Chapter 369: Event (2)

    It’s a question that comes to mind at this point, but how does one become a demon worshipper?

    Given how long demon worship has persisted since the Demon War, people have come to follow this path through various means.

    As repeatedly mentioned, demon worshippers have their influence spread across the underworld and are often involved in illegal activities.

    As a result, nine out of ten people deeply tied to crime are demon worshippers.

    However, to be frank, they aren’t particularly dangerous.

    Most of them are mere pawns or common criminals. While they may be associated with demon worship, they aren’t directly connected.

    Even if they leave traces of their involvement, no one suspects the acts to be those of demon worshippers.

    People are more likely to blame powerful crime syndicates rather than considering demon worshippers.

    The truly dangerous individuals are those who have been “brainwashed” from a young age.

    While criminals commit acts out of various desires or reasons, those who are brainwashed act with deliberate intent.

    History has shown just how impactful brainwashing can be, especially when it occurs on a collective level.

    In such cases, it can even lead to catastrophic wars.

    Demon worshippers have extensively utilized this brainwashing, refining their techniques to such a degree that people often fall victim to it even while being aware of the risks.

    Especially in a world like this, unlike Earth, where the exchange of information is severely limited, people are more prone to falling for specific ideologies due to lack of information and environmental factors.

    At this point, you might wonder: “How can people fall into demon worship in a world where gods exist and divine authority is so powerful?”

    You might also think it’s strange that even after the Demon War, there haven’t been any noticeable warnings or signs despite the passage of time.

    However, a deeper dive into history reveals why.

    After the Demon War, all civilizations, except for Alvenheim, regressed to the point of being nearly reset.

    Additionally, the birth of the new race known as the “Demonic Beings” and the subsequent incidents that followed left people too preoccupied to address other issues.

    Of course, demon worshippers haven’t been completely unscathed during this time.

    For instance, when the Savior lost himself to fanaticism and wreaked havoc, demon worshippers also suffered significant losses.

    While it might have been a case of “a blind cat catching a dead rat,” this incident unfortunately led to demon worshippers becoming more meticulous and cautious.

    They adapted to avoid detection by groups like the “Inquisition,” which Kate belongs to, acting as ordinary individuals on the surface and revealing their true colors only when the inquisitors were absent.

    Only two individuals in the Luminous Church possess the ability to declare a “sanctuary”: the Pope and the Grand Inquisitor, Kate.

    Before the onset of the Racial Wars, humans were embroiled in conflicts among themselves, and the elves faced internal turmoil.

    As for the beastfolk, who had yet to establish a proper civilization, they were hardly a consideration.

    The demonic beings, on the other hand, were treated as no different from demons themselves.

    Even the dwarves, who were relatively stable, paid little attention to demon worshippers, as they were too busy supplying weapons for the humans’ civil wars.

    Finally, with the eruption of the Racial Wars, all conditions were met for demon worshippers to run rampant without interference.

    Entire villages with little external contact fell into demon worship, nobles and clergy were corrupted, and the tendrils of demon worship began to spread worldwide.

    Though they failed, demon worshippers even attempted to summon demons, demonstrating just how dangerous they had become.

    Thanks to the Chronicles of Zenon, their existence has been exposed, but it will take a long time to eradicate them completely.

    A Peaceful-Looking Village

    “Mom.”

    “Ah, is my little Laura awake?”

    “Mm-hmm.”

    In an ordinary house in a small village, a young girl greeted a woman.

    She had brown hair and brown eyes, a color palette that wasn’t particularly striking.

    Still, her adorable appearance hinted at a bright future for this pre-teen girl.

    The woman, who seemed to have passed down her features to her daughter, smiled lovingly at her child.

    “Breakfast will be ready soon, so wait at the table, okay?”

    “Okay.”

    Laura, a well-behaved girl, obediently made her way to the dining table.

    When she arrived, her eyes landed on a sturdy-looking man sitting there.

    The man, presumably her father, was engrossed in a newspaper, obscuring his face.

    “Dad, Dad!”

    “Hm? Oh! Did my little girl wake up?”

    Hearing his daughter’s voice, the man immediately set the newspaper aside, a warm smile spreading across his rugged face.

    His square jaw, unkempt beard, and short-cropped hair left a strong impression.

    “Hold me!”

    “Of course!”

    Her father, utterly charmed by her morning affection, hugged her tightly. His happiness was evident, needing no further explanation.

    While in her father’s embrace, Laura caught a glimpse of the newspaper he had been reading.

    The partially folded headline stood out to her.

    “Zenon declares war... A full-scale confrontation with demon worshippers disguised as an event?”

    “...!”

    Thud!

    The moment Laura read the title aloud, her father’s face turned pale, and he hastily threw the newspaper to the floor.

    He was so flustered he didn’t even bother folding it properly.

    Confused by his strange behavior, Laura tilted her head, her young mind unable to grasp the situation’s oddity.

    “Dad.”

    “Y-yeah?”

    “What does ‘event’ mean?”

    Shifting his gaze downward to meet her curious brown eyes, he swallowed hard and carefully began explaining.

    “...’Event’ is a word used in many contexts. It can mean a festival or a celebration, but it can also describe something unexpected happening. Generally, it’s used for positive occurrences in your life.”

    From the outside, it seemed like a normal, harmless explanation.

    “Got it. So, offering sacrifices to the Father of All is also an event?”

    Before the man could finish his sentence, a loud pounding echoed through the house, catching everyone’s attention.

    “Who could it be at this hour?”

    “Maybe Mr. Jake is here, hungover and looking for soup?”

    “Ha, that guy. Does he think this is some kind of diner?”

    The man, used to such interruptions, stood up without much concern. Laura watched his back for a moment before moving her own feet.

    She headed toward the basement, a place with a special purpose.

    It wasn’t unusual for houses in the village to have basements. Laura thought it was normal.

    “Who’s there?”

    “Ah, pardon me. Would this be the residence of...”

    Laura barely registered the sounds behind her as she descended the stairs.

    The deeper she went, the darker it became, but the pitch-blackness posed no obstacle.

    She was too accustomed to it—so much so that she could navigate the stairs with her eyes closed.

    “This is how it’s supposed to be...”

    She muttered to herself as she reached the bottom of the stairs. Before her stood a heavy iron door with a small window for peering inside, reminiscent of a prison for sinners.

    Creak—

    Laura carefully pushed the door open. The hinges, poorly oiled, emitted an unpleasant noise.

    Beyond the door, the room came into view, filled with “educational tools,” including what appeared to be toys.

    A coiled whip hung on the wall, and there was even a skewer that seemed designed for torture rather than instruction.

    These were anything but suitable for lessons or play. They were tools of torment. Yet Laura remained unaware of this truth.

    Her parents and the villagers had taught her otherwise: these were all stepping stones for her “growth.”

    Swish—

    Before her father arrived, Laura began to remove her clothes, starting with her top. To receive her lessons, exposing her upper body sufficed.

    Soon, her torso was fully exposed, revealing a body just entering puberty. However, it also displayed the scars and marks inflicted by “lessons.”

    Bruises adorned her arms, and her back bore severe scars, likely from untreated lashings.

    There were even burn marks, evidence of a red-hot skewer pressed against her skin.

    Thud. Thud. Thud.

    “He’s coming...”

    The sound of footsteps beyond the door reached her ears.

    Laura shivered in anticipation of the forthcoming lesson.

    However, lost in her fear, she failed to notice two critical details: there was more than one set of footsteps, and her father had not carried a torch earlier.

    “Seriously, these people are insane. The whole village seems to be under the grip of some cult.”

    “Sounds like it. I heard they call Zenon’s Chronicles a wicked book.”

    “Unbelievable. But what is this place... oh, no.”

    These voices didn’t belong to her father.

    Confused, Laura opened her eyes and turned around.

    There, holding torches and wearing astonished expressions, stood strangers she had never seen before.

    They weren’t villagers—no one in the village carried such equipment.

    “Who... who are you?”

    “Why is a child here... and what are those wounds?”

    “There’s a whip hanging here. And, damn it, skewers too?!”

    “This is sick. Call the priest right away. This is serious.”

    The strangers muttered among themselves, their words incomprehensible to Laura.

    Where was her father? Why were they here?

    As she struggled to make sense of the situation, one of the torchbearers slowly approached her.

    “Are you okay, little one? Can you stand?”

    “Who... who are you, mister?”

    The man seemed momentarily stunned by being called “mister,” but he quickly composed himself.

    “Let’s get you out of here first, okay?”

    “But... but my dad’s coming for my lesson...”

    “Lesson?”

    The man frowned at the word.

    To Laura, his stern expression seemed frightening, causing her to shrink back.

    After surveying the room filled with instruments of torment, he asked in disbelief.

    “...Is that what your lessons involve?”

    “Yes.”

    “When did they start?”

    “When I was seven...”

    “And how old are you now?”

    “Twelve...”

    “Unbelievable.” He muttered a curse under his breath before extending his hand.

    “Come on, stand up.”

    “But my dad...”

    Laura, deeply indoctrinated, refused to move, her brown eyes clouded with confusion.

    The man looked at her scarred body with pity before draping his cloak over her.

    Then, softly stroking her head, he said with a reassuring smile:

    “Think of it as playing hooky for a day.”