To You Who Will Destroy Me - Chapter 132

‘The story aligns with the mural,’ Varkan thought as he processed the folktale Yan Louis had shared. After a moment of silent contemplation, he spoke.

“…That’s it? That’s the whole story?”

“Well, yeah, that’s how it ends. The husband got what he wanted, but it leaves a pretty bad taste in your mouth, right? Actually, the story might’ve continued, but…” Yan trailed off, looking a bit sheepish.

“But what?” Varkan pressed.

“Well, the old woman’s parents dragged her away before she could hear the rest. They were furious, saying the story was blasphemy. They didn’t want her to hear any more of it.”

A frown creased Varkan’s face. Blasphemy? That was a strong word. Yan Louis smacked his lips, clearly disappointed that the story had been cut short.

“Blasphemy, huh?” Varkan echoed, turning the term over in his mind.

“What happened to Paulo after that?” he asked.

“He disappeared one day. Apparently, before he left, he said he wanted to see an old lover before he died,” Yan replied.

“So, he must have finished his final masterpiece before leaving,” Varkan muttered, almost to himself. His cigar had burned down to the end by now. He tapped the ash away and used the last glowing ember to sear into Ramon’s already tortured skin, extinguishing it.

“Gah!” Ramon let out a pitiful groan, his voice hoarse from the hours of torment.

The story intrigued Varkan. Was it merely a folktale, or had Paulo Christopher immortalized it in the mural for a deeper reason? Why had the old woman’s parents deemed the tale sacrilegious? And why had Paulo, with such a banal-sounding story, carved it into stone?

Luckily, Varkan thought, glancing toward the man writhing on the floor, we have someone here who would know about blasphemy.

With a snap of his fingers, the gag in Ramon’s mouth burned away, turning to ash.

“Huh… kuh…” Even though his mouth was freed, Ramon was still scarcely coherent, overwhelmed by the sheer agony of his burns. He had lived a sheltered life, and this kind of pain was beyond anything he had ever experienced. He was half delirious, unable to focus.

“I know it hurts, but you’d better focus,” Varkan said with a twisted smile, his tone light but carrying a clear threat. When Ramon failed to respond beyond pitiful groaning, Varkan called over Phaesus.

“Bring the medicine.”

Without a word, Phaesus gestured, and a tiny doll dressed as a nurse scurried over, shoving painkillers into Ramon’s mouth. The doll deftly tilted his head back, forcing him to swallow. Slowly, the effects kicked in, and Ramon’s breathing grew steadier. He blinked up in a daze, looking down at his blackened arms with blank horror.

“Don’t worry too much. If you act quickly, you might still be able to save those arms,” Varkan said, his voice almost too soothing to be sincere.

The sweet lie dangled before Ramon, who had no choice but to believe it. He was still young and the thought of losing both arms was unbearable.

“But if you want to save them, you’ll need to answer my questions. Otherwise… it might be too late,” Varkan added, his words dripping with menace.

Ramon’s face grew paler as he gazed up at Varkan, trembling. The man in front of him was a monster. No human could smile so brightly while causing so much pain.

“Why did you go to that cave?” Varkan asked, his voice gentle but unyielding. He had already heard Ramon’s answer before but wanted to hear it again.

“It was… to convince the conservative faction within the Great Temple to cooperate with the royal family…”

“And what does that have to do with the mural?” Varkan’s eyes narrowed.

“Their condition for cooperation… was to destroy the cave… to make sure no trace of it remained,” Ramon stammered, his body trembling from the pain and fear.

“Destroy it? Why?” Varkan asked, his curiosity piqued.

“They didn’t want anyone to see the mural… or its contents,” Ramon replied, his voice cracking.

Varkan exhaled, pleased at how freely the answers were coming now. Ramon was spilling everything.

“What was so important about that mural? Why would they want to hide it so badly?”

Taking a long drag from his second cigar, Varkan lit the tip with a flick of his fingers. The sight of the flame alone made Ramon recoil, his fear palpable.

“The mural… it shakes the very foundation of our doctrines! It threatens to divide the Church and plunge the continent into chaos… and that is why…” Ramon’s voice shook, his words tumbling out in a desperate rush.

“I see,” Varkan said, blowing out smoke. “So, the mural isn’t just a folktale. It’s a myth, something that threatens your religion, your kingdom.”

“Please,” Ramon whimpered, unable to hide his desperation.

It was the first time he had begged so openly, his usually proud and composed demeanor completely shattered. There was something more—something so secret that not even a man like Ramon, who had freely admitted to conducting illegal experiments on Masaka and Risevra, was willing to speak of it.

“This doesn’t concern you… It’s between the royal family and the Great Temple. Please, stop asking…” Ramon begged, his eyes wide with fear.

“How odd,” Varkan said, tilting his head playfully. “Did I burn your brain as well? I thought I’d been careful.”

With that, he tapped Ramon’s skull lightly, as if checking for any damage, his expression mocking.

Ramon flinched at the touch, realizing there was no escape from this monster.

“I’m the one who decides. So, spill everything you know, every last detail. Make yourself useful to my ‘great’ decision,” Varkan declared, his voice oozing arrogance. He might not have a Vlad in his hand, but his presence screamed tyranny.

Ramon gritted his teeth. Having already lost the Breath, he couldn’t afford to let all his secrets slip out as well. But the fire pressed in closer, burning his already scorched flesh, and the pain was unbearable. He had no choice.

“…The Great Temple is on the verge of splitting in two. A long-standing issue has snowballed, and now, it’s too big to hide anymore,” Ramon admitted, his voice scarcely above a whisper.

“And what’s tearing you apart? The monarchy?” Varkan asked, biting down on the end of his cigar, clearly amused by the unfolding drama.

“That too, but the deeper issue is our doctrine,” Ramon answered.

“Doctrine? You’ve been following the same dogma for centuries. Why is it a problem now?” Varkan’s tone shifted slightly, curiosity beginning to seep through.

“Because until now, there was no proof, no evidence to support the doubts. But now, that evidence has emerged,” Ramon replied, his face grim.

Varkan’s fingers paused as he toyed with his cigar. He began connecting the dots in his mind, piecing together the implications of what Ramon had said.

“…The Breath,” Varkan murmured, his usual smile fading.

“Yes,” Ramon confirmed, his gaze lowering to his charred arms, reflecting the blackened state of his heart. “The mural in the cave depicts the myth of Hashiva, the Great God, and his wife, Nashiva. For ages, it was dismissed as baseless rumors, but now… now we have proof.”

“Proof in the form of The Breath,” Varkan concluded, his voice quiet but tense.

The Breath, the special power the husband had stolen from his wife—the power to nurture life itself—was real. The myth wasn’t just a story; it had been hidden, forgotten for so long, with The Breath kept far away on another continent, lost from everyone’s memory. Until the Vlad had brought it back to where it had originally belonged.

“That’s… impossible!” Yan Louis, listening from the sidelines, burst out in disbelief. As a Masaka, one of the “Children of the Great God,” the idea that his knowledge of the divine might be wrong was too much to bear. Even for someone working under Varkan, his reverence for Hashiva remained strong.

While Yan and others might oppose the Church, it was due to the actions of the clergy, not their faith in Hashiva. For every Masaka, Hashiva was their one and only father, their supreme deity. The suggestion that everything they had been taught was a lie was unfathomable.

“But what about Avihushan, the Evil God? He’s the one behind all this! He’s always been the root of the problem!” Yan cried, desperately clinging to the old teachings.

Varkan, visibly annoyed by Yan’s outburst, pressed the burning tip of his cigar into Ramon’s chest, cutting off the priest’s scream before letting him speak again.

“In ancient times, Nashiva’s name was spelled in the old language as NASHIVA,” Ramon explained, his voice quivering. “When written backward, it becomes… Avihushan.”

Varkan chuckled at the revelation, though Yan Louis looked as if the ground had fallen out from under him. The gentle goddess Nashiva, the so-called “Evil God” Avihushan—they were one and the same?

No, if this was true, Avihushan wasn’t evil at all. She had been the victim. It had been Hashiva, the Great God himself, who, driven by jealousy, had stolen her power and cast her into the abyss. He had even orchestrated it so that humanity would forever hate her, labeling her as an evil deity.

It all made sense now—the Church, the monarchy, their desperate need to hide the truth. Varkan could see it clearly: the West Continent revered Hashiva as the one true God. The Great Temple’s immense power was built on that belief. But if the truth came out, it would rock the entire continent to its core.

Rebellions against the Church would spring up everywhere, and those who had lost loved ones to Avihushan’s monstrous creations would demand answers. This was why the conservative faction within the Church was so determined to bury the mural and recover the Breath—to cover up the truth at all costs.

“So the Breath originally belonged to Nashiva, the goddess,” Varkan said, his tone pensive. “A forgotten power of a forgotten god.”

Had the Vlad always known this? Was that why they had been so intent on reclaiming the Breath? It made sense if they were, after all, the creations of Avihushan. They would want to return their mother’s stolen power, to restore her.

Varkan was about to press Ramon for more information when suddenly, the window shattered with a deafening crash.

CRASH!

Something flew in through the broken glass, landing on the ground with a clatter before releasing thick, swirling smoke into the air.

“Urgh!”

The room was covered with sulfur smoke and tear -tearings, and the bad smell stabbed the nose. The vision was blurred, the eyes tinged and inconvenient.

“What is this!!” Varkan’s voice boomed as he instinctively gathered his power, glaring out the window. Before he could act further, Phaesus hurriedly intervened.

“Boss, it’s sulfuric smoke! If you light a flame, it’ll explode!”

The trap was clearly designed with Varkan in mind. The enemy knew his affinity for fire and had planned accordingly. The smoke wasn’t just suffocating; it stung the eyes and clouded vision, making it hard to see clearly.

“Yan!” Varkan barked, calling for his scout.

Yan Louis immediately sprang into action, preparing to phase through the walls to scout the area outside. However, instead of passing through smoothly, his head collided with the wall with a loud thunk.

“Ow!!” Yan yelped, his eyes wide with surprise. He reached out, only for his hand to hit the wall once more. He couldn’t phase through.

“Boss, something’s not right!”

Varkan’s eyes narrowed, and a cold realization settled in.

“It’s him,” Varkan growled, teeth grinding in frustration.

He didn’t need any further clues to recognize who had arrived. There was only one person on the continent capable of nullifying the powers of Masaka like this—Philip Alswaiz, the Captain of the Royal Guard.

The man’s ability was infamous, making all Masaka’s abilities within range useless. It was an infuriating power, especially for someone like Varkan who thrived on his elemental control.

“The damn royal guard!” Phaesus spat, gripping Ramon by the collar, his eyes filled with frustration. “They must be here to rescue this scumbag.”

Phaesus strained to activate his own powers, but nothing happened. His dolls stood lifeless and still, their strings useless under Philip’s suppression field. Phaesus shook his head in despair, turning to Varkan.

“I can’t use my abilities! The field is neutralizing everything.”

Varkan, however, wasn’t deterred. A dangerous smile crept across his face, his sharp teeth glinting in the dim light.

“Interesting,” he said, his eyes blazing with fury and excitement. “Looks like they want to play.”

Varkan’s golden eyes flared with an inner fire, even though his abilities were currently suppressed. His body tensed with scarcely contained rage, ready for a fight. He knew that while his powers were nullified, his physical prowess remained untouched. And he welcomed the challenge.

“Fine,” he snarled, cracking his knuckles. “Let’s see if they’ve got the guts to back up their little stunt.”

With the field suppressing all Masaka powers, this would be a battle of pure skill, strength, and cunning. Varkan’s smile widened as he prepared to take on Philip and his men head-on.

“Bring it on,” he growled, stepping forward, his body radiating the promise of a brutal fight.