Chapter 289: History

To make the church an imposing entity, power is essential.

Therefore, any clergy who passes his tests and inspections can use his converter to harness his power along with that of the church.

Yes, using his converter, just as he learned the three spells of witchcraft from Geoffrey.

He realized that these spells merely served as converters in his hands, enhancing the effect of the magic power. Thus, he could manipulate the spell Exorcio to transform magic power into various forms of attack.

However, he still needed to further study this.

York maintained an impassive expression, allowing Mirta behind him to show a determined face appropriate for a clergy member as she pushed open the main door.

A heavy stench of blood filled the air, which York dispersed the moment he opened the door.

What appeared before them resembled a school auditorium.

Chairs and desks were stacked against the walls, some covered with white cloths presumably to keep off the dust.

Below their feet and before their eyes was a vast expanse of smooth ground, reflective enough to cast back light, topped by a large stage draped with a red curtain.

Aside from these visible elements, there were no bodies or figures in sight.

Nor was there the fresh blood one would expect at a crime scene.

It all seemed as usual, peaceful.

"Father York."

Mirta spoke, her gaze fixed on the stage above.

"There's a rotting stench there."

York glanced at her.

"I can smell it," Mirta stated earnestly. "My sense of smell is very keen; I can always detect rot."

Observing Mirta's demeanor, York silently shifted his gaze away. The concept of rot seemed deeply ingrained in Mirta's mind; she could pinpoint its presence even without a direct scent.

According to the holographic display, the rot was indeed hidden deep within the wooden stage.

Meaning, the stage was filled with bodies, with the rot nestled in the deepest layer.

"Quite a special demon from another world..."

York did nothing but step forward.

His telekinesis burst forth.

The wooden stage, assembled from planks, exploded in an instant.

Amidst the intense tremors and noise, each plank split apart and floated in the air.

Revealing the true scene within.

Behind him, Mirta was still marveling at the miraculous sight when the revealed scene ignited her fury.

Bodies of adults, stacked neatly and covered with lime, lay exposed.

"Mirta, your sense of smell is indeed keen; the rot was trying to mask its own decaying scent."

York stopped and surveyed the pile of bodies calmly.

"It seems the rot had the children do all this..."

Unlike the furious Mirta, York remained emotionally and facially placid.

"Such a detestable thing."

His unfluctuating voice fell as he enveloped the bodies with his telekinesis, gently moving them to the smooth ground.

Meanwhile.

The sound of ripping cloth echoed.

The white cloths on the chairs were torn into long strips, covering the bodies one by one.

York's gaze was already fixed on the stage.

Lying at the deepest part was a rotting man.

His body was swollen, devoid of any intact flesh.

His abdomen, arms, thighs, and feet all oozed decay, including his face, except for one still-intact, wolf-like right eye.

"Father York, that's the rot..."

Mirta's voice trembled behind him.

"Possessed by a demon."

"How disgusting," York remarked, staring at the rot with just a single concluding thought.

More revolting than anything he had encountered in the real world.

Absolutely nothing was more nauseating than the rot before him.

Its body emanated profound evil.

Yet, York could see the demon's lineage in it, akin to a family resemblance.

Thus, the restraint he had just issued directly trapped the demon lurking within the host, awaiting its inevitable death.

But the cruelest part was that the man named Uliel was beyond saving, unlike in the real world, where possession might resemble an evil spirit possession, like those affecting the students outside.

"Who are you?"

A hoarse voice, neither male nor female, arose from the rot.

Clearly aware of its plight.

"You're not a native! An outsider?"

But then, contradicting itself: "Impossible! This is God's forsaken land!"

York was intrigued, but the rot merely stared intensely at him, halting its previous dialogue.

"Who are you?"

"I?"

York calmly replied. "Satan!"

Upon hearing this, the rot's still-intact right eye showed a flicker of confusion.

This revealed to York that, though the rot shared his demonic lineage, it lacked a hellish system like that of the real world, devoid of devilish lords like Satan.

It seemed indeed to be a matter of cosmic space...

This reaffirmed York's speculation.

His past life's Earth likely existed in another cosmic space.

Possibly, the Marvel and DC universes he knew of existed in different cosmic spaces as well.

Watching the rot's confusion, York had many questions.

He tried to coax more information.

But the demon within the rot was already at its limit, nearly shattered by the impact.

"God's forsaken land..."

As he spoke, York exhaled lightly, ceasing his probing.

The deflated rot at the stage's deepest point slowly collapsed, its eyes gradually dimming.

This signified the demon's successful expulsion.

With a bang, the deflated rot burst.

As the disgusting chunks and fluids threatened to splatter, York had to continue using his pervasive telekinesis throughout the auditorium to contain this filthy mess within the body's confines.

This scene unfolded before Mirta's eyes, prompting her uncertain query: "Father York, is the rot truly resolved?"

"Yes, it's resolved."

York gazed at the pile of rotten flesh deep on the stage, shook his head, glanced at the bodies now covered with white cloths on the ground, and began to walk back.

"Let's go, Mirta. Leave this place to the police."

"Yes, Father York!" Mirta looked once more at the auditorium, then followed.

York's musings continued.

"Our church, henceforth, must maintain this style—responsible only for exorcisms and rectifying injustices, treating devout followers sincerely,"

"And solving their dilemmas, conducting various sacraments to strengthen faith.

Preaching, giving people a sense of purpose in life..."

"We must become collaborators with official organizations. Thus, our clergy will always be needed, depended upon by the whole world..."

................

"Father York."

Early in the morning, young officer Ryan drove to Plutarch Church, handing a camcorder to the priest who was having breakfast.

"This is the camcorder; I've uploaded yesterday's footage onto it."

Watching the young officer's cautious movements, York accepted the camcorder amicably.

"Care to join me for breakfast?"

But officer Ryan hastily shook his head.

"No, no, I've just eaten."

As he spoke, he seemed nervous: "Father York, there's still the matter at the school to handle, I..."

York understood immediately. With only a few police in the small town, they were understaffed.

Not only had there been deaths at the school, but also in other areas.

Due to the sparse population, the residences were quite scattered.

"No worries, go ahead," York said, showing understanding.

"Yes, Father York!" Ryan reflexively started to salute, then awkwardly stopped his waving arm, standing very straight.

He seemed embarrassed, hurriedly turned, and nearly ran away.

York, watching the whole scene, smiled slightly, seeing a resemblance to the real-world courier, Evan, in this officer.

"Indeed, quite similar."

York chuckled, picking up the camcorder.

The technology of this other world was on par with Earth's, with many similar devices. It was true that where there were humans, technology would inevitably share some similarities.

Thus, York was not unfamiliar with the camcorder. After briefly inspecting it, he figured out how to use it.

"Similar to the cameras used by TV stations in my previous life, capable of recording and playback."

York quickly located the footage from the previous night.

As he expected, the manifestations of divine power couldn't be captured on video.

The footage started with his broad back in the eerie school environment and the students in the forefront, wielding deadly weapons.

Following his prayer, the charging students suddenly froze, confused and dropping their weapons...

It was dramatic, showing no visible power, making the entire sequence seem like a movie or performance.

Yet, the strangeness oozed out of the screen.

And with subsequent screams, the bodies and grotesque substances at the deep end of the auditorium in the footage were enough to convince anyone of the reality of the events.

"That's enough."

York closed the camcorder calmly, then turned to the hallway.

At the moment, he was dining in the annex next to the church.

His habits continued even here.

Now that everything had settled down, laziness prevailed.

Thus, the busiest person at Plutarch Church wasn't him, the priest, but Mirta, who had recently been promoted to deaconess.

While he was dining, Mirta had already rushed to the church to busy herself.

On the holographic display, he could see Mirta approaching.

Considering the parked delivery truck outside, it seemed she was here to report on the situation.

"The patron moves quickly."

York thought to himself: "Preparations are already underway."

"Father York!"

As she called out, Mirta appeared from the hallway, stepping into the living room.

"Antonio's donations have arrived."

Her face lit up with excitement: "It's all things we need..."

York listened as she detailed the items the large farmer, Antonio, had purchased for Plutarch Church—benches, floor-to-ceiling windows, and other classic decorations, including candle holders and candles, and even some altars he hadn't anticipated.

"Quite the contribution."

York smiled, seeing Mirta's excitement about the church nearing completion.

"Let's get these things sorted today, then we can officially welcome the faithful."

"Yes!"

Mirta responded eagerly.

Seeing her enthusiasm, York recalled their first meeting.

Back then, Mirta was like a forbidding iceberg, her eyes veiled with a somber film, her expression dark.

Now, she was completely transformed.

He felt content, knowing she was the first person to change because of him.

As Mirta seemed ready to leave and get to work, York added,

"Wait, Mirta, didn't you say your fellow janitors didn't believe your stories?"

Mentioning this darkened her expression naturally.

"Yes, Father York, but don't worry, I'll make sure they learn of your presence."

"That's not what I meant." York, sensing she misunderstood, handed her the camcorder.

"Ryan recorded the entire exorcism process yesterday, and he just brought it over. You can share this footage with your colleagues,

the video should serve as strong proof. We need more clergy, and janitors who tirelessly serve at the forefront, willingly risking their lives to exorcise demons for humanity, are undoubtedly the church's first choice."

Mirta paused, then her excitement returned; she understood the priest's intent.

"Alright, Father York."

Watching Mirta take the camcorder, York waved his hand with a smile.

"Go on, then."

"Yes." Mirta took the camcorder, bowed slightly, and then turned to leave.

"Janitors, huh..."

York mused as he watched her depart.

"I wonder if they will turn out as I expect,

whether these janitors, like Mirta, were once clergy of the church

or descendants of the church's true clergy from ancient times."

"I'm really curious about the true history of this other world, where even demons recognize me as an outsider." York murmured to himself.

"God's forsaken land, huh..."

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