30 Years After Reincarnating, It Turns Out This World Was A Rofan?!-Chapter 236: The Story of the Main Characters (1)

Tuk. Tuk.

"Agh, my shoulders...."

The old man lightly tapped his shoulders, groaning in exhaustion.

He liked to think his spirit was still as strong as ever, but his body—his body could no longer lie about the weight of time. There wasn’t a single part of him that didn’t ache.

Just ten minutes. If only he could close his eyes for just ten minutes and rest...

"Bishop Raphael! The frontline against the demonic beasts is requesting priests. They say it’s urgent—how should we respond?"

"—So I’m not even allowed to rest, huh."

There was no time to close his eyes.

Urgency bled through the priest’s report, and it didn’t stop there.

"We’ve received word from the border! A demonic outbreak is imminent—they need healing priests or medics immediately!"

"A plague is emerging. Since last month, the number of priests assigned to rural areas has been insufficient, and villages that lacked proper oversight seem to have succumbed to disease."

"Urgent message from the royal capital...."

"......Ha."

A relentless stream of reports, one after another. Raphael could feel a headache creeping in.

"Your Holiness!"

"...I’m not the Holy King."

"Ah! Bishop!"

"Mm...."

At this point, he had given up correcting them.

He wasn’t sure if his brothers in faith were doing it on purpose, but they kept calling him either the Holy King or the Bishop.

It made him uncomfortable.

But he couldn’t bring himself to scold them.

Because, in truth—

"—You’re the only one they have left to rely on."

"Oh, Brother Roen."

"Don’t call me brother. I’m neither a follower of the God of Light nor someone who tolerates the Temple."

"Then shall I call you Young Master instead?"

"...That’s even worse. Just use my name."

"Heh, very well, Roen."

"......."

Roen Dmitri de Lionel.

A black-haired young noble, a blood relative of the Lionel family, and the de facto heir of the North.

He entered Raphael’s office, frowning as usual, but no one found it strange.

For the past month, he had been visiting the office daily, almost like an employee clocking in.

But more importantly—

"The Temple’s greatest patron has arrived, so I should at least offer you some tea."

"I don’t want any. Just don’t bring me anything."

"Then how about some holy water?"

"......."

—Roen had practically bought out the failing Temple, rescuing it from total collapse with his wealth.

There wasn’t a single person left in the Temple who could refuse him entry.

And yet, despite holding what was once an institution as powerful as the royal family in the palm of his hand, Roen looked utterly displeased.

"Haah... if not for my instructor’s advice, I wouldn’t have gotten involved with the Temple at all."

"I will always be grateful to Brother Ihan. And to you, of course, Roen. Thanks to your support, the Temple is still functioning."

"...Tch."

Whether it was Raphael’s respect toward him—an elder priest bowing to a much younger man—or simply the absurdity of the situation itself, Roen clicked his tongue in irritation.

‘...This is fucking ridiculous.’

Cursing in his head, using words he had learned from his instructor, somehow made him feel a little better.

***

‘Me, standing here as the Temple’s benefactor? This is insane.’

Before the Miracle of Time, before he experienced regression, Roen—the Roen of the first timeline—had been the Temple’s greatest enemy.

No other person had killed more inquisitors and holy knights than him.

Many had called him a butcher, a monster. They said he was ruthless.

But even back then, Roen had something to say in his own defense.

Simply put—

"—If my acts were brutal, then what the Temple and the Noble Alliance did were atrocities beyond human comprehension."

Roen had been a man seeking vengeance, but the Temple and the nobility had been demons in human form.

That was why, in the first timeline, Roen’s methods had only grown harsher with time.

Now, in his second life, he had worked tirelessly to prevent the same future, meticulously preparing to destroy the corrupt high priests and the nobles who were worse than monsters.

But—

‘I never expected one of my greatest enemies to self-destruct like an absolute idiot.’

If his old comrades from the first timeline could see this, they’d be just as baffled as he was.

Even now, a month after it happened, Roen still found it hard to believe.

‘Those vile bastards actually crumbled on their own.’

The infamous Bishop Michael, the very bane of Roen’s existence in the first timeline—was dead.

‘A man like him should’ve come back as an undead if nothing else.’

Roen had once sworn to kill him with his own hands, so the fact that the bastard had died under torture left him with a mix of disappointment and satisfaction.

But even more unbelievable than Michael’s death was—

‘The Temple has collapsed.’

Completely.

Seventy percent of the high-ranking clergy had been wiped out.

Most of the Temples across the capital and the provinces were either abandoned or destroyed.

Even if they started rebuilding immediately, it would take at least ten years... No, considering how much trust they had lost, maybe even thirty.

Temples could be rebuilt. Priests could be replaced.

But—

"Trust, once lost, is not so easily regained."

Roen had once wanted to tear the Temple down himself.

Now that it had collapsed under its own weight, should he be happy? Or should he feel hollow?

Frankly, he wasn’t sure.

But considering the ripple effects of the Temple’s downfall, celebrating would be ridiculous.

"Healing priests are scarce, and plagues have started spreading."

As corrupt as the Temple had been, it was still revered for one irreplaceable reason:

Holy Power.

The undeniable proof of divine existence. The [Mystic Gift] bestowed upon the faithful.

But now, the supply of Holy Power had been cut off across the continent.

Chaos was inevitable.

‘If I hadn’t invested early in training medics to replace healing priests, the damage would’ve been far worse.’

But medics weren’t a perfect substitute yet.

Which was why—

"—I ended up helping the damn Temple."

"And for that, I remain deeply grateful, Roen. Thanks to your support, the Temple can still function."

"It’s not out of kindness. I just..."

He simply chose the greater good over his personal grudges.

He recalled a conversation with his instructor.

"So, kid—what’s your plan?"

"What do you mean?"

"Don’t play dumb. You’re smart enough to know what I’m asking."

"Instructor, I hate the Temple."

"I’m not asking about your hatred. I’m asking about your goal."

"...What?"

"You hate them, fine. But are you just going to let the Temple fall apart? If you don’t care, I won’t say another word. That just means you have a plan of your own."

"T-That’s...."

"Besides, if you don’t step in, others will—whether it’s the royal capital, the Merchant Guild, the Noble Alliance, or the Trade Federation."

"That’s not an option! Letting those bastards take over would be like handing a fish to a starving cat! Those vultures will strip the Temple of everything! And even if the Temple recovers, it’ll be rotten beyond saving!"

"See? You already know the answer."

...!?

In the end, you just don’t want those bastards to take control, do you? Then change it to suit your terms instead. If that works in your favor, wouldn’t that be better?

......

I’m not forcing you. I’m just asking about your will. From what I’ve seen, you want to change the South. And to do that, you’ve been gathering power and building your own influence, haven’t you?

......

If I misunderstood your intentions, I apologize. I’m sorry.

...No. Don’t apologize.

He alone looked like the wretched one.

‘No... maybe I was always wretched to begin with.’

Roen let out a bitter smile.

That was right. Michael and his other old enemies were already dead.

So rather than clinging to his hatred for the Temple, shouldn’t he be thinking of how to use them? That would have been the practical thing to do.

And yet, instead of preparing for that, he had reacted with blind resentment.

How foolish.

‘What a pathetic bastard I am.’

Pathetic and foolish.

Even when he looked at himself, he saw nothing but failure.

...But if his instructor had been here to read his thoughts, he would have said this:

"You're not pathetic. When people have grudges, it’s natural for emotions to get involved. The truly pathetic ones are those who never look back at all."

Pfft...

‘That’s not like me.’

It was funny.

To think he had reached a point where he relied on someone else’s words like this.

But—

‘It’s not bad.’

Knowing there was someone he could lean on.

Hoo!

Roen exhaled.

His self-reflection had gone on long enough.

Now—

"I’ll say it again, Cardinal Raphael. From now on, all branches of the Temple must be placed under strict oversight. The Inquisition will be permanently disbanded, and there will be heavy restrictions on who can become a priest."

"That is only natural."

"The personal assets of priests will also be made publicly accessible at all times."

"If that is the path to restoring trust, then so be it."

"The Temple must sever all ties with the nobility."

"Of course, that goes without saying."

"...Are you sure about this? The backlash won’t be minor."

"Haha, this too shall pass in time."

"...I see."

Truly, he was the last conscience of the Temple.

If not for a man like him, Roen wouldn’t even consider trusting the Temple, let alone funding it.

Roen nodded in approval and moved to his final demand.

"Then the last condition—formally take the throne as the Holy King. Become the new anchor and symbol of the Temple—"

"Oh, I refuse."

"......."

"A younger, more capable successor should take that position. What would an old man like me do, sitting at the top?"

The source of this c𝓸ntent is freewebnøvel.coɱ.

"...I’ve lost count of how many times we’ve had this conversation."

Again and again—he had made it clear.

The Temple had collapsed.

It had brought destruction upon itself.

And yet, the only reason it still retained even the semblance of structure was because of him.

‘The Temple is held together by this one old priest’s sheer presence alone.’

Who was it that had shielded the young priests and acolytes when the Grand Cathedral burned?

Raphael.

Who had knelt in front of the rioters, bleeding, as he begged for their forgiveness?

Raphael.

Who had personally treated every single victim of the plague in the past month?

Raphael.

—This man was the only one who could guide the Temple into its next era.

Even though the entire South cursed the Temple, Raphael alone still had the people’s trust.

There was no one else who could take the throne.

‘The decades he spent traveling and healing people are finally paying off now.’

At this moment, there was no alternative.

No one else could be crowned as the Holy King.

For that to happen, a saint or a holy woman from centuries past would need to rise from the dead.

Of course...

‘Even if they did, I wouldn’t accept them.’

Roen would put this man on the throne.

Because to achieve his ultimate goal, he needed power.

Power strong enough to—

‘Crush even the royal family itself—!’

This was only the first step.

And Roen would not stop until he forced this stubborn old priest onto the throne.

—No matter what.

***

"Man, he's obsessed...."

"Our lord does tend to be like that. But please try to see it in a positive light, Saintess."

A girl who had been eavesdropping clicked her tongue.

The conversation was like a battle between an unstoppable force and an immovable object.

A brutal war of attrition.

She narrowed her eyes at the one who had called her Saintess.

Lately, that title had become the thing she hated most.

"Jack. Do you want to fight me?"

"...My apologies."

"Then don’t call me that. My head’s already hurting enough as it is."

"But people admire you, Lady Irene. That’s why they say it."

"Yeah, yeah. That’s why I’m letting it slide. Tch."

Kuguguguung!

Irene spun her staff, her magic swirling around her in soft waves of blue.

In an instant—

Fwoooosh!

The fresh scent of water spread through the scorched, blackened earth.

Like washing a filthy cloth, the land that had been burned by fire was restored to its original purity.

And more than that—

Tuk, tuk.

It wasn’t just the surface that was cleansed.

Tiny green sprouts began to break through the soil.

Even trees that had been reduced to ashes reversed time itself, restoring their former glory.

"......."

In the blink of an eye, part of the forest had been revived.

Birds and squirrels—animals that had gone into hiding—began peeking out into the newly regrown wilderness.

"Agh, this is exhausting. How much more do I have to fix?"

"......."

"Jack?"

"...And you still say you’re not a Saintess? You expect me to believe that?"

"Excuse me?"

"...Never mind."

Jack shut his mouth.

There was no point in arguing.

Because he, more than anyone, knew—

That beautiful magic of hers...

Was more than capable of cutting a man clean in half.