Martin was patrolling the streets at night.

Martin, a Roman officer, encountered a beggar during his patrol. Feeling pity for the beggar shivering in rags, he cut his cloak with his sword, sharing it with the beggar. That night, Jesus appeared to him in a dream, revealing that the beggar was, in fact, Jesus.

This story, steeped in strong Christian overtones, symbolizes Martin’s Day.

To honor Martin’s good deeds, after he later rose to the position of bishop, Germans designated November 11 as a festival. It’s not a day for giving Pepero to a crush.

This celebration, known as Martin’s Day, has another name: Laternenfest. Translated into Korean, it would roughly mean “Lantern Festival.”

Thus, lights and festivals are considered inseparable partners. Thailand’s Loy Krathong festival is also centered around lanterns, and so is the Lantern Festival celebrated on the full moon in lunar New Year in Chinese-speaking regions.

If we broaden our view from the limited category of lanterns to “light,” we can find many other festivals.

For example, the medieval European festival of witch hunts, where a few widows were gathered and burned as kindling to devour wealth.

The symphony of light and culture has guided human civilization to ever grander heights, with the invention of gunpowder playing a significant role.

Fireworks, akin to the air quality being chewed into dust by China’s climate, serve as a good example.

Despite the Chinese Communist Party’s disdain for America, when considering the ironic reality that party officials solve their wealth and children’s education issues in America, the festive culture of sprinkling the sky with fireworks in China could be argued to have its origins in America.

For instance, there’s timeless entertainment from legendary British-American live performances, which have become inspirations for the “Defense Minister-General Staff” types stuck in their rooms.

Though there may be a significant gap between fireworks and 750-pound aerial bombs, it is still an important example supporting the formula that light and flames equal festival (not) partnership.

Someone born and raised in Beijing might shout, “What does the existence of fireworks before the Ming Dynasty have to do with World War II?”

But internet scholars would argue that the primitive locals who smashed Confucius’s tomb in an attempt to eradicate feudal relics have no remnants worthy of calling a tradition, hence denying any dissent. And besides, where are the people in China, anyway?

Whatever the case.

Since ancient times, festivals have been a symphony and concert created by light and fire. Thus, every place where light and fire exist is much like a festival site.

And here…

Another festival is taking place.

The fabric brushed by the wind spread out like a chalice, with the shadows cast by the flickering lights dancing joyfully against the cloth.

As the crimson-colored weapon let out a brisk sound, a single sword, its blade torn from a cloak, zoomed by, sending sparks flying from a shoulder plate.

-Ching!

The sword streaked down at an angle, a massive greatsword.

With a mighty blow cleaving from the crown to split the cloak, that force was met by the crossing blades of twin swords.

Clang, with a sharp metallic sound, the melody halted for a moment. The traces of battle were clearly left in the stone chamber. The crossed twin swords stood against the ferocity of the greatsword; their blades mirrored the form of the armored man wielding it.

“Nathaniel!”

Fury shook the helmet, and shock sent shivers through the air.

Ramiel raised his voice as he held the swords in a clash.

“Dare you point your weapon at your brother!”

With wrath coursing through, the greatsword began to press down upon him. Nathaniel, fending off the assault with his twin blades, responded.

“Who says you’re my brother? I do not acknowledge you as such.”

“Wisdom has turned into arrogance. Can you still claim to be the controller of the cycle!”

Clang! The two swords screamed with fervor. Nathaniel, having brushed aside the twin swords, wore a look of disdain.

“You wouldn’t understand due to your foolishness. I never expected you to.”

With a clang, the gauntlet pulsed, followed by a roar. The greatsword was raging, dragged by its master’s emotions.

“What has changed you? Your master…”

“Was it the fall of mankind like a junkyard, or the death of Anael!”

“Shut up!”

The clash of three swords created a shockwave.

Like the aftermath of a bombing, the gust of wind exploded in all directions, leaving countless scars etched into the corners of the stone chamber.

Amidst the multitude of sword marks, two swords began to dance. Their cruelly vivid and beautiful movements seemed to steal the lifespan of the onlookers.

The extended dual swords brushed past the side of the armor, and Nathaniel, who had retrieved his weapon, wore a cynical smile.

“Putting on an act of righteousness, even in your weakened state.”

The engraved scars vanished along with the armor. Ramiel, turning his body, took a defensive stance.

“Don’t speak carelessly. I’m still walking the path.”

“It must be a darkness with no end in sight.”

The massive blade shrouds the armor.

The knight, blocking the way with his greatsword, replied softly.

“No matter how deep the darkness, a path must exist. It’s a natural truth.”

“……”

“Looks like arrogance has blinded your eyes.”

With a whirl, the dual swords spun in his grip and clicked into place.

With the dual swords firmly grasped, Nathaniel aimed his blade forward and opened his mouth.

“You’re the only one intoxicated by false hope.”

The conversation ended. Ramiel finally acknowledged there was no room for persuasion. Communication hinged on mutual dialogue, after all.

If they decided to withhold words, only one thing remained—dialogue.

A conversation held while wielding a knife has existed throughout history.

The dual swords crossed, and the greatsword descended.

The time was the end of summer.

Indeed, the tragic history was returning once more.

*

When a person is extremely shocked or taken aback, words simply fail to emerge.

The President of the United States felt that way upon hearing the report of an airplane crashing into the twin towers. A lover of destruction, he once held a grand festival with Middle Eastern dictators, spurred on by fervent support, an event later known as the Iraq War.

I remember that the war between the U.S. and Iraq did not significantly impact me back then. As a student focused on studies, whether it was America’s tragedy or war in the Middle East, it felt like a story from another world.

Only after I was assigned to the Middle East did I curse the American friends who had left the job in chaos. Of course, I never voiced it; only some annoyed thoughts crossed my mind. After all, it was a 70-year-long Korea-U.S. alliance.

And here in the current moment, those feelings from decades ago began to resurface.

Wow, damn. Now angels are even swinging swords at each other.

“The end times, surely.”

“If you have time to joke, just fight already!”

With a loud shout, Veronica’s voice returned my wandering mind. I quickly tossed her the pouch I had grabbed.

A leather pouch that looked like it might fetch a good price. The pouch floating in the air landed with a *thunk* in her hand. Inside were shimmering silver bullets. Veronica took six of them and loaded them into the revolver.

With a spin, the cylinder revolved magnificently for a moment. Her thumb released the safety.

Kneeling on one knee, Veronica grabbed the revolver with both hands, aimed at the target, and as the sight aligned with the object, the trigger clicked.

-Bam!

The sound of the gunshot shook the stone chamber in an instant. The bullet, propelled on a straight trajectory, collided with its target immediately after.

Flames erupted from the sword as it sought to penetrate the seams of the armor, and the deflected sword began to roll on a bed of dust and sand.

“…No way.”

Seeing the sword he was wielding fly away, Nathaniel muttered quietly.

Just as his hooded gaze was about to pour onto the saint.

Creak, as he smashed the primer, a thunderous gunshot and flames erupted, and the shell was fired.

“Catch this!”

After the fight between the angels began, Veronica, who had been sitting there in a daze, seized her wits and leapt into battle.

Whether the silver bullets that shot down demons were effective against other beings was uncertain, but in retrospect, bringing her along was undoubtedly a divine move.

The bullets crafted from relics melted down that were stored in the Holy Land Lateran Cathedral posed a significant threat even to those who were not demons. Just look at how the angel wielding dual swords abandoned defense to concentrate on evasion.

A series of gunshots rang out.

Nathaniel dashed between the pillars, dodging Veronica’s attacks.

The illuminating gunfire slipped past like an eel, and as the distance between the fallen sword and the angel sharply narrowed.

“G’huarkkk-!”

Akande, with a strange yell, leaped between the angel and the sword.

When the colossal Akande landed, dust billowed up like a meteor strike. The tattoos shimmered, and a heavy punch filled with destructive force reached out.

-Wham!

The descending fist crushed the ground like tofu. The well-preserved stone bricks shattered without exposing any cracks. Just as Nathaniel, avoiding the blow, lunged to snatch the fallen sword.

As if not missing the chance, Akande swung his fist again toward Nathaniel, and Nathaniel blocked the attack with the hilt of the sword.

At the moment the sword’s hilt met the fist, an explosion rang out, and the resulting dust and debris filled the air in the stone chamber.

 

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