The Outer God Needs Warmth

The foreign press waited, hoping for a response from the priest standing before them.

But there was only uncomfortable silence.

The foreign press realized they had to say something in order to exchange words and offer a punishment to Hyungkeshni. But what was this silence? They scanned the execution grounds, confused.

However, they had to understand the priest's situation.

The foreign press had just confessed that if they were killed, their blessings would be passed on. Despite stating that anyone could choose their religion, from an external perspective, it appeared that they had accepted an evil god.

Whether it was true or not, the priest had to step back from their current position.

Who would kill a god?

But not just anyone could be tasked with that. The knight had already failed. Despite using a weapon that had killed gods before, the sword failed to sever the foreign press's neck.

It didn't just fail to kill; it had corrupted the knight as well.

But there was one exception, wasn’t there?

The priest’s gaze fell upon one person. The once-loyal knight, now tainted, stood there—a man whose hair had turned purple. Of course, from the priest’s perspective, this man was a traitor.

And even if they killed the foreign press, they wouldn't receive blessings.

Because they had already been blessed.

The sacrifice was already chosen.

The highest-ranking priest approached the knight, Martin, without hesitation and spoke.

"Knight Martin. Go and fulfill your duty."

At that moment, Martin looked down at his sword. He clearly felt the sensation of having cut through flesh, the head falling to the ground.

Could he truly kill?

The question flashed in his mind as he looked back at himself.

The faith in the holy god still burned in his heart, and divine power filled his body along with that belief.

The god was still with him.

With this conviction, Martin raised his sword high.

If cutting the neck didn't work, he would strike until death came.

"In the name of our Lord," he muttered.

He nodded at the priest and, with his gaze fixed on the foreign press, pointed his sword toward them. As he silently prayed to the holy god, a golden hue began to form along the blade.

"Ohh!"

The crowd was mesmerized by the miracle they were witnessing firsthand.

This was what made executions so exciting, some of them thought, relishing in the spectacle.

Meanwhile, from a distant terrace, Hyungkeshni, sitting without permission, thought how nice it would be to have a snack as she awaited the foreign press's execution.

"If the one I touched bears the sin and dies as punishment, so that all others may be forgiven, then go ahead and kill me."

The foreign press didn’t miss the opportunity.

As soon as Martin raised his sword, the path for the future was paved. Those words had struck deeply within Martin.

Martin's sword froze.

He turned around and asked the priest, "If we execute the evil god, the blessed one is not guilty, correct?"

It was a question akin to a paradox.

Because if the priest answered affirmatively, even though the foreign press had been forcibly blessed, Martin would be absolved of any sin. He could maintain his position as a knight.

But if they carried out the execution based on faith, it was hard to ignore the lifeline that had just fallen before them.

Most importantly, the acceptance of heresy was a virtue of the holy god.

This was why Tischa, a famous hero in the holy church, was so revered. The church had lamented that such a hero hadn't emerged from their ranks, going as far as to diminish his stature.

This was a negotiation, not a simple judgment of guilt. Martin could refuse to act if it was just about executing a heretic.

But this was a matter of sin.

Not denying sin but acknowledging it.

If he agreed that he would bear the punishment, it meant he accepted the rules of the holy god.

The foreign press didn't realize, but this was a checkmate situation.

If the priest denied this, Tischa would become a sinner in the eyes of the holy church. The hero would fall, and Martin, who was about to strike, would be beyond redemption.

What if Martin lowered his sword here?

Who would die?

Who would be the sacrifice?

If it were simply a martyrdom, maybe someone could manage. But this was different. This was becoming an apostate in the act of death.

Until now, Martin had believed in the afterlife, but now, because of that belief, the afterlife became a hell.

The priest could command Martin to act, but what if Martin refused?

From their perspective, Martin had already been lost to the evil god. They had to choose the sacrifice.

They could not allow a show of weakness. If the foreign press said something strange again, it would complicate matters.

So, if they agreed?

The sin of Tischa, once stripped away, would vanish. But Martin would not hesitate to strike.

Afterward, the priest could claim it was the will of the god and declare Tischa a sinner again, sending Martin to a remote monastery.

The priest, recognizing his error, could apologize, then raise the god’s will once again.

With this in mind, the priest affirmed the foreign press's words.

"Yes. If the evil god repents for their wrongdoings and dies, surely the god will forgive them. Didn't He accept Tischa, a heretic? How could the Lord not accept you? Carry out the execution. Knight Martin."

There was only one choice.

And so, the priest gave his command.

Finally, Knight Martin raised his sword.

"I will come for you after you die. But do not worry. I have suffered under the witch of joy, Hyungkeshni, but I forgive humanity. So do not hesitate to strike."

The foreign press seized the opportunity.

They were also preparing to torment Hyungkeshni further, setting the groundwork for future suffering.

The foreign press knew well that, just as a governor in some country had once been condemned for executing a religious figure in the past, they too would face the same fate for killing an important religious figure.

Taking a cue from that, the foreign press glanced toward the surprised expression of Hyungkeshni in the distance.@@novelbin@@

Now, how should they vent this rage?

The foreign press, full of crafty thoughts, began scheming.

They had already set everything up—subtle, calculated moves that would ensure Hyungkeshni's future torment. The foreign press knew that if they played their cards right, they could continue to influence the situation to their advantage.

As Martin's sword swung down, the foreign press braced themselves for the inevitable.

But, as the blade neared, something unexpected happened.

The execution was interrupted by a sudden, blinding light. It erupted from the heavens, pouring down like a divine intervention, catching everyone off guard. The sword froze mid-air, halted by an unseen force.

For a brief moment, time seemed to stand still. The air crackled with energy, and the crowd, once filled with the excitement of a public execution, now stood in stunned silence.

The light, intense and pure, enveloped the foreign press, their body shimmering with a strange glow. As the light receded, the foreign press was no longer standing where they had been.

In a flash, the foreign press was standing on the other side of the execution grounds, untouched, their body intact and unharmed.

Martin, unable to comprehend what had just happened, staggered back, his grip on the sword slipping. The other knights and priests around him were equally shaken, unsure of what had just transpired.

The foreign press turned to face them, their eyes gleaming with a mix of amusement and defiance. They knew exactly what had happened—the divine intervention had failed, but it had also given them a powerful opening.

“Is this the power of your god?” the foreign press taunted, their voice clear and commanding. “To strike down one of their own like this? I wonder... would your god approve of such chaos?”

The priests, particularly the high-ranking ones, exchanged uneasy glances. They had underestimated the foreign press, and now they were trapped. The god they worshiped was being mocked before them, and no one dared to speak.

The atmosphere had shifted dramatically. The crowd that had once eagerly awaited the execution now murmured nervously, their faith in the holy church beginning to waver. If the foreign press had truly been blessed, as they claimed, could the church's power still hold sway?

The foreign press stepped forward, their voice carrying the weight of someone who had transcended the situation.

“I have been a witness to your trials, your faith, and your misguided notions,” they said, their tone laced with both mockery and contempt. “But the time has come to set the record straight.”

They turned their gaze to Martin, who had regained his composure but stood frozen, unsure of what to do next.

“Do you truly believe you are still on the side of your god?” the foreign press continued. “Or is this just another illusion, another form of control?”

The question hung in the air, unanswered. The tension in the crowd was palpable. Even the priests seemed uncertain, as if something fundamental had shifted.

The foreign press smiled, knowing their words had struck a chord. They had set in motion something much larger than they had anticipated—an unraveling of faith that might be difficult to repair.

As they stood there, defiant and unbroken, they knew that the game had just begun. And this time, they would not be the one to fall.