God Ash: Remnants of the fallen.-Chapter 1333: Sinister (2).
The room beyond was unlike anything Nero had seen before.
It was large, far larger than the previous room, and every inch of wall space was covered in shelves. Vials of every size and shape lined those shelves, filled with liquids in every conceivable color. Some glowed faintly, casting soft halos of light onto the surrounding surfaces. Others seemed to shift and swirl on their own, as though alive. The walls themselves were etched with runes, faintly glowing symbols that pulsed in a slow, steady rhythm. The air thrummed with energy, a low vibration that Nero could feel in his chest.
He stood in the doorway for a moment, staring.
Bishop chuckled and gestured to a wooden chair near a cluttered workbench. "Take a seat."
Nero obeyed, sinking into the chair while his eyes continued to roam the room. Bishop moved to the workbench, setting the vial down carefully before lowering himself into a chair opposite Nero. He picked up the vial again, holding it up to the light and studying it with a critical eye.
"The contents of this vial," Bishop began, his tone shifting into something more clinical, "are a mixture of your own blood and a few other things I won’t mention." He set the vial down and folded his hands on the desk. "Lyon wanted me to perform a few tests on it. But before that, I’d like to tell you a few things about the history of our empire."
Nero frowned, his confusion evident. "History?"
Bishop nodded, his expression calm but intent. "Yes. History. Because what you are, Nero, and what you might become, is tied to something far older than you realize."
He leaned back in his chair, his gaze distant, as though looking into the past itself.
"Before the empire, during the Age of Gods, there were thousands upon thousands of smaller kingdoms scattered all around. These kingdoms had their own cultures, which of course made it so that they birthed their own gods. Most of these gods had begun to become terrible entities, demanding human sacrifice and all other unspeakable things. It was not until the Church’s arrival that things began to change..."
Bishop’s voice carried a strange weight, as though each word had been carefully chosen and measured. Nero found himself leaning forward despite himself, drawn in by the calm authority in the man’s tone.
"Some three thousand years before the end of the Age of Gods," Bishop continued, "the Church began a campaign to unite the kingdoms called The Thorne Crusades. For five thousand years, there were hundreds, perhaps even thousands of battles to dictate the fates of the peoples and their gods. Eventually, the kingdoms fell, and from the ashes of their royalty came the noble families of the empire."
Nero’s frown deepened. He had heard fragments of this before—vague references to the Crusades, mentions of the Church’s unifying role—but never in such detail. The way Bishop spoke of it made it sound less like history and more like a foundational truth, something that shaped the very bones of the world they lived in.
"The Church noticed," Bishop went on, "that the genes of most of the noble families of the kingdoms were rather powerful, granting their descendants powerful bodies, incredible minds, and a very delicate attunement with the energies of this world. In short, they were the perfect breeding grounds for the warriors they could cultivate to fight the darkness—the Templars."
Nero’s breath caught. His mind flashed back to Master Theo’s words in the carriage, the casual dismissal of commoner blood as "unworthy." He had assumed it was simple prejudice, the arrogance of those who had more looking down on those who had less. But if what Bishop was saying was true, then it wasn’t just arrogance. It was doctrine. It was structure.
Bishop leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. His eyes locked onto Nero’s, and for the first time, Nero saw something sharper in that gaze—something calculating.
"I believe you can see where this is going."
Nero’s jaw tightened. "You’re saying the nobles aren’t just rich. They’re... different. Biologically."
"Precisely." Bishop picked up the vial again, holding it between them. The red liquid inside caught the light, shimmering like liquid fire. "Lyon suspects that you possess noble traits. But he believes they are recessive—buried, dormant, hidden beneath the surface."
Nero stared at the vial, his pulse quickening. "Why would he think that?"
Bishop set the vial down and tapped a finger against the desk. "Because you survived things that should have killed you. Because your body adapts faster than it should. Because your energy readings are astronomical compared to most recruits, and yet you claim to come from common stock." He paused, his expression unreadable. "Lyon doesn’t believe in coincidences. Neither do I."
Nero’s hands clenched into fists on his lap. He thought of Gor, of his parents—a blacksmith and a schoolteacher. Common people. Unremarkable people. The idea that there was something hidden in his blood, something that marked him as different, felt wrong. It felt like a betrayal of who they were.
But he couldn’t deny the truth of what Bishop was saying. He had survived things that should have killed him. He had adapted in ways that defied explanation. And deep down, he had always known there was something... off. Something that set him apart.
Bishop’s voice softened. "I want to test your blood, Nero. If I can confirm that you carry recessive noble traits, then there are ways to bring them out. Ways to unlock what’s already inside you."
Nero’s throat felt tight. "And if you can’t confirm it?"
Bishop’s smile returned, but it was colder now. "Then Lyon will have wasted a great deal of time and resources on you. And you’ll spend the rest of your life wondering what you might have been."
The silence that followed was heavy. Nero stared at the vial, his mind racing. He thought of Orpheus, of the trials, of the promise he had made to himself to become strong enough to survive. To win.
Finally, he looked up and met Bishop’s gaze.
"Do it."
Bishop’s smile widened, and he reached for the vial.
