Mistress Of The Evil Forest

Case 67: The holy country of Neveah – A decaying world.

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The universe has a beginning, but it has no end—infinite.

Stars, too, have a beginning but are, by their own power, destroyed—finite.

In a corner of the universe, a realm, one that seems as lively as any other, is nearing its doom. If one is an inhabitant of this world, they should, by any means, have learned of this truth—if not for the history containing it being lost to time.

Like so, the people of this little planet live on, ignorant of the impending total collapse—the majority of them, that is. Among the dwellers of this world, a few know the truth, and it would be a disgrace for these people if they didn't see this piece of information.

After all, they are the self-proclaimed closest servants of the absolute goddess, the heads of the primary religion on this planet, bearing a surname identical to the name of their deity—the Neveahs.

This surname is only allowed on those who were, are, and will stand at the top of the hierarchy, occupying the archbishop title. Generations through generations, from the first archbishop, who received a direct blessing from Neveah herself, to this day, have been enduring this truth, knowing that their beloved goddess will assist them in restoring the vitality of this planet.

And for the longest time, she was actually there. Although the instances of her appearing before the public were close to zero, at least the people in the main church knew she was present.

This, however, would change abruptly one day.

Exactly twenty years ago, on a rainy afternoon. All priests who had a strong connection to the goddess sensed it vanishing suddenly. At first, panic arose. However, they were quick to organize and confine this information, subsequently launching a total investigation to try and infer the cause of this significant problem.

However, no matter how much they tried to find traces of the goddess, nothing of significant insight would come to light.

After more than a year, they were left with nothing.

'The goddess has abandoned this world.'

This was the sentiment shared by many, and there was no way to prove or refute it, so naturally, two opposite sides formed. Some wished to wait for the eventual return of Neveah; some wished to find their own way to save the world, which, in turn, would mean that they had lost trust in their own deity.

'Would you choose self-salvation, or would you throw away your own beliefs?'

The church, for the first time since its conception, was divided.

It would ultimately depend on the archbishop himself to choose a side, one that the majority of the church would follow—he had to decide on a matter that would likely determine the fate of the world.

Vincent Neveah was always a man of the people. Everything he did was for the people, and everything he would do would also be for the people. Standing between faith and life, he ultimately chose the latter.

Vincent wanted to save the people.

For this sole purpose, he has been working tirelessly to make his wish a reality for twenty years, from the point he decided to act to this moment.

Sitting solemnly on a small throne inside the main church is VIncent Neveah—a man whose hair has turned white and whose face is etched with wrinkles, weathered by time. His face was exactly what one would expect from a man such as himself: Kind and benevolent.

The only oddity one might find is perhaps his eyes, which are always closed.

Standing beside him are Wings, a squad of four—two men, two women—acting as his limbs. The two men each have a small four-edged star imprinted in the corner of their left eyes, while the two women have them in their right eyes. These are speculated to be proof of one belonging to Wings.

Standing before the throne is a priest; from his clothes, one can infer he is a bishop.

''Report. Everything is ready, archbishop.'' The man bows lightly and says. ''The time is nigh.''

Hearing it, Vincent doesn't react right away. It is only a few moments later that the archbishop opens his mouth.

''I see.''

His dignified voice rings inside the room. The bishop then excuses himself, leaving only silence behind.

''Would you like to check on them, archbishop?'' One of the Wings suggests.

''...Let us go.''

Vincent, followed by the squad, quietly leaves the throne room and heads to a small prayer room in the back corner of the building. Inside, one can observe numerous believers gathered, seated neatly in rows of chairs.

They are not praying, nor is there a statue of any kind, not even something resembling a worshippable entity that can be found.

When the people see Vincent enter the room, they quickly stand up and bow at him.

''...''

Vincent stares blankly at the scene.

This room, he still remembers everything about it. From the way sunlight pierces through the square window, perfectly encasing a similarly shaped painting at a particular time, to a small crack in the roof that, once it rains, the water will fall into a decorative cup at the corner.

He used to spend his time here praying to the goddess day and night.

Now, the room is still the same, but the people, including himself, have changed. They don't pray to the goddess anymore, just as he doesn't do so.

'Ah... These poor sheeps.'

Vincent laments. For these poor souls, for the world, and for himself.

''...Good work, everyone.''

With that, he exits the room in a rather sour mood. The holy knights walking silently behind him don't seem to be happy either, and doubts begin to sprout inside their heads.

If salvation is this close to us, then why does everything seem so gloomy?

They quickly dispel those thoughts.

''Oh, here you are, father!''

Soon, they encounter a certain cheerful girl. She hops toward them with light steps, pink hair bobbing up and down. Seeing this, Vincent immediately flashes a gentle smile.

''Luxia.'' He calls. ''How have you been?''

''I'm good! How about you, father?''

''As you can see.''

''I... See!''

Vincent responds to the silly joke by stroking his daughter's head. He feels like he has nails pricking at his heart, but he ignores it.

''Your friend is here this time?'' He asks.

''Yeah! Some of them are quirky. Very fun to be around with!''

''That is good.''

''I'll introduce them when we get to the baptize thing!''

''I see.''

''And then... Oh, let's have a meal tonight!''

''Sure.''

''Alright! I'm going then!''

''...''

Vincent watches as his daughter continues to hop to her room, humming something along the way. At some point, the smile on his face has disappeared.

Still the benevolent face, still the kind impression. But if one was asked the question—what is the most notable feature of his face? 

The answer would be his green eyes, each imprinted with a big, golden, four-edged star.

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