Chapter 141

Malice Lure

In the shadowy corner, Fenrir crouched at the bend in the hallway and turned his head to whisper to Lucy behind him, “Have I ever told you that you’re an absolute genius when it comes to the Law of the Soul?”

“Using ‘Malice Lure’ for the first time, and you actually managed to amplify a fanatic’s emotions silently and without a trace.”

“You made a man who’s been spineless for thirty years feel the urge to kill.”

Although Lucy hadn’t directly influenced Maurice’s faith, she had successfully incited his fury.

Indeed, the fury inside the priest’s room at that moment, nearly solid enough to take form, didn’t belong to Maurice himself. It was a fire meticulously ignited in secret by the silver-haired girl.

If that guy had even a shred of backbone, he wouldn’t have been bullied by Bishop Anthony for so long.

With his experience, he should never have remained a mere priest.

“I didn’t bring you out of the Abyss of Nightmares just to spectate,” Lucy said, extending her leg to kick Fenrir. “Switch to your soul form, get on his shoulder, and relay my message.”

The dog rubbed his rump in protest.

“You actually want a god to be your messenger?!”

Lucy narrowed her eyes dangerously. Her silver hair, under the sunlight, reflected a threatening metallic sheen.

“Don’t think I don’t know you’ve been secretly recovering your divine power lately. Want me to send you to the Soul School’s lab? I heard they’re short on research specimens.”

Fenrir’s furry face instantly turned pale.

What those deranged wizards might do could instill fear even in the heart of a god.

He immediately stood on his hind legs and patted his chest with his front paws in earnest. “Leave the messaging to me! Woof~”

With that, his body gradually turned transparent until it disappeared completely.

But under the enhancement of “Soul Scent,” Lucy could still “see” Fenrir trotting into Maurice’s bedroom and then settling on his shoulder.

Fenrir cleared his throat and, following the voice whispering in his ear, began to repeat the message.

“Tell me, who do you want to kill?”

“Perhaps I can help you!”

...

The sudden voice startled Maurice so much that he fell to the floor.

He frantically looked around, scanning every possible hiding spot in the room.

But of course, it was all in vain.

“Who? Who’s there?!”

His voice trembled, and he completely forgot that he was a clergyman, someone who wielded powers beyond common comprehension—so-called “miracles.”

Fenrir picked his nose and relayed, “Me?”

“I am, of course, the great and all-knowing deity! You may call me the great Moon-Eater—Fenrir!”

Lucy’s face darkened in the corner.

This guy hadn’t used the fabricated identity she had prepared—instead, he revealed his real name.

“I don’t care who you are! Come out right now!” Maurice finally gathered his composure. He raised his hand, and as he chanted, a beam of golden light appeared out of thin air and enveloped him completely.

The dust in the air was swept away, and even the atmosphere felt noticeably fresher.

This was a miracle every clergyman was required to master—Purification.

All filth and sin would be cleansed by the light of the divine.

But just as Maurice relaxed, thinking the voice had vanished—

“I told you, I’m a god. Why would holy light harm me?”

Unfortunately, Maurice wasn’t listening at all.

“My lord is none other than the great Lord of Desires—Thorn. He is the one true god... No, I must go find Bishop Anthony at once.”

Just as Maurice reached out and gripped the doorknob—

“You really intend to go to that man who seized your estate and stole the bishop’s seat from you?” Fenrir’s voice rang out once more. “The one you just wanted to kill—now you're going to him for help? Tsk. What a pitiful life.”

Maurice felt a chill run through his entire body. The oval-shaped doorknob slipped from his sweat-slicked palm.

“I... I didn’t actually plan to kill Bishop Anthony. What I said just now was just an angry outburst…” His dry explanation couldn’t even convince himself.

Perched on his shoulder, Fenrir watched Maurice’s contorted expression coldly, his face full of disdain and contempt.

Yet his voice remained calm.

“Do as you please. Whether you kill him or not has little to do with me.”

With that, he fell completely silent, as though everything that had just happened was merely a hallucination.

No one knew how much time passed.

Finally, Maurice couldn’t hold back and asked, “Are... are you still there?”

“Mhm.”

“You said earlier... that you’re also a deity?!”

“Didn’t I already tell you that?”

The Moon-Eater—Fenrir.

It was as if Maurice had found a crack to cling to. He grew somewhat excited and said, “But the Holy Tome of Thorn states that my lord is the one and only omniscient and omnipotent true god!”

“Calls himself the only one? Just as I thought—a bunch of undisciplined outer gods,” Fenrir scoffed. “Even in the Nightmare Plane, your so-called leader, the Lord of Desires, wouldn’t dare call himself ‘the only’ or ‘the great.’”

“Otherwise, the true Lord of Nightmares would have skinned him alive and torn him to pieces.”

In any plane, those who dared call themselves “great” were without exception the most powerful beings. But as the weakest of the three gods of the plane, the Lord of Desires clearly didn’t meet that standard.

Maurice opened his mouth as if to retort, yet for some reason, he instinctively chose to believe Fenrir’s words.

His lord was neither the only god nor worthy of being called great, and the content revered by the Nightmare Faith in the Holy Tome of Thorn actually contained errors.

Was it a mistranslation when the pope conveyed the divine oracle, or...

He didn’t dare think any further.

“Why... why would you come to me?”

The voice in his ear was full of laziness. Fenrir yawned and said, “I didn’t come to you. I just happened to be passing by, heard someone say they wanted to kill, and came over to take a look. But...”

Fenrir’s voice paused, as if he were considering something.

Maurice swallowed hard.

“But what?”

“Heh... But since you don’t have the guts, then forget it.”

“No! It’s not that I don’t have the guts, it’s just... just that there’s no need.” Maurice hastily tried to explain.

But even he didn’t believe his own words.

At the same time, a deep resentment that had simmered in his heart for over a decade finally erupted.

Back when the Nightmare Faith was first established in Auckland, his fellow believers had all risen to become bishops or even archbishops. Only he had been trampled by Anthony on the way up.

He would never forget the way Anthony flaunted himself the day he became bishop—how he gloated right in Maurice’s face.

No, it wasn’t just that one day. It was every day.

And when he thought about that chest of gold coins and the estate deed, Maurice’s expression grew more twisted and contorted.

“Hmph, what a coward.”

Maurice was stunned.

“What... what did you say?”

“I said you’re a coward,” Fenrir raised his voice. “To kill a worthless man whose faith is weaker than yours, whose miracles are weaker than yours, who’s not even as strong as you physically and you still had to hesitate for half your life. Someone like you? I wouldn’t even accept you as my follower.”

“No wonder that Thorn fellow doesn’t want you to be a bishop.”

Maurice felt something clench in his chest.

He was just about to defend himself, to say he wasn’t a coward but then he suddenly realized something.

“You said... I’m stronger than Anthony?!”