The Torchbearer in the Sewers

As Anto delved into the dim sewers, he lit his torch, immediately feeling the pervasive, gloomy aura that permeated the subterranean passages. Like every city, where light illuminated the surface, darkness invariably coexisted beneath. He understood better than anyone that endless shadows festered beneath the veneer of light.

“Yet even in the darkest corners, someone must hold a torch, illuminating the path and guiding others forward.” Recalling the priest’s words, a growing sense of unease settled in Anto’s heart. It had only been in recent years that he had managed to come to this particular church, and he had initially been surprised to find an active one in this borderland, a region largely considered abandoned by the gods since the Demon King’s War.

“There should be churches everywhere,” the priest had said, “for faith was once the only way we endured the long nights without succumbing to madness. It was true then, and it remains true now.”

Reflecting on this, he realized he could hardly be considered a person of faith. His childhood had been shaped by the teachings of a witch and a mad Transmigrator, one of whom viewed the Holy Light as defilement, while the other instructed him to believe in ‘science.’ From a very young age, he had been forced to fend for himself, for the ‘witch’s adopted son’ had to struggle for survival alone in that eerie forest.

He possessed both talent and insight. The first time he used Holy Light, it had been entirely unconscious. He had merely wished for the wounds on the small deer before him to heal, and to his astonishment, the wounds had indeed begun to mend over the following moments. He hadn’t even understood what had just transpired, but later, he discovered it was an innate ability, one used to combat beings from another world.

****

“Click-clack.” “Ugh… ugh-erh…” Within the dim confines of the sewers, countless low groans echoed, the sounds of beings that once belonged to this place, but now belonged to no world at all. Anto’s torch suddenly flared higher, illuminating a broader area, revealing figures that emerged before him. These were beings clad in tattered garments, exuding the stench of decay and putrefaction.

“…The priest mentioned this winter would be exceptionally cold.” Anto’s voice was soft, as he spoke quietly, addressing the dark entities before him alone.

“In times like these,” Anto continued, “more people are driven into the sewers to live. They lack everything, yet there is nothing they can do. Having lost their faith, even a funeral becomes a luxury. They grow unrestrained, colluding with those Otherworlders. Indeed, they have created progress and wealth, but in doing so, they have forgotten so much, forgotten what it means to revere. The poor multiply, yet those others continue to thrive, fueled by desire and oppression.”

“What a truly wonderful world this is,” Anto murmured, having already spotted in the ghoul-infested area the familiar black vestments and silver crucifix. In the pool of blood, only skeletal remains lay, while the zombies before him grew increasingly concentrated.

“You were meant to rest in eternal slumber,” Anto declared, “yet you were corrupted by the rift’s power, rising to turn more into the dead.” The ghouls before him drew ever closer, drawn by the scent of fresh blood, yet the young man stood there, unwavering, like a torch itself.

“Are you truly guilty? I cannot say,” he continued. “Nor can I bear the burden for those you have slain. But I sense that you, too, would not wish for those you once knew to see you in this state, in such a predicament. If that is the case… I can help you.”

“I will grant you peace.” Before the ghouls could lunge forward and tear the young man apart, the torch in Anto’s hand erupted with an unimaginably dazzling, scorching light. A golden, luminous flame then consumed everything before him. This was unlike any ordinary fire; while flames imbued with a holy aura were not uncommon, ‘Holy Light Flame’ was not merely a general term for such fires. It was a unique flame, entirely forged from concentrated Holy Light, a light born solely for guidance and to combat the darkness.

At the watchtower of the border fortress, the young man had used this very same flame to obliterate an entire invading demon army; they had been consumed by this utterly Holy Light-dominated flame just as they prepared to breach the barrier. Now, that same formidable flame manifested here, incinerating all the zombies and ghouls before him to ash.

“…” Anto felt the flames converge in his palm. To this day, he still hadn’t grasped one thing: whether Holy Light Flame truly constituted a miracle. Was it the power bestowed upon His emissaries by the God described in scripture, or did the one who possessed such ability create God? Regardless, this power now resided in his hands, and only he could decide whether to regard it as a divine miracle or simply his own inherent strength.

Yet before delving into such complex questions, he had a task to complete. He walked over to where the ghouls had dispersed, finding the fallen priest lying tragically on the ground, his body disemboweled and gnawed upon. Those entities had shown him no reverence whatsoever. Indeed, the dead held no respect for anyone; no matter how noble or great a person, before them, they were merely food. But…

“…” Anto reached out, closing his eyes as he placed his hand on the priest’s head. He didn’t know the proper prayer rituals, but he understood that without this intervention, he would have no choice but to burn the body, for without such a process, corpses always reanimated quickly.

“You came, after all.” Within the spiritual realm, Anto opened his eyes; before him, the priest’s figure had already appeared.

“You are dead,” Anto stated plainly. “I did this so your soul wouldn’t be trapped in your decaying body… like those other creatures.”

“Then thank you, Anto,” the priest said, his gaze fixed on him.

“You are indeed the fated one.”

“Perhaps, but why must I bear this responsibility?” Anto asked, raising his head to meet the priest’s gaze. “Why me?”

“That question cannot be answered,” the priest replied. Anto pressed on, “Then explain this suicidal act of yours. You should have waited for me or notified me, not acted like this.”

“…I had to do this,” the priest said. “The people here need someone to protect their safety, and sometimes, sacrifices must be made for that. I merely made that choice, and I have received my reward, haven’t I?”

“…”

“Anto, you may not know this, but to be guided away by ‘Holy Light Flame’ is a great honor,” the priest spoke softly. “I am glad you came. There is no need for further words; let me go, let me return to the side of the Great One. Thank you, Son of the Pope, the Great Messiah.”