Chapter 46
Veris couldn't help but laugh. He pulled away, but his laughter didn't stop at all, as if he had heard something very good.
Sylvain lagged half a step behind, turned his head to the side, and saw the top of his head. Because his hair had grown long, he didn't bother with it. Now it was tied into a small braid hanging down the back of his head, and the hair on his temples wasn't long enough and was hanging down the sides of his face.
He doesn't look like the Pope who looks down on the world from a high place at all; he looks more like a poet singing and playing music on the street.
The moment she opens her mouth, she utters the sweetest love words in the world; her fingertips play ambiguous melodies as she smiles at you.
“I’ve got something good. I’ll show it to you later, then I’ll head to the Land of Fallen Gods.” Veris was still talking. He was quite sensitive to other people’s gazes, but if the gaze belonged to Sylvain, he would automatically ignore it.
Sylvain looked at him and asked, "Are you leaving again this time?"
The words carried a hint of pitifulness. After a pause, and confirming it wasn't just his imagination, he awkwardly touched his nose and coughed a few times: "I'll probably stay a little longer."
After thinking for a moment, he added, "I'm considering going to the Royal Capital Academy."
Upon hearing this, Sylvain's eyes turned cold, and he said cryptically, "I'll be graduating this year."
Generally speaking, the study period at the Royal Capital Academy is three years, and at most ten years. Last spring, Veris brought Sylvan to the Royal Capital, sent him to the Royal Capital Academy, and then ran back to Albion to stay.
Sylvan's talent is such that three years of study at the Royal Capital Academy would be a waste. Students at magic academies usually graduate in five years, but Sylvan only needs two years to complete all the academy trials. In the spring, or probably next month, he will graduate from the Royal Capital Academy and officially enter the Grand Papacy.
He was nominally a student of Veris, but his daily routine consisted of attending other instructors' classes, accumulating credits, completing major assignments, and finally, undergoing trials.
He was quite busy last year, but starting this year, he spends more time at the Papacy.
During his two years of study, Veris rarely appeared in public. Although he was nominally the Pope's student, in everyone's eyes, the Pope had never even taught him.
Knowing he was in the wrong, Veris leaned closer and smiled ingratiatingly, "I'm just going through the motions. How can those people compare to you? I don't need to worry."
Sylvain remained silent with a cold expression.
The cloak of the person beside him still carried the chill of ice and snow, mixed with the faint fragrance of hair. Sylvain didn't know where it came from; he had secretly sniffed it before, and perhaps Veris was just born with a pleasant scent.
Although the graduation ceremony is scheduled for next month, Sylvain has already received his certificate, so the ceremony is irrelevant.
He wanted to ask Veris if he would attend his graduation ceremony, but then he felt that the answer was not what he wanted.
...He didn't want to be disappointed.
Those deep green eyes were veiled by long eyelashes. Sylvain said softly, "The new spellbook has been replaced, the old one—"
"Alright, alright, let's not talk about that anymore. We rarely have free time, so let's not talk about official business," Veris said seriously, covering his mouth.
Revising the magic book, preventing the revival of the Seven Gods, and taking in future members of the Hero Squad—all these were official duties for Veris.
He's already back in his own backyard, with his dearest friend whom he's been longing for all these years and finally managed to reincarnate successfully beside him, so he doesn't want to hear any of this.
The movement was swift and the retreat caught everyone off guard. The cool fragrance and the equally chilly skin touched his lips briefly before pulling away, successfully interrupting Sylvain's words and leaving his mind blank for a moment.
By the time he came to his senses, Veris had already walked forward.
He took a slight breath and quickly caught up with Veris.
After passing through long corridors and several identity verification mechanisms, one arrives at the heart of the Papacy.
Veris remained silent, and Sylvain, though hesitant, also kept quiet.
As he watched the person walk in a certain direction, his gaze was intense, and he followed closely behind, just like a clingy little dog.
I followed him and watched him go into the restaurant through the side door, then go around to the second floor and walk straight inside.
The restaurant was still lit up at this hour, but the second floor was completely empty. However, the kitchen inside was filled with the sounds of clattering and the sweet aroma that permeated the air.
As they came up from the first floor, the people in the restaurant stared wide-eyed as the Holy Son followed behind a young man. Only after the young man disappeared into the corridor on the second floor did they turn to their companions and whisper about what kind of person could make the Holy Son follow him.
Veris was just hungry; he had given all his food to Astor, and seeing the child eating while crying, he couldn't help but give it all away.
But when he peeked into the kitchen and spotted a huge figure, his face darkened.
Clark looked up with a grin when he noticed the person at the door. The restaurant on the second floor was usually where the archbishop and the Holy Son ate. He remembered that the Holy Son and the Holy Saint had just finished their prayers, and Garcia would be starting his prayers in a little while. There was Granvar between the two of them. The person who had come to the restaurant for a late-night snack must be his old buddy Garcia, right?
Clark's smile froze on his face as he was piping cream.
Back at the Papacy, the Pope, in his true form, gestured with his chin and said, "Your cake is doomed."
Clark looked as if he had seen a ghost, and suddenly shoved the cream-piping tool in his hand into the cake, then squatted down and began to crawl towards the back door.
Is he dreaming? When did His Holiness the Pope return?!
Clark, who was trying to escape, hadn't moved for long when a pair of black boots appeared in front of him, slightly reflective. He blinked, looked up blankly, and met a pair of heterochromatic eyes that filled him with fear.
Veris gave a forced smile: "Why are you running, Clark?"
"What have you done wrong that you run away when you see me?" His tone was dangerous.
Not far away, Sylvain silently reheated the semi-finished product he had prepared.
Clark lay on the ground, sweating profusely despite the cold winter. His mind was foggy as he thought about it. He hadn't done anything wrong recently and had even resolved the matter with the elves, so what was he feeling guilty about?
He even cooked the Pope's lunch and dinner a while ago!
Thinking about it this way, he felt a little more confident and gave Veris a fawning smile, but from this angle, it was difficult for him to lift his neck.
Only the lower half of the Pope's face could be seen.
"No, Lord Orlando, I... I just remembered I'm picking up Garcia later, I almost forgot." Clark decided to drag his old friend into the mess.
However, Veris merely glanced at him and nodded with an "Mm".
there is none left?
Clark was a little nervous when, just then, a voice like that of a savior rang out.
Sylvain came over and asked Veris if he wanted some tea, successfully drawing Veris's attention away. The Pope followed him toward the counter, and Clark, seeing this, quickly got up and ran outside.
He thought to himself, "My Lord, I, Clark, will never forget your kindness!"
As expected of the Holy Son, he spoke to the Pope so calmly. If it were him, he would tremble even after saying just a few words.
After crawling out the back door, Clark finally remembered why he felt so guilty.
...It seems he and Garcia didn't complete their tasks from last quarter, leaving them all to their subordinates, and they didn't do them very well. He just cleaned up the mess a few days ago.
Can resolving the elven issue atone for my sins...?
Since returning, Granvar hasn't done any work. He spends all his time squatting in his study writing, and every few days he has people secretly take his writings to the market to sell. Now the entire capital is reading his extremely bizarre stories.
Never mind, luckily I ran fast.
Inside the kitchen, Sylvain watched the semi-finished products steaming again, plated the food, and then turned to see Veris standing in front of the small stove, cooking something.
In addition to the aroma of roasted meat, the air was also filled with a sweet and cloying scent.
Veris stared at the bubbling, boiling milk with great satisfaction. He reached into the bottles and jars beside him, grabbed one at random, examined it, unscrewed the cap, and began pouring it into the milk.
Sylvain hesitated for a moment, then finally asked, "What is this?"
Veris looked down at the discolored milk: "I don't know, it seems to be a mixture of jams. It smells like several different flavors, and it looks delicious."
“I think we could sprinkle some more pepper,” he suddenly said excitedly.
Sylvain: "..."
Actually, many of the pope's exotic recipes that were sung at the Albion tavern back then... were not all fabrications.
When Veris's taste is out in public, there's no sign of anything wrong with him; he seems no different from a normal person.
Once he enters a large restaurant, a place with abundant ingredients and plenty of room for him to create, it's as if he awakens some kind of consciousness, and the process of making food becomes comparable to creating a magical potion.
Actually, the food that Clark made back then wasn't something he deliberately played on the Pope.
It's just that His Holiness the Pope himself does things that are easy to misunderstand!
However, Veris refuses to admit that his cooking is hellish.
Finally, Sylvain sat at the other end of the table, watching Veris enjoy his dinner.
Dinner was similar to what he had eaten in the restaurant that evening. The leftover food was placed on a magic circle to keep it fresh, so that if the archbishop got hungry after the prayers, he could come over and have a late-night snack.
The food on the plate looked normal, but the steaming cup of mixed jam and boiled milk next to Veris was anything but.
The black specks floating on top are black pepper powder.
The rich, sweet flavor is mixed with a touch of spiciness.
Suddenly, Sylvain's eyes paused, and his expression became slightly tense. He stared at Veris for a while, his gaze fixed on the wisps of hair at the young man's temples.
It's not a lighting issue.
He spoke, his face unusually uncharacteristically pale: "Your hair has turned white."
In a secular sense, gray hair signifies aging and death; some people's hair turns gray overnight due to a huge blow.
The stray hairs hanging by Veris's ears had turned pure white at the ends, creating a black and white gradient as they went upwards.
Veris had almost finished eating. Holding the strange drink, he looked up at Sylvain and saw that his friend looked very nervous. He reached out and touched his hair.
He said nonchalantly, "You mean this? It's nothing, it's normal."
Sylvain, still uneasy, pressed for details: "What exactly happened?"
Veris glanced at him, then suddenly smiled and said, "Don't be nervous, you'll be like this soon."
Seeing the confusion on Sylvain's face, Veris took a sip of his drink, stood up, and said, "I'll tell you when we get back. This isn't the place to talk."
The main dining room wasn't far from the bishops' residences. Sylvain kept staring at the swaying black and white strands of hair the whole way, his mind filled with all sorts of guesses. Veris told him not to be nervous, that it shouldn't be anything serious.
But it always made him feel uneasy.
I didn't encounter many people on the way, and I easily made my way to the familiar corridor.
In the quiet corridor, various magic arrays flickered the moment Veris stepped in, but only for a brief second before falling silent again.
Deep within the Papacy, it was already a very safe location.
Veris spoke up: "Sylvain, do you know what you were in your past life?"
Sylvain pursed his lips, his face slightly cold, but still answered, "One of the Seven Gods."
Gods cannot be reincarnated, and he does not know where he came from. Sometimes he even wonders if he is just a mortal whose physical form resembles that of Veris's close friend who died hundreds of years ago.
The two stood in front of the door, and Veris placed his palm on it. The door opened automatically, and the lights inside illuminated the entire bedroom.
After the person went inside, the door closed on its own.
The following content must not be leaked.
The bedroom was large, with a lot of decorations and furniture. In the corner, there was a pile of clutter that Veris hadn't had time to tidy up. Sylvain had offered to clean it up for him, but Veris had refused.
The young man walked up to the huge bookshelf, the lower half of which was a display shelf. His fingertips brushed across the cold surface of the display shelf, finally stopping in a space where a single book was placed.
He didn't take the book down, but instead ran his fingertips along the rough surface of the pages.
Sylvain stood behind him, listening to the clear voice say, "Your past life was that of a demon from hell, who slept for ten thousand years, and the progenitor of the demon race."
As a new day dawned, the church bells rang out in the distance, one after another. How could such a vicious creature as the demon race possibly appear in this sacred place, a pilgrimage site that gathers countless people and people of different races?
Sylvain's pupils contracted. Even though he had guessed it, he couldn't quite describe how he felt when he actually heard Veris say it.
He lowered his eyes, his tone still barely managing to remain calm: "Is this why you never allow me to kill in front of you?"
Demonic lust and a twisted, obsessive personality are inherent traits, and these traits are now frantically afflicting Sylvain as the signs of the Seven Gods' resurgence intensify.
Veris readily admitted it, turning to look at Sylvain with a serious expression: "I had this plan from the moment I realized you would return to this world."
The deity who rules over hell, an indescribable being feared by countless people. Even those who are gods themselves dread this deity and even curse Him to sleep forever in the tower of hell.
After Veris obtained Sylvain's divine status, he also inherited most of his memories, except for the memories of Sylvain as a human.
He saw endless malice, curses, and fear intertwined, overwhelming his soul in an instant; his fragile godhood was no match for such terrifying power.
On that twilight battlefield, the young man knelt beside his best friend's corpse, his white hair gradually blackened by the endless curse, as if the remnants of a demon's consciousness had left its unique mark on him.
His divine essence was also corrupted and later completely devoured. If he wanted, he could immediately become a new demon and become the only god in an era when all the other six gods had perished.
Veris did not do that. He simply used his remaining divine power to painstakingly suppress his friend's divine status, minimizing the impact on himself.
He still hoped that if Sylvain were to come back to life one day, he would return the divinity to Sylvain.
The heterochromatic eyes reflected his friend's face. Veris's expression softened, and he said softly, "I altered your memories, Sylvain."
"Your hair wasn't like this at first."
He stood in front of Sylvain, raised his hand and curled up a strand of silvery hair on the other's chest, as if admiring his most perfect masterpiece, his tone smug: "There are still remnants of demons in your soul. I used my faith to burn away all those remaining malices. My faith was too much and too vast, and your hair gradually became like this."
Pale fingertips and silvery hair intertwined, falling into those deep green eyes.
His tone was somewhat strained: "Why?"
That so-called past life probably wouldn't care about other people's malice, right?
He thought it that way, and he said it aloud.
Veris stared at him intently, as if pondering whether his dearest friend from his memories would have said the same thing. He concluded that Sylvain would have given the same answer, both then and now.
However, he still pouted, looking rather unhappy: "Just because you don't care doesn't mean I don't care either."
In the large bedroom, with only the two of them, the light seemed a bit too bright. Sylvain felt his heart pounding. Without hesitation, he humbled himself and said that he hadn't considered Veris.
Veris waved his hand. "Not many people know about the resurgence of the Seven Gods. I originally thought I was the only one who knew. But it seems that's not the case after we came all the way from Albion. After we return to the capital, there will probably be a lot of trouble. After the coronation ceremony, you will stay in the Grand Papacy and not go anywhere."
His attitude was unusually firm. He gripped Sylvain's arm, and the emotion in his eyes was more serious: "I think I have the confidence to fight against those gods who are not thinking straight, but I can't guarantee what humans who are blinded by greed will do. The Papacy is the culmination of my years of hard work, and it is also the place I feel is relatively safe."
“You are very strong, but compared to the power of a god, it’s nothing. Sylvan, everyone can die, but you cannot.”
His words were more resolute than ever before. The demon godhood seemed to still have a residual influence on him, but only Veris could vaguely sense that those words were probably his true feelings.
Centuries of solitude, countless nights of replaying the past—he truly could not accept that his soul, which had been lost and found again, would leave once more.
Last time, Sylvain was willing to die for him.
He didn't want a life for a life; he wanted those gods who dared to interfere in human civilization again to be buried with their dead friends.
The chill in his heterochromatic eyes vanished in an instant. Veris released his grip on his friend's arm, and his usual smile returned to his face.
But the oppressive aura released in that instant, the ruthlessness rarely shown to Sylvain, was enough to make the young man's soul tremble.
Sylvain's long, slender fingers curled slightly. The warmth of Veris's hand seemed to linger on his arm. Suddenly, nothing else mattered. At least for now, Veris only had eyes for him.
If that past life, which was so dead it couldn't be dead anymore, had any secrets, it would have been crushed into minced meat and rotted into ashes long ago.
The new era belongs to him and Veris. As the Holy Son, he will inherit everything from Veris, including himself.
Seeing the faint smile on his face, Veris felt relieved, thinking that Sylvain had taken his words to heart, and sent him back to rest.
Before leaving, Sylvain remembered something and asked, "Shall we continue the prayer?"
Veris waved his hand: "Replace the statue with a statue of Cupid. If He were conscious, He would love to hear that."
Especially since even the former devil was kneeling before the statue praying, his mother would be ecstatic if she knew.
When his divine status was covered by the demonic divine status, the god of love cursed him with many harsh words, mainly calling Sylvain shameless for using this method to bind His son.
Veris didn't quite understand, but he knew that his mother's cursing power was still formidable.
The battle of Cupid was the final battle, and Cupid would certainly not lay a hand on his son. He knew that this might be the last moment of his consciousness, so he held Veris and said many random things.
Their hands were covered in the blood of the gods.
The bedroom fell silent again. Veris walked to the window and gazed at the still brightly lit capital city.
His eyes were calm, but his thoughts seemed to have returned to that twilight, where the shattered mirror and the sky merged into one.
The divine status of the god of love is about to complete its final transition, and the divine power belonging to the god of love is also perfectly transferred to Veris. The face of that benevolent yet selfish powerful god gradually becomes blurred.
His translucent fingertips traced his greatest work, and as he brushed through the messy stray hairs, he was still indignant: "Such beautiful white hair, it looked so good, and now that old man has ruined it all."
Veris was both amused and exasperated, but still defended his friend: "If it weren't for him, I wouldn't be able to beat Yannis."
Cupid was still displeased. Looking at his child, he finally sighed, "My child, are you really not going to salvage even a little bit of your divinity?"
The youth remained silent.
Cupid cursed Sylvain again, "Damn old man, you tied my son up, and now you won't even let him date?!"
"...This doesn't really matter, does it?"
"You don't know anything!"
Veris shrank back; his mother was still as outspoken as ever.
Much later, long afterward, when Lortheran was old and dying, he went to visit his old friend who had founded a new kingdom, and only then did he vaguely recall these words.
Lortheran glanced at him; he was clearly dying, yet he looked quite energetic. Curious, she asked, "Veris, haven't you thought about finding a companion all these years? It's really hard to live alone."
Veris, sitting in a chair, looked up at the question: "Looking for a companion? Why?"
Lortheran persisted: "Don't you have anyone you like? Besides Sylvain?"
Upon hearing his words, Veris's face fell. Still concerned that the man was about to die, he said in a good-natured tone, "I'm not interested in romance, nor do I need to harm others. Besides, what does this have to do with Sylvain?"
Lortheran sized him up, shrugged, and scoffed, "Sylvain's bewitched you."
Back when they were adventuring, Sylvain would glare at anyone who got close to Veris, especially those who were somewhat attractive, because Veris liked good-looking people.
Veris was displeased and threatened Lortheran: "If you don't speak properly, I'll turn you into an undead and imprison you in the High Church."
A grin spread across Lortheran's aged face: "I said, how many years are you going to live as a widow for Sylvain?"
His Holiness the Pope stood up to leave, too lazy to continue the conversation with his old friend.
Just as he was about to leave through the gate, Lortheran suddenly spoke something. Veris, who caught a word, turned around sharply, only to find that Lortheran had already closed his eyes.
The cold wind rattled against the window, pulling Veris back to reality.
A blurry black figure appeared behind him. Without turning his head, he said calmly, "You've come."
The shadowy figure made a sound, just as indistinct as the real thing, but Veris was already used to it.
"If he really regains his memory, do you want to ask him?"
“No,” Veris refused decisively.
The shadowy figure: "Huh, you seem guilty."
Veris turned around, looking at the weak undead who had survived for a hundred years, and said in a dangerous tone, "Lotheran, I could kill you with one slap."
The undead Lor'theran chuckled: "See, you're in a hurry again."
-
Sylvain had a dream.
In his dream, he was locked in a fierce battle with the god he loathed.
They frantically tore at each other's flesh and soul.
He seized the body.
He regained his memories.
-----------------------
Author's Note: The catalyst has arrived.
The empress has arrived too (not really).
The Mysterious History of the Seven Secrets
Influenced by his mother's various love stories, Veris is quite interested in dating games.
However, staying with the hero squad meant there was no opportunity to experiment.
Later, Lortheran decided to stay in a certain city, intending to conserve his strength and prepare for battles in all directions.
Veris felt his chance had come.
After wandering around the city, he felt as if his eyes had been hurt countless times.
When he got back and saw Sylvain, he hugged his friend and cried.
As usual, Sylvain first comforted him before asking what was wrong.
Veris, faking tears, says, "I want to find a young and beautiful girl to date, but they're not as good-looking as me."
Sylvain (coldly): "Oh, serves you right."
"He's not even as good-looking as you!"
Sylvain's expression softened slightly: "Yes."
Veris held Sylvain's hand and said, "If you were a girl, I would definitely marry you."
Sylvain's expression cracked, he shook off his hand, and walked away coldly.
Standing there, Veris was puzzled: "What's wrong with him?"
Lortheran, who was passing by, thought: "He probably hates that he has this [beep] on him."
Veris (with a disgusted look): This person is just as vulgar as my mother.
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com
