Chapter 147 – Hans's Identity
"Him?" Hans replied with a casual shrug. "A priest from a Philadelphia community chapel. Harlin Parsons used to serve there."
Juan raised an eyebrow.
"So he's that man's student. In that case… it's not surprising he has access to high-grade sacred relics."
Hans's expression darkened, eyes sharpening with malice.
"Reasonable or not, anyone who dares obstruct the 'Descent'—must die."
Juan spoke in a calm, detached tone.
"This time, I'll have Samail assist you. You don't have any objections, I assume?"
Hans's eyes narrowed, but a moment later he smiled smoothly.
"With Mr. Samail joining us, I'm even more at ease."
Juan nodded.
"Good. When the time comes, have your men withdraw early. Samail will take care of the cleanup."
Hans snorted.
"No need. They're just a few fanatics. I can reel them back in afterward."
Juan didn't argue.
He knew perfectly well Hans wasn't driven by reverence for the True Lord.
He had recruited Hans only because of the man's church authority—not his faith.
Just as Hans himself only pursued his own twisted form of "spiritual pleasure."
Juan recalled their first meeting:
A noble descendant of an old ecclesiastical family, so empty and joyless he had contemplated suicide simply to feel something.
And now?
Hans had delivered countless souls to the True Lord.
Letting Samail join this time was merely a reminder—
a warning not to forget where he stood.
After all, Hans had been sloppy on his last two assignments.
If Hans knew Juan's thoughts, he would be screaming injustice.
He had gone straight for the kill with the Warrens.
By all rights they should've been dead.
By the True Lord, who would've guessed they'd survive in that condition?
"Back to business," Juan said. "How's the venue setup? What are the Angels doing?"
Hans clicked his tongue.
"I assigned them cover identities as gardening workers. But during setup, my men were chased off."
He shook his head.
"I checked the place myself—no demonic residue left behind. Maybe it was just a smokescreen."
"As for the outer perimeter, we did find traces of runes."
He pulled a folded sheet of paper from his robe.
Symbols—strange, geometric, jagged—covered the page.
Juan took it, and his brows instantly drew tight.
"Looks like part of a formation. I'll have to seek guidance from the True Lord. Until then, don't go near that area."
Hans nodded.
"And there's one more thing."
Juan continued:
"I've already reached an agreement with the Angels. The moment the orchestra finishes the first movement, they'll begin."
"…Oh? That early?" Hans grinned, amused.
"Those children were so eager to perform for me. What a pity… Heh."
His words spoke pity, but his expression was devoid of it.
"So make sure you bring those children to the venue early," Juan said.
"No problem. The higher-ups are impatient as it is. I'll take one of the girls with me." Hans waved dismissively.
"That's your call."
Meanwhile…
Gideon arrived at St. Peter's Cathedral with Judy in tow.
As the highest-ranking church facility in the region, security around St. Peter's was extremely strict.
Even clergy needed special identification to enter.
And once inside, one had to adhere to a very specific set of protocols and rules…
Some areas of the cathedral were strictly off-limits.
At certain hours, sacred rites were conducted inside, and all clergy were required to attend.
Absence would be considered an act of "arrogance" — a sin punishable by church law.
None of these rules were ever publicly announced.
Only those who quietly slipped a "small cloth pouch" into the hands of the gate inspectors would receive a "friendly reminder."
These were things Gideon learned only after being stopped at the entrance.
But the moment he produced the silver medallion Jolan had given him, the gate priest's attitude changed instantly —
his stern expression twisting into a smile so forced it looked painful.
He apologized loudly, bowed twice, and even offered to act as their personal guide.
Gideon had never seen a man smile that awkwardly…
but he had to admit —
with a face that thick, no wonder the man landed such a cushy post.
Even in this world, it seemed, power still held the same convenient privileges.
Gideon and Judy waited an entire day before Jolan finally met them.
The Hierophant Knight had also been assigned to the security detail for the upcoming Remembrance Day event.
After reading Wynn's notebook, surprise flickered across his face — followed by a muttered curse:
"Church vermin… every generation has a few."
Regarding Gideon's questions, Jolan only revealed Hans's true identity and assured him he'd "take care of it."
Then he left again just as abruptly.
Gideon could only shrug.
He had fulfilled his duty, but he would not place his hopes solely on Jolan.
If necessary, he would eliminate the threat himself.
Leaving St. Peter's, he and Judy were met with the full festival atmosphere.
Banners hung from street lamps, each bearing a bald eagle gripping olive branches — symbols of freedom and courage.
Crowds filled the streets.
Booths offered free drinks.
Parks hosted theatrical performances.
The entire city of Philadelphia pulsed with celebration.
But Gideon frowned.
When he tried calling Lorraine, the line reported:
"The number you're trying to reach is currently outside the service area."
"So it's happened…" Gideon muttered.
He already had a bad feeling yesterday when his visit to St. Peter's dragged into the second day.
After all — this was practically a cinematic cliché.
He called the hospital next.
Same result.
Finally, he called the police.
After being told:
"We're low on manpower during Remembrance Day, but we'll dispatch someone as soon as possible."
Gideon's suspicion solidified into certainty.
He scooped Judy up and stepped into a narrow alley, ready to use Holy Step to rush there—
But two strangers interrupted.
Black robes.
Faces covered.
"Judy Warren, right?"
One held up a photograph.
"What about the one next to her?" whispered the second.
"Who cares? Look at him — filthy clothes, shady face. Probably the kind with… 'those interests.' We'll just kill him too."
The alley had only one exit — now blocked by the two men.
Gideon sighed and set Judy down.
"Gentlemen," he said patiently, "a few notes:
First, judging people by appearance is terribly rude — even if you think you're doing it for the girl's sake."
"Second, this is an alley. Your 'whispered plotting'—"
He lifted his fingers miming quotation marks.
"I can hear every word."
"Lastly, it's broad daylight, and you're wearing full black robes and masks.
You might as well wear a sign saying 'I'm suspicious.'"
The black-robed men froze.
Then—
"Hey! Why'd you give me this outfit when we left!?"
"We always wear this!"
"Idiot, that's for NIGHT missions! They issued church uniforms for Remembrance Day!"
"Oh… I smelled something weird yesterday so I washed mine…"
They kept bickering.
Gideon and Judy both covered their faces.
But their argument revealed something important—
Someone planned to strike during Remembrance Day.
"Looks like today's going to be anything but peaceful," Gideon murmured.
Meanwhile, the black robes reached their conclusion:
"He's stalling."
"I sense no holy power from him."
"Good. We won't need to use that item."
They drew daggers and charged.
Gideon sighed, rolling up his sleeves.
"I told you… don't judge by appearances."