Memories of the Departed Saint
|Memories of the Departed Saint|
|Binding||Bind to Account|
떠나간 성자의 기억 Tteonagan Seongjae Gieok, "Memories of the Departed Saint"
Memories of the Departed Saint (Korean: 떠나간 성자의 기억 Tteonagan Seongjae Gieok) is an event exclusive Storybook that was added in the Decisions Unto Destiny - Remnants of Chaos Event. The Storybook consists of three chapters with each chapter partitioned into two parts, which detail the departure of Saint Michael from the Dark Side, and his mission to purify the dark energies absorbed from Ozma of Chaos in the aftermath of the Second Black Crusade.
Huge changes always begin with small cracks.
The place where his cross had always lay felt empty. Michael, who had left the Dark Side was walking aimlessly, was suddenly besieged by dazzling light amid which he saw an incomprehensible sight.
The scenery around him changed in an instant. The Dark Side, which had been full of the energy of Chaos, now overflowed with vitality like a sanctuary, and the sounds of flowing water and birdsong tickled his ears.
What was more surprising than these sights was the energy of divine power that was bursting from within the Dark Side. It felt like he was dreaming.
In that moment, Michael, sensing something, swiveled his head around. It was an indescribably potent holiness that nonetheless felt too familiar.
'Strange... How could the energy of an Archangel be here...'
Michael's footsteps, which had been come to a stop, became busy again.
When he made it over the steep hill and finally obtained an unobstructed view of the land, what he saw before him was Archangel Michael, eyes closed as if in death.
Within Archangel Michael, whose wings of light were wrapped around himself, a man lay curled up while suppressing the evil forces of Chaos.
'That person... can it be?'
The moment he saw Ozma, Michael knew that he himself shared the same roots with him.
Those who came from different origins, but had the same energy as a common source.
Michael had intuitively realized that he could not harm Ozma upon his hard-earned victory against him in the Black Crusade.
But to see that that this could be circumvented by allowing Chaos to be absorbed and "purified" with holy energy...
What resided within Archangel Michael had to be the purest holy energy from the beginning of time.
"Who are you, to be showing this vision? Sirocco, is that you?"
Michael, realizing that this was all but an illusion, shouted out, and the surrounding landscape scattered like a mirage.
Of course, it was only his voice that echoed through the air,
with no returning answer.
The Chaos Gate was closed again, and the Outskirts of Roschest was swept away by a storm of change.
A man, his face hidden deep inside his hood, traversed the desolate earth with staggering steps.
He was panting heavily.
Sweat flowed from his brow as he stopped to rest for a moment.
His labored breathing and dark purple veins visible beneath his skin seemed to show that he was not in a good state.
As if looking back at the path that he'd passed, the man turned and looked behind him.
At the same time, a colossal force of sacred power spread widely in the surrounding atmosphere, replacing his senses like a fine sense of touch.
He could not stop here. Releasing the energy of Chaos this close to a village with human presence would create more unpredicted losses again.
"There must be a more suitable place..."
Taking steps in the opposite direction of where he could sense human life, Michael fell back into conversations of the past that he'd had with his colleagues during the Black Crusade.
Milan Rosenbach, who was treating an injured Priest's arm, asked in a curious voice.
"Yes. It's the source of light and life we draw upon, and it's filled with the divine power of Lemidios."
Michael answered without taking his eyes off the legion of Imposters visible in the distance.
"If there's really such a place, it must be paradise."
"It may be so for us, but there would be no worse a hell for the Imposters."
Shapiro Gracia and Wolfgang [sic] Beonarr, who had been working on a large shield to the side, interjected in the conversation between the two. Their eyes shined with the hope that, perhaps, a way to end this tedious war was being discussed.
"...I'm not sure."
Michael, who hesitated to answer for a moment, soon continued again collectedly.
"It is said that Lemidios' Sanctuary disavows all that is unholy, but what qualifies as "unholy" may not be limited to Imposters only."
"So you mean that the Sanctuary may reject those who are not Imposters?"
As Milan asked this question, Shinya, who had been quietly meditating, opened his eyes to answer.
"That's a feasible theory. Although for the moment we stand united in the war against the God of Chaos, there's always been countless humans with hearts darker than those of the Imposters."
At Shinya's words, those who were gathered soon found themselves immersed on their own thoughts.
The old miner, now surrounded by Imposters, was berating himself for his own complacency.
Not long ago, rumors of rare minerals being found after a great battle between the Priests and the Imposters in the Dark Side had stoked his greed, and thus led him to the most remote part of Roschest.
He'd heard countless stories of miners who had encountered those with the Blood Curse and never returning, but he had never imagined it would happen to himself.
Although his mind screamed at him to flee, his legs crumpled from insurmountable fear, and his pickaxe, which he'd used as if it were a part of his body his whole life, found itself on the floor, having been dropped from nerveless hands.
When the miner, who'd given up on any resistance, closed his eyes, a strong light suddenly penetrated his closed eyelids.
What met his eyes after he'd barely recovered any vision were the bodies of the Imposters, now turned to ash, and the back of a Priest dressed in white robes.
"Th...thank you! Are you a Priest of the Order? How could I ever repay this favor..."
The Priest looked no older than 20 years old. With a slight nod, the blue-eyed Priest slowly turned toward the miner.
"... Get out of this place. Now. As far away as you can."
He kept wiping away his flowing sweat and trying to take controlled breaths as if he were ill.
"Soon... not even one's shadow will be able to survive here."
The old miner found himself nodding in spite of himself at the sight of the Priest's solemn expression.