Chapter 144 — Church Reinforcements
At that very moment, several black chains erupted from beneath the sunflower field,
lashing violently toward the Solomon family.
The group's faces drained of color —
but the invisible barrier of divine light that Gideon had woven around them flared in time,
stopping the chains mid-air.
Holy radiance and demonic energy collided,
rippling outward in concentric waves that shook the earth.
Gideon knew the barrier wouldn't hold for long.
His sharp gaze swept across the farmland,
identifying several points where the demonic energy pulsed thickest —
the likely anchors of the ritual.
"Normally, the area around a sacrificial offering is the most dangerous,"
Silas muttered, having noticed the same pattern.
"If we split up, we might be able to destroy the ritual faster."
Gideon, however, remembered Valakh's final warning.
And though trusting a demon was never wise,
he'd learned that sometimes even devils spoke truth.
Activating the [Sacred Gaze],
he quickly spotted an area where the darkness was weakest —
the fragile point in the ritual's structure.
"This way," he said quietly.
Before moving out, he turned to the academy trio.
"Demons are cunning. Under no circumstances do we split up.
No matter what happens, stay close."
The three young exorcists exchanged uncertain glances,
but by now, they had witnessed enough to know—
this priest's instincts were sharper than anything written in their textbooks.
Every decision Gideon had made so far had been the right one.
So, they followed without question.
They soon arrived at the designated spot.
After some careful digging, a faintly glowing sacrificial relic was unearthed.
All three academy students froze in surprise.
"Why would a demon place something this important… here?"
Zal whispered, eyes wide.
"Exactly because no one would look," Gideon replied.
He pulled the stopper from a vial of holy water and poured it over the object.
Ssszzz—
The relic hissed, shuddered, and then crumbled into ash.
Immediately, the oppressive miasma around them thinned.
But in the distance, the black chains reacted violently,
their aura intensifying as they slammed against the holy barrier again and again,
burning through their remaining energy to break free.
Gideon frowned.
"Seems our friend is getting desperate."
They pressed on.
One by one, they uncovered and purified more hidden relics.
With each destroyed piece, the demonic corruption faded further,
until the entire field was little more than a faint shadow of its former malice.
Finally, from high above, a furious roar echoed through the dark clouds:
"Human! I will find you! You will pay for this!"
The voice cracked and dissolved into the wind —
the sound of a defeated demon lord retreating to the abyss.
Its plan had failed.
After expending so much of its own essence,
even Marbas had no choice but to withdraw.
The team finally exhaled, tension melting from their bodies.
If they had gone to the denser areas of evil energy first,
they would've walked right into the demon's trap.
"So it really was a trick…" Bente wiped the sweat from his brow.
The experience had shaken him deeply.
No lecture at the academy had ever felt so real — or so dangerous.
Their teachers had always warned:
"Exorcisms are never by the book."
But now he understood why.
"I need to learn from Father Gideon," Bente thought.
"His composure… his clarity…
and that vigilance that never, ever wavers."
Silas and Zal seemed to share the same thought,
watching Gideon as he quietly examined the ground again,
checking for anything he might have missed.
After a brief pause, the three of them joined in wordlessly,
helping him ensure that not a trace of corruption remained.
When they were done,
Gideon finally straightened, brushing the dirt from his hands.
The field was calm again — for now.
Gideon gathered the sacred relics he had deployed earlier,
leaving behind only faint traces of holy water shimmering in the soil.
The ritual of sacrifice had not fully completed—
but this disturbance would certainly draw the attention of the Church's upper ranks.
That meant an investigation was inevitable.
The site would be examined down to the last grain of dirt.
And everyone involved — himself included — would face questioning.
After all, the claim that "a group of academy students single-handedly dismantled a demonic ritual"
was bound to raise eyebrows no matter where it was heard.
Gideon needed a plausible explanation — a story that could hold up under scrutiny.
To hide his involvement completely was impossible.
Both the three academy exorcists and Carlby had witnessed the entire ordeal.
So instead of concealing his strength,
Gideon decided it was better to reveal a portion of it on his own terms.
That way, he could earn credibility —
and perhaps even attract more assignments in the future.
After all, countless evil spirits still roamed the world,
waiting to be "saved."
He had barely finished packing when several sharp sounds sliced through the air.
Thud... thud...
A series of cross-shaped relics came whistling from afar,
stabbing into the ground around them,
forming a perfect circle centered on the group.
Gideon's brows lifted, but he didn't move.
A moment later, pure holy light flooded the field,
weaving itself into a radiant protective barrier —
a defense ritual of Vatican design.
And then, a figure appeared at the edge of the dirt path.
The newcomer was tall and sharply dressed,
wearing a fitted black cassock with gold embroidery of a lion-shaped cross on the sleeve.
His hair was slicked back neatly, his expression cold but composed.
Gideon's eyes narrowed in recognition.
"It's him," he murmured.
Jolan Borha.
They had met once before at St. Jehovah Cathedral,
where Jolan — then already a respected archbishop —
had personally invited Gideon to apply for the Holy Clergy Corps.
Now, that same man stood before him again.
Gideon glanced around the field.
Judging from the aura, the relics that had been deployed were all ten-year sanctified artifacts.
It was rare to see any priest other than himself carry relics of that grade.
"Vatican clergy… always well-funded," he thought dryly.
"You were the ones who reported the sacrificial ritual here?"
Jolan's brows drew together.
He could still sense faint demonic residue —
but the area had already been thoroughly purified.
The dispatch he'd received, however, had been urgent:
A team of academy students caught in a Catastrophe–level exorcism case.
Jolan had come expecting casualties, not calm faces.
He certainly didn't believe any group of trainees could handle such a situation.
"A-Archbishop, sir—"
Silas blurted out before anyone else could speak.
He hadn't expected the Vatican to send such a high-ranking figure personally.
He stepped forward, eager to make a good impression—
but didn't get far.
"You're here too?" Jolan interrupted curtly.
He walked past the students and stopped in front of Gideon.
"You're the one who handled the incident?"
"Yes, Archbishop."
Gideon met the man's gaze evenly,
his tone calm, his hand tracing a small cross over his chest.
"Spare me the formalities," Jolan said with a dismissive wave.
"Tell me exactly what happened."
Gideon did so — clearly and without hesitation.
He explained how Carlby's information had led him to uncover the ritual,
and how he had manipulated one demon to drive out another.
He even mentioned, in passing, his ability to produce high-grade holy water.
By the time Gideon finished, a flicker of genuine surprise crossed Jolan's face.
He had long been frustrated by the Church's rigid approach to exorcisms —priests clinging to outdated, "textbook" formulas
while evil evolved faster than their doctrines.
Gideon's improvisational method — adapting on the fly,
using intellect as much as faith — was exactly the kind of thinking
the modern Church desperately needed.
"You handled yourself well," Jolan said at last.
"But…"
His tone hardened, his eyes sharp.
"Collaborating with a demon is still heresy.
You do understand what that means, don't you?"
Gideon's expression didn't change.
"You'd face public judgment in the Vatican," Jolan continued,
"and be sent to the Place of Penance for purification."
He paused, studying the young priest's composure.
"So tell me — how do you intend to justify yourself?"
Even under the weight of a high-ranking archbishop's scrutiny,
Gideon remained calm.
"Evil is growing bolder by the day," he said evenly.
"To protect the faithful and spread the Lord's light across this continent,
neutralizing the source of danger must come first."
"Sometimes," he added, "special methods are necessary."
He looked directly into Jolan's eyes.
"In a room full of rats,
what you need is a cat that kills them —
not one that matches the curtains."
For a long moment, silence hung between them.
Then Jolan chuckled — low, amused, thoughtful.
"That's an interesting way to put it."
It was a truth he himself had wrestled with for years.
The Vatican's obsession with regulation and ritual
had slowed response times and cost innocent lives.
"Jolan, that's against protocol. We must—"
He could almost hear the voices of his superiors,
and it made him want to slap them.
"You're something else," Jolan said at last, admiration clear in his tone.
"The last time I saw you, I thought you were just a clever priest."
He knelt, scooping a handful of soil.
It was still damp with the remnants of holy water.
"But I didn't expect you to be capable of crafting ten-year sanctified water yourself."
He dusted off his hands and gave a small nod of approval.
"With talent like that… why hide away in some rural parish?"
"Tell me, Father Gideon—"
"Do you have another purpose for being here?"