The Case of Being Reincarnated as a Heretic Mob Character in an Eroge Where Everyone is Extremely Determined - Chapter 72
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- Chapter 72 - Conviction by the Irregular
Chapter 72: Conviction by the Irregular
—Father Dordon.
In the original work, he appeared as a villain character symbolizing the corruption of Kenneth Orthodox, causing confusion among many players.
Despite having consistently undermined the Aaros Temple Order, he now seemed intent on also tarnishing the image of the protagonist’s camp.
His appearance made players realize that Kenneth Orthodox was not a monolith.
And now, in the present, Father Dordon was preparing to attack Oakley, who had lost both his memories of his past life and his extraordinary resolve.
While serving him his last supper, he indulged in a convivial atmosphere.
“Is Oakley-kun’s favorite food potatoes? All the boys up until now have demanded meat… but I think simplicity is also wonderful.”
In front of Oakley, who was silent with a pale face looking down, Dordon laid out a wholehearted potato feast on the wooden table.
A potato galette topped with melting cheese. A creamy potato soup.
Meat and potatoes sautéed in onion sauce—without glancing at the exquisite dishes illuminated by the flickering candlelight, Oakley was pulling at his hair, looking down.
He was repeating “help me” over and over again while tears and snot ran down his face, clearly not in a mental state to eat.
“Is your appetite not coming to you? I think if you’re going to die anyway, it’s happier to die after eating something delicious.”
Sighing, Father Dordon began to prepare the tableware.
The potato soup contained a special blend of sleeping pills and paralytic poison, and the moment the meal was over, and the drugs took effect, Oakley would experience hell on earth.
The cutlery was laid out with a pitiful clinking sound, and finally, the preparations for the evening meal were complete. Father Dordon began to recite a formal phrase as if worshiping the one true God.
“O God, the one and absolute in heaven, bestow your blessings upon us, the weak. Grant us salvation… We give thanks to for Your will today as well. May the world be blessed.”
Faith did exist within Father Dordon.
He truly loved God and had devoted himself to the Kenneth Orthodox.
However, his taste for murder was a different story. And this duality of Father Dordon had greatly helped to conceal his crimes.
On the surface, he was a devout and serious priest, but behind closed doors, he was a deranged killer who repeated his crimes to satisfy his own desires.
The reason only one man in the alleyways had ever realized his deeds was because his public persona was that of a saint. Even Marietta, who had been in the town of Satel for some time, had not caught on to his actions.
“Come now, taste and eat. In the past decade, only nineteen boys have had the privilege of eating my special dish. Oakley-kun, you are the noteworthy twentieth.”
“…”
“Oh, I see. You want me to feed you, is that it?”
With a sly slurp, Father Dordon took Oakley’s silence as an opportunity to make a convenient interpretation and sat down beside him. Oakley, his spirit broken by fear, couldn’t even shake his head to refuse.
“Here we go, open wiiiiiiide.”
The viscous saliva played an unpleasant, smacking sound. While flicking his tongue, Dordon shoved the food into Oakley’s mouth, and as if he couldn’t stand it any longer, he slurped up his drool. It was the loudest noise in the past few days.
“Huff, huff, this won’t do… my tongue just moves on its own.”
Father Dordon, at the age of seventy-five, knew the secret to longevity and health: to convert the accumulated stress of daily life into transcendent desire and pleasure.
Throughout his life, the priest had been thorough in eliminating risks in his crimes.
From a young age, he was aware of his twisted desires towards the same sex, but he continued to suppress these urges until he had gained a certain level of power.
He first became aware of his own desires at the age of eighteen.
It was at the age of sixty, after becoming a priest, that he committed his first self-serving murder and questionable things.
In other words, he had been stewing in his warped lust for about forty years.
Before taking any drastic action, he would always consult the town’s birth registry, and if he found someone with the same name and a similar age, he would abandon his plans.
Even if there was no one with the same name in the town of Satel, he would venture to neighboring towns to gather more information from their registries and family records.
People from villages were convenient targets, especially those from small villages that often lacked a proper town hall, which was ideal.
He also favored those from the collapsed town of Daskell, as he could do as he pleased amidst the chaos.
In the past fifteen years, he had killed nineteen people.
The only time his crimes nearly came to light was with the son of a man in an alleyway, but he was indeed a maker of perfect crimes.
Father Dordon, elated from feeding Oakley his proud homemade cooking, began to confess all the sins he had committed up to that point.
“The first time I killed a boy was when I was sixty years old. It was half a year after I had dropped out of the executive struggle and was sent to a remote church…”
Father Dordon invited orphans with nowhere to go to the church, taking care of them until they were either adopted or could stand on their own.
The first target he chose among them was a fifteen-year-old boy named Aiden Dickers.
Father Dordon was said to have been very fond of him.
“He was a lovely child… Ah, that’s right. He remains fifteen forever, doesn’t he? How enviable.”
Aiden was an orphan who had somehow managed to escape from a village ravaged by a Magical Beast.
Most children who came to Dordon had tragic backgrounds, having lost their families or homes.
After rescuing such children, Dordon would plunge them back into despair.
Derailing a person’s life and severing their future brought immense pleasure to Father Dordon.
Father Dordon, indulging in his desires to the fullest, buried Aiden’s body in the mountains.
He had intended to eat the body to destroy the evidence, but it was easier to let Magical Beasts or animals dig it up and dispose of it, so he left it to nature.
“――And then I, with an innocent face, lamented that ‘the child has gone missing,’ ‘taken away by Heretics.’ Everyone mourned with me… Do you understand this feeling, Oakley-kun? This oppression and release are more dangerously addictive than any drug.”
Father Dordon, gasping for breath, pounded the desk in a frenzy.
Clutching his head, he collapsed onto the floor, then began to gyrate his hips towards the hard wooden floor in a panting motion.
“Be still… calm down…! Ah, my hips move on their own and won’t stop…!” (TLN: “…”)
—What on earth is this guy doing?
Oakley couldn’t take his eyes off his violent behavior.
Perhaps the stress that had built up was driving Dordon to this abnormal behavior, since he had only been playing the role of a perfect superhuman, so different from his true nature.
However, Dordon’s earnest expression as he rubbed his groin while sweating like a waterfall was evidence that, despite being tossed about by his own impulses, he was thoroughly enjoying the moment.
“Do you understand, Oakley-kun, why a grown man becomes faithful to his own desires!? This is what it’s all about!!”
Oakley couldn’t understand those feelings at all.
Startled, Oakley jumped over the defenseless Father Dordon and dashed out of his private room into the outside.
“Wait, Oakley-kun! There’s an attack by the Heretic tonight, isn’t there!? You’ll go missing!”
Oakley ran down the pitch-dark corridor, with Father Dordon slowly following behind.
Oakley ran desperately. He had always been grasped by the nape of the neck, with murder constantly hinted at.
This opportunity was too good to miss.
The layout of the church was already etched in his mind.
He had to escape this hell as quickly as possible.
In a matter of mere seconds, Oakley had reached the main entrance, but the front door did not open. The door was firmly shut, unresponsive to any attempt to move it.
“…No way.”
“Give up. Everything is in the palm of my hand.”
――Father Dordon took great pleasure in observing his targets after deliberately detailing past crimes as a perfect spice to his deeds, providing them with a chance to escape.
By showing a gap, they often felt hope.
Without exception, Oakley must have felt that hope too.
And then to kill. To give hope and then cast them down into hell.
Finally, to savor every inch of their body, indulging in desires to the fullest.
There’s nothing more satisfying than having young people face unreasonable deaths.
“Oakley-kun, let me teach you something good, you who have lost your memory.”
Father Dordon approached Oakley, who was hanging his head in front of the tightly closed door.
While uttering things beyond the comprehension of ordinary people, he reached for Oakley’s clothes.
Paralytic poison and sleeping drugs were already circulating in Oakley’s body, and he had lost the strength to resist.
Including the effects of these drugs, the priest’s plan was perfect.
“A person’s testicles contain the history of that person’s experiences… Since when, I wonder. I have become able to understand a person’s character by touching their testicles.”
“What are you… talking about…?”
“Oakley-kun, let me touch your ‘golden balls’.”
Relying on his impressive physical strength to tear away the clothes, Father Dordon reached for Oakley’s lower body.
“What color is the landscape of your mind?”
―At that moment, a series of incomprehensible visions flashed through Father Dordon’s brain.
“…What?”
――A ghastly crimson, with just a hint of white.
A sea of blood and chemicals stretching beyond the horizon, islands of entrails.
And above, a girl like an angel looking down upon Oakley’s self-awareness.
In the presence of a mental landscape that stood apart from all those he had dealt with before, he involuntarily stopped the kneading motion of his hands.
“…You, what… huh? What does this scenery mean…?”
Father Dordon shuddered as he sniffed his hand.
The inner visions he had perceived from his previous victims had been pastoral village scenes or moments capturing the loss of loved ones—scenes whose meanings were clear upon viewing.
But what of Oakley’s?
It made no sense.
It was the first time he had seen the mental landscape of someone with amnesia, but even though there should be no past memories, that scenery was too alien.
“A sea of blood? Chemicals? An island made of internal organs? A female guardian angel? …I don’t understand, I can’t make any sense of it, Oakley-kun! Haha, this is getting exciting! Show me more of your inner landscape!”
Father Dordon felt fear, yet he was also struck by a sense of exhilaration like nothing he had ever experienced before in his life!
This is what makes humans interesting!
They harbor infinite potential and always exceed expectations!
“Now, reveal yourself to me, both inside and out.”
Father Dordon exposed the upper body of the terrified Oakley.
Well-defined muscles.
Deep scars etched from the base of the neck to the extremities.
A thick keloid scar, like an earthworm, running from below Adam’s apple down to below the navel—Oakley’s body was so painfully disfigured and discolored that it went beyond mere severe injury.
Looking at him, the priest felt an almost admiring fascination.
The cause of the amnesia must lie in these wounds.
With injuries like these, it wouldn’t be surprising if, despite how swiftly and appropriately treatment was administered, some form of impairment remained.
“I want to know. I want to understand him deeply.”
Father Dordon’s twisted desires and intellectual curiosity mixed together, creating an explosive energy.
The history of a person cannot be understood by merely touching their testicles.
It is by hearing their death throes and pleas for mercy that one truly gains a deeper understanding.
“…slurp?”
The priest slurped up his drool, his hand suddenly pausing.
Something nagged at the back of his mind.
It was a sense of dissonance about ‘a certain rumor’ and a young man named ‘Oakley.’
Just before the collapse of the town of Daskell, it seemed that the executives of the Aaros Temple Order had suddenly appeared in the heart of the town.
Soldiers were stationed at the town’s gates, making it impossible for the heretical executives to pass through unnoticed.
If heretical executives were to appear at the outer gates or an attack was known, the orthodox executives would be alerted through a magical system constructed in the outer walls and underground, ensuring a swift initial response.
It was quickly concluded that the reason for the delay in response was because the enemy had been ‘teleported’ directly into the town.
The presumed method of teleportation involved a common Heretic carrying a piece of flesh from a heretical executive, which would serve as the source of the teleportation.
And the person who had summoned the executives to the town of Daskell was suspected to be a Heretic named ‘Oakley,’ a close confidant of the great executives.
Father Dordon was aware of this information through military channels, but until this moment, he could not reconcile the image of ‘Oakley’ with the frail-looking young man before him.
He had thought it impossible for a young man with the same name as a person frequently discussed within the Kenneth Orthodox to be wandering alone within the Holy Nation of Geluid.
Normally, one would expect him to have at least one or two bodyguards.
Moreover, since the young man was in a state of amnesia, Father Dordon had dismissed the possibility that he was the same ‘Oakley.’
“…Could it be?”
Father Dordon placed his hand on the glove fitted over Oakley’s left hand.
The moment he witnessed the five fingers of his left hand, he arrived at a certainty.
“――Impossible.”
A sense of discomfort emanated from the index, middle, and ring fingers.
Someone else’s fingers had been transplanted there.
“…I see, I’ve understood. The true nature of the discomfort I felt from your body’s wounds, your fingers, and the landscape of your mind… You’re not just any Oakley. You’re Oakley the Heretic.”
The excitement that had dominated Father Dordon until just moments ago had vanished――and a sense of justice, which had lingered in the corner of the heart of the cunning villain, was throbbing.
Even if it was a deception for his own desires, he had dedicated nearly forty years of his life to Kenneth Orthodox.
He had often participated in heretic hunts.
While he might be shelving his own actions, the undeniable truth was that his heart ached whenever people died at the hands of Magical Beasts or Heretics.
Therefore, he prioritized the greater good over his own desires.
A bit belatedly, the desire for further power that might come from capturing ‘Oakley’ also played a part.
Father Dordon forcibly dressed Oakley and began to prepare for their departure to the garrison.
Oakley, his face a mess with tears and snot, was confused by the abrupt end to Father Dordon’s brutality.
Of course, it was impossible for him to even jokingly ask if it would resume, and all Oakley could do was huddle in a corner and tremble.
Observing Oakley’s state, Father Dordon pondered a little.
The series of events that had given him an opportunity for his own pleasure had been unnecessary.
He had spoken too much about inconvenient matters.
“…If you speak carelessly, it’ll be a disadvantage for me. My bad habits have finally come back to haunt me. Now then, Oakley-kun, say ‘ahhh.’ I’ll cut out your tongue.”
Father Dordon took a knife from his pocket and, with practiced ease, reached for Oakley’s tongue.
The next moment, a horrific death cry echoed throughout the church.
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