The man stands atop the grave, arms extended, palms open. A blood-soaked scar abruptly appears there, the thick blood trickles down, forming a straight line that spills into the earth, permeating the soil, merging with the soaking rainwater, together reaching that place of darkness.

"What will you do?"

The man curiously gazes at the soil beneath his feet. He had come to hunt Olivia, yet did not expect to encounter such a scene. If it were a mere ordinary vendetta, it would not captivate the man’s attention, but York’s predicament deeply enthralls the man.

On one hand, there is his faith; on the other, there is law and morality. In the midst of this conflicting dilemma, York could not make a rational choice; he continues to believe in the goodwill of mankind... Unfortunately, facing his goodwill, Gami retaliated only with malice.

The man is somewhat curious about how York will respond to his offer of help; as a follower of God, will he accept this grace or reject it?

If he accepts, he undoubtedly also betrays his faith—what will he do then?

Will York still believe in his faith, in his righteousness?

Thinking of this, an irrepressible smile creeps onto the man’s face.

The man enjoys watching others struggle; that pain and sorrow from deep within the soul are like honey to him.

Every time he watches them, he recalls his childhood. From a young age, he was a mischievous child, delighting in picking up ants and throwing them into water cups to watch them helplessly struggle until they become tiny corpses.

Now, he anticipates York’s decision, indulging in this distorted sentiment; the man feels he is like the Devil, savoring others’ suffering.

"Offer your suffering, Priest."

A twisted smile spreads across the man’s face. 𝙛𝓻𝒆𝒆𝒘𝙚𝓫𝙣𝙤𝒗𝙚𝓵.𝙘𝙤𝙢

"This is God’s test for you."

...

In the absolute chill of darkness, a sinister crimson appears before York’s eyes. At the first glimpse of that hue, York immediately feels an indescribable evil aura emanating from it.

It is the power that comes from darkness.

For a moment, York is in a daze; he had thought of reaching the Celestial Kingdom after death but had not anticipated facing such malevolence. He begins to believe he is heading toward a dreadful Hell. Yet, York cannot comprehend what he did wrong in his pious life.

He does not understand and cannot accept it.

York was born into a poor family. His parents passed away when he was very young due to a plague, and York was adopted by the town’s Priest. Without parental company, York grew healthily under their care.

Deeply influenced by the Priests’ benevolent teachings from a young age, upon coming of age York vowed to dedicate himself to his faith, like the Priests, bringing goodwill to others.

York has indeed lived by his vow, abstaining, leading an ascetic life. Apart from the small Golden Cross on his chest, he possesses no other private belongings.

With York’s assistance, many have transformed their destinies, living on with his blessing... York had believed Gami would be one of those blessed.

"Is it because of him? Because of Gami?" York muttered.

Gami not only desecrated corpses but also committed murderous sins. No, perhaps York is not even the first person he killed.

"I need his repentance."

A voice that is entirely bloodthirsty and heavy—not belonging to York—resonates.

York hesitated for a moment; he felt that he did not say those words, yet that voice resembled his own, as if another bloodthirsty, wrathful self were uttering the Curse.

After death, there is no Celestial Kingdom; only sinister crimson exists.

The increasingly excruciating contradiction entangles within York’s soul. His once firm beliefs are webbed with cracks, and suddenly that voice rises again.

"Does God truly exist in this world?"

It questions York, listening to that voice; even York cannot help but begin to doubt.

He has lived benevolently all his life, yet died in such a laughable manner, awaiting not the Celestial Kingdom but rather this cold, relentless darkness.

"Why not abandon this delusional belief? Look at what it has given you?"

York gazes forward, at the sinister crimson. He knows that it is this evil power speaking to him.

"Go away, evil!"

York rebukes, but no sooner had the words left his mouth than his firm gaze weakens.

God has never responded to York, yet at this moment of death, evil stretches out a helping hand.

Is this as God’s test for him? To refuse, to embrace his own death?

Countless thoughts flicker through York’s mind; he is determined to endure death, holding fast to his piety. Yet also at this moment, that voice rises again.

"I need his repentance."

This time the voice is very calm, devoid of any emotion. York stands in place, vacant, aware this time that the words come from his own lips.

York’s expression grows slightly tense, cheeks redden lightly, mouth agape, facial muscles tighten. Fine beads of sweat form on his forehead, and his hands begin to tremble slightly.

A surge of uncontainable anger rises in his throat, eyebrows arch upward, lips pressed into a thin line, fists clenched fiercely, legs begin to tremble continuously, his entire body seemingly boiling with fiery rage.

"I... I need..."

York’s facial expression twists, eyes fill with bloodshot streaks, a growl emerges from his throat, hands trembling incessantly, as if ready to shatter everything around him.