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chapter 24
Knock, knock. A heavy sound echoed through the wooden door, more solid than an ordinary knock.
“Come in.”
Xion responded casually, flipping through a thick record book.
He didn’t even need to glance toward the door to know who had arrived. Only that person would knock so heavily.
The hinges creaked as the door opened. Benjamin entered silently and stood beside Xion.
After so many years together, words weren’t necessary between them.
Xion turned toward Benjamin with an expressionless face. He rested both hands on his knees and looked up at him.
“…….”
Benjamin furrowed his brows. He took Xion’s hand and knelt on one knee before him.
Xion’s gaze naturally dropped downward. Benjamin stared into his eyes for a long moment before speaking.
“…Rastavan.”
He called Xion by his real name, not the monsignor title.
Calling that name was a warning: what he was about to say would be a repetition of words spoken countless times before.
Rastavan withdrew his hand and responded with a slightly bored expression.
“Yeah.”
“Your complexion’s improved.”
Sure enough, Benjamin commented on his appearance first.
“I know.”
“Your eyes are bluer too.”
Then, the eyes.
“I know.”
Benjamin, having nothing left to grasp, clenched his fists in frustration, resting his arms on his knees.
“So you already know what I’m going to say.”
“Of course.”
Rastavan replied nonchalantly. At that, Benjamin’s jaw tensed slightly before relaxing again.
He forced back the torrent of nagging that rose inside him and spoke in a low voice.
“…Why this time?”
Rastavan propped his chin on his hand, fingers slipping out, white hair falling over the bridge of his nose. His clear sky-blue eyes stood out.
“I thought of that one.”
Again with old memories? Previously, he’d lamented the past. Benjamin didn’t understand why Rastavan kept recalling long-past events.
“Why?” he asked again.
“Because it’s regrettable.”
A vague answer returned.
“…….”
Rastavan always spoke briefly, so Benjamin couldn’t grasp exactly what he found regrettable. He fell silent.
The only thing Benjamin could discern was that he understood roughly who “that one” Rastavan referred to.
“So you regret it now…”
A long time ago, Benjamin had decided to follow Rastavan along with other apostles. Some missions succeeded, some failed.
Benjamin remembered the man who had fallen off the cliff.
The portrait held in his arms.
‘Ridiculous…’
Benjamin let out a wry smile. A thousand years had passed since that event. What could possibly be regrettable now?
‘That’s why his eye color changed.’
Rastavan’s hollow eyes pierced Benjamin. Rastavan, lost in memories spanning eons, murmured to himself.
“…I want to go back to that time.”
“…….”
There was nothing more to hear. Benjamin stood, not wanting Rastavan to sink further into nostalgia.
“Enough. Get back to what you were doing.”
Feeling somewhat frustrated, Benjamin looked down at Rastavan, clicked his tongue, and walked to the door.
He could feel Rastavan’s gaze from behind. Benjamin slammed the door and left.
Even after all these years, he still couldn’t fathom the mind of a god. He ruffled his short hair.
The more he knew Rastavan, the more inscrutable he seemed.
‘I want to go back to that time… what on earth…’
Benjamin recalled countless memories with Rastavan.
A boy so pale, almost entirely white, with no trace of blood in his cheeks.
A boy who, oblivious to much, had stolen him bread and suggested traveling the world together.
That pure, strange appearance had drawn Benjamin to become his companion—over a thousand years ago.
Benjamin knew Rastavan as much as the millennia had passed, and yet he knew him not at all.
Rastavan had said he was a god, that he liked this planet, and had descended from the heavens to travel it.
Initially, Benjamin didn’t believe him, but after Rastavan repeatedly demonstrated sacred power, he could only accept it.
“…….”
Rastavan, possessing nothing, desiring nothing, fearing nothing, showed curiosity only about events on this world.
Beyond that, he never displayed interest or intrigue.
No personal emotions were to be found; he was curious solely about what he did not yet know.
Yet, that god, so serene and stripped of emotion, had begun to show interest in a being neither human nor animal.
“…Going to that village was a mistake.”
Benjamin stopped walking.
‘Ah…’
Trying to think, he circled around, only to end up back at Rastavan’s door.
He sighed and stepped back, heading down the inn corridor to his own room.
His room was not far from Rastavan’s, nor was the layout much different. He hung his coat and sat to rest.
Yet sitting at the same table as Rastavan brought his brilliant sky-blue irises to mind. A worry.
If Rastavan remained lost in what might be lingering attachment or regret, his eyes would grow bluer still.
His once pale, pure face would lose its original whiteness…
And as the color deepened, he might eventually degrade into an ordinary human.
‘Does he even realize he’s a god?’
Benjamin knew why Rastavan’s white eyes had turned sky-blue.
It was because he had learned human emotions through a demon named Velita.
A perfect god, touched by human emotion, would take on that color, gradually becoming human, Rastavan had said.
Yet, the one who said it cared nothing for his own body, indulging instead in old memories.
Benjamin thought: to return Rastavan to his original state, he must prevent him from longing for Velita any longer.
He needed to find the portrait quickly and let Rastavan hold it.
If the portrait were in the temple, Rastavan would stop obsessing over finding it.
He hadn’t yet been corrupted by sordid desires beyond that one current goal…
“…The portrait is light. It must have been blown somewhere.”
Benjamin swallowed dryly. He hoped Rastavan’s longing for Velita was mere attachment, not love.
“I’ll have to dispatch more priests to various locations.”
If it were love, it would be far too strong to extinguish easily.
Early evening, Sylvester returned to his room with a bright expression. He had first brought a painting in, then went back for remaining supplies.
“How’s your body?”
By that time, Velita was drinking the tea Ellie had brought. He nodded.
“Ah, much better.”
“The fever’s gone?”
“Yes. Just a bit of a headache left.”
“That’s good. But your voice will take a few days, so don’t strain it.”
“Nagging… how much did you draw?”
Velita gestured subtly toward the hidden direction of the painting. Sylvester grinned and brought the artwork.
“It’s finished.”
“What?”
Velita blinked. Sylvester held up the completed painting.
“Here. I’ll deliver it to the count at dinner.”
Velita stared at Sylvester’s painting as if mesmerized. Already complete—its speed and quality were indeed remarkable.
“You drew all this so fast?”
The Roman mansion came alive in deep, rich colors under Sylvester’s brush.
The antiquated atmosphere, combined with the detailed foliage, was enhanced by the lush greenery.
“I didn’t use materials that take long to work with.”
“Still, amazing.”
“I’ll clean up. If the count calls us, we’ll have dinner together.”
Velita admired the painting, then Sylvester carefully set it aside, just as he had brought it in.
Velita sipped the now-cooled tea and watched Sylvester head to the restroom.
Paint stained parts of his wrist, evidence of working outside. The scenes under his hand always amazed Velita.
He recalled Kesis’s somewhat modest works, completed without the modern materials Sylvester now had. Those earlier works took much longer and were harder to preserve.
No charcoal or absorbent paper, just crude ink for drawing lines.
‘Kesis…’
Since dreaming of Kesis, Velita had recalled his conversation with Roman during the day.
With Sylvester’s painting complete, all that remained was to wait quietly for Roman’s contact at home.
‘I hope we find out soon.’
At that moment, Sylvester came out of the restroom, drying his hands.
“Velita.”
“Yes?”
He walked over and gently touched Velita’s forehead. Velita felt the warmth of his hand, now slightly cool after being washed with water and paint.
“Your hand’s cold, so it feels a bit warm. You’ll be fine soon.”
He just wanted to check her temperature. Velita put down the empty cup and smiled.
“Don’t trust me?”
“Well… you keep saying you’re fine.”
“When did I?”
“Even if you don’t say it, your expression shows it. Always fine, okay, nothing’s wrong.”
“…….”
Sylvester sat on the sofa across from her, tidying his bangs.
“…I should trim my hair when I get home.”
“Yes, it did look a bit bothersome.”
“Why didn’t you say so earlier?”
“I thought you didn’t care.”
Velita raised her eyebrows and hugged a cushion. Sylvester clicked his tongue.
“I didn’t know it was inconvenient. But like this, I couldn’t see you well.”
He tilted slightly over the table.
Velita reached out to adjust his bangs.
“This way is better. I can see your eyes clearly now.”
She smiled at him, and Sylvester’s lips pressed together.
Though his natural expression seemed cold, Velita now understood that this was genuine.
Unlike before, this awkwardly hidden smile didn’t leave his eyes.
“…….”
Her chest tingled slightly. Feeling a cold coming on, she set down the cushion and rose.
“…Time to go.”
Clearing his throat, he turned to the coat rack and grabbed a robe.
Timing was perfect; Ellie’s call came from outside.
“…Right.”
In that space, Sylvester watched Velita pull on her robe. Her black strands fluttered, her cheeks blushed by the sunset.
He bit his lip slightly and lowered his head. Eyelashes fell, a smile slipped out.
“I wonder what’s on the menu tonight.”
A light response, and finally, he smiled like before.
Beneath Velita’s soft cheek, that stiff mouth hinted at his subtle smile.
