The Struggle Over Lines

“Are heretics truly more detestable than monsters?”

…Yes. In a way, they are.

Throughout history, countless powerful empires had rotted from within long before they ever fell to an enemy’s sword.

Internal conflict—it was a curse no power could escape.

And yet, contradiction was also the lifeblood of progress.

Without friction, without conflict or opposition, a civilization stagnated.

Like a tribe in the depths of the Amazon—without scarcity, without danger, it would never feel the need to discover agriculture, metallurgy, or anything beyond survival.

Balance was everything.

Too little friction led to decay.

Too much, to self-destruction.

As Vivian weighed that thought, Morandi brushed the dust from a table, its surface the cleanest in the tavern.

He sat gracefully and gestured for her to join him.

Vivian hesitated, then stepped closer—but remained standing, her guard unbroken.

Morandi didn’t press the invitation.

He folded his hands before him, expression hardening.

“Charles… that once-insignificant saint candidate.”

His tone carried both dread and disgust.

“His rise defied all understanding. The so-called divine grace he wields is—too unnatural.”

He leaned forward slightly, voice trembling now.

“The power he commands—this force that summons, manipulates, even reshapes heroic spirits—isn’t divine blessing at all!”

“That’s not holiness. That’s desecration—the cruelest violation of the dead’s peace, and the most blasphemous distortion of the Holy Light’s creed!”

His voice rang hollow in the abandoned tavern, anger quivering beneath the polish.

“It may look effective, but it’s born of corruption. Those who pursue such power have already forsaken their own humanity. If this continues, the Rhine Church will no longer be a beacon of faith or order. It will become a monster—obsessed with power, blind to life and dignity.”

Vivian’s lips curved faintly.

“Sounds little different from us demons, doesn’t it? You slaughter in the name of the Light, we in the name of survival. Hard to see a difference.”

She spoke coolly. “At least we don’t mind watching you tear each other apart.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.”

Morandi’s answer came calmly, a faint smile tracing his lips.

“For us, what we worship is the Light that shields and shows mercy.”

“They, on the other hand, worship Him—the cold, unfeeling God.”

Vivian tilted her head, amused.

“You speak so boldly of your God. Aren’t you afraid of divine punishment?”

“Not in the least,” Morandi replied, shrugging.

“Our doctrine is clear—our faith belongs to the Light of Mercy.”

…

Vivian studied him in silence, a spark of curiosity alight in her eyes.

“Interesting. The Light of Mercy… and the God of Cruelty. So there are two sides to the deity of Holy Light, then? Or perhaps… two entirely different beings?”

Morandi didn’t answer immediately.

Instead, he breathed out and continued, his voice steady.

“Regardless of the nature of divinity, we all agree on one thing—Saint Charles has touched power that should never exist.”

“The zealots supporting him plan to crown him as the next Pontiff.”

His tone grew sharp. “It’s madness.”

Vivian’s expression flickered slightly.

She hadn’t expected that within the Rhine Church itself, there existed high-ranking clergy who saw Charles not as a miracle, but as an abomination.

“So,” she said softly, eyes narrowing, “this cooperation of yours is about… purging heresy? Preserving your Church’s ‘purity’?”

“In part,” Morandi admitted.

“Charles’s existence—and the path of power he represents—are lethal poison to the Church’s future. He must be eradicated before the damage becomes irreversible.”

“If not, the zealots will claim the throne, and their madness will define the Church’s destiny.”

Vivian chuckled under her breath.

“How ironic—one fanatic denouncing another. From a demon’s point of view, you all look the same.”

Her voice lowered. “Still, if your people want to murder each other… we’d be fools not to take advantage of it.”

Morandi’s gaze sharpened, but his tone remained smooth.

“I won’t deny it. This is also about survival—for myself, and for those who still follow the old doctrine.”

“The radical faction behind Charles has grown bold—openly hunting those of us who question their new power.”

“If he consolidates his control, our end is predetermined.”

“The balance between our factions is already fragile. If Charles ascends the ‘throne of divinity,’” he said, eyes dark as shadow, “it will all be over.”

Vivian nodded slowly.

“Politics. Ideology. Survival. I understand.”

This wasn’t mere betrayal.

It was the inevitable climax of a civil war—one side desperate enough to summon the aid of demons to exterminate its own heretics.

Cold, ruthless, but perfectly reasonable.

“Then let’s not waste time, Deputy Bishop Morandi.”

Her purple eyes met his steadily.

“What are you offering? And what do you want from us in return?”

Morandi’s sharp smile returned, refined and calculated.

“Simple. I can provide you with a safe passage into the inner city of the Radiant Court—routes that bypass most of the detection wards.”

“I also have the precise location of Charles and details of his daily routines. When the time comes, I can even create distractions—temporary disruptions to draw the guards away.”

He paused.

“As for the price,” he said smoothly, “I ask that the Demon Clan refrain from launching large-scale offensives toward the Radiant Court once this is done. That will buy me—and those like me—the time to stabilize internal power and clear the aftermath.”

“In exchange, I can promise future cooperation. Intelligence, and… certain resources, shared when mutually beneficial.”

It was a pragmatic offer—driven purely by self-interest.

“That’s not my call to make,” Vivian said frankly. “But I’ll relay your request.”

She drew a quiet breath, then lifted her gaze back to him.

“Still… if you expect us to kill Charles just with that, it’s far from enough.”

Her voice sharpened like a blade.

“As long as those main Light Towers in the central district remain active, our success rate won’t exceed ten percent.”

Her eyes locked on his, unwavering.

Vivian waited for his answer.