Chapter 204: A Game of Questions and Answers
"You will see certain people and learn certain things," Anto said calmly.
"When everything is over, you will state your choice."
Gideon rubbed his chin.
"So there are only two possible answers?"
"Correct."
"And what consequences come with each choice?"
"The choice itself isn't important," Anto replied.
"Either answer can be correct."
"What matters is the impact your decision has on those people and events."
"If the final judgment deems your choice 'wrong,' you will fail."
Gideon narrowed his eyes.
"And what is the standard of judgment? Under what circumstances is a choice considered correct?"
"That," Anto said flatly, "I cannot tell you."
"Then are you the judge?"
Anto shook its head.
"I am merely the narrator of the rules—and a witness to the game."
"In that case," Gideon spread his hands,
"how can I be sure the judgment itself is truly 'correct'?"
"Even if we make the right choice, an information gap would still allow the result to be manipulated."
Faya nodded inwardly. Gideon had struck the heart of the problem.
"That is precisely why I advise you not to participate," Anto said.
"You have no way of knowing."
"All I can guarantee is that the result will be genuine."
Gideon chuckled softly.
"A guarantee… from an evil spirit?"
He deliberately emphasized the word guarantee.
To his surprise, Anto remained calm.
"In summoning games, I do manipulate the outcome," it admitted.
"But in this matter, I cannot."
Gideon's smile faded.
"Please continue."
"You will have three opportunities to answer," Anto said.
"If more than two are judged 'wrong,' you will fail completely."
"At that point, the Apostle's Hand will fall into the Abyss of the Demon Pillars, and all the souls within it will be utterly devoured."
Gideon touched his chin again.
"And if a judgment is deemed 'correct,' what advantage do I gain?"
He deliberately avoided asking about rewards.
After Anto had already refused to reveal certain details, Gideon chose his questions carefully.
Even explaining the rules might itself be restricted.
Since there were three rounds of questions, if rewards only appeared at the end, he could easily miss crucial information.
Anto studied him with a meaningful look.
"Each time you are judged correct, you will receive a privilege in the next round—
the ability to witness one key scene from the current events."
Gideon pondered this silently.
"If it's the 'most important' scene," he thought,
"then it must be connected to the final choice."
But without knowing what he would see, he couldn't yet draw conclusions.
"Has anyone ever succeeded in this game?" Gideon asked.
"Heh. You truly are cunning," Anto said, lips curling.
In any other situation, Gideon might have openly accepted that label.
But now, he remained silent.
Evil spirits thrived on deception—everything Anto said had to be treated with caution.
If there were a rule where acknowledgment counted as a response, Gideon could be trapped instantly.
Seeing that the human did not reply, Anto smiled faintly.
"Relax. Explaining the rules carries no restrictions."
Then it continued.
"In the past thousand years, three people have participated in this game."
"All of them failed."
"Each failure further corrupted the Apostle's Hand."
"With its current level of connection to the demon gods, there is room for only one more failure."
"Beyond that… there will be no margin for error."
Gideon's lips twitched.
So he was the final one left holding the bag.
"You may not believe me," Anto continued,
"but I sincerely advise you to give up."
"If you fail, this holy relic of the Church will fall completely into corruption."
"Giving up won't save the souls—but if divine intervention ever descends, the evil rules upon the porcelain hand might yet be erased."
A flicker of hesitation crossed Faya's eyes.
She was clearly tempted.
But Gideon remained unmoved.
Anto's words sounded reasonable—but they were nothing more than camouflage.
Gideon had already sensed it drawing power through the dead spirits.
Combined with its projected consciousness, this creature clearly possessed a method of escape.
If allowed to grow freely, it would only bring greater disaster in the future.
"When does the game begin?" Gideon asked.
Anto narrowed its eyes but said nothing unnecessary.
"Whenever you are ready. But once it starts, stopping midway will be counted as failure."
Gideon immediately pulled Faya aside.
"What do you think?"
Faya bit her lip.
She recalled the archbishop's instructions—the artifact was of immense importance to the Church and had to be recovered.
But the risk of losing it completely was unacceptable.
Gideon saw the conflict in her eyes.
So it really isn't that simple, he thought.
If this were merely about appearances, the Church could replace a lost relic easily—it had done so before.
But judging from the current situation, neither Faya nor the archbishop seemed to be acting in bad faith.
After a moment, the nun lifted her beautiful face.
"Father Gideon… do you have confidence?"
She understood all too well: to answer correctly, they had to grasp the standard of judgment.
Yet Anto's explanations were deliberately vague.
Gideon thought for a moment, then replied,
"Maybe."
He organized the rules Anto had revealed.
"Worth it or not… That sounds like a judgment on someone's actions."
"And that judgment affects certain people and events."
He stroked his chin.
"The act being judged must have occurred in the past."
"So the standard of 'correct' or 'wrong' likely depends on the person who made that choice."
"And since three games have already taken place, both answers must have been tried."
"Yet all of them failed."
"That means blind affirmation clearly doesn't work."
Which also suggested something crucial—
The person being judged possessed a degree of objective reality.
If that were true, then the possibility of the outcome being arbitrarily altered was much lower.
As for the revenant named Anto—
From its initial compromise to its repeated hints urging Gideon not to participate,
it was clear that this entity did not have full control over the Apostle's Hand.
In fact, for reasons unknown, it was itself bound by the rules and forced to submit to them.
If that was the case, then when it came to the question-and-answer trial, the likelihood of Anto deliberately sabotaging the process would be far lower.
Gideon nodded to himself.
Of course, these were still only conjectures.
The truth would only be revealed once the questioning began.
But he had already made his decision.
First of all, whether the commission succeeded or failed did not truly constrain him.
In the Church's long history of exorcisms, failure was hardly unusual.
Second, he still had Jolan backing him.
That man came directly from the Vatican—from the very heart of ecclesiastical power—and held far more weight than José ever could.
Even if the holy relic were damaged, Gideon would still have room to maneuver.
And finally—if things truly went south in North America, he could always hijack a ship, cross the ocean, and return home.
Gideon quickly weighed the pros and cons.
Then he shared his deductions about the questioning with Faya.
Her eyes lit up. She hadn't expected him to form a theory so quickly.
It… actually makes sense, she thought.
The two reached an agreement almost immediately.
Gideon stepped back in front of Anto.
"Let's begin."
Anto narrowed its eyes.
"You're not going to reconsider?"
Gideon shook his head.
"But I have one last question."
"Speak."
He rubbed his chin.
"Since neither of us wants the Apostle's Hand to fall completely… could you—"
"No."
Anto cut him off before he could finish.
"Heh. That power comes directly from the rules themselves."
It sneered coldly.
"The moment I help you cheat, my spiritual form will immediately disintegrate."
Gideon shrugged.
"Fair enough."
"Since you've made your decision, stand there," Anto said, gesturing to a spot not far from the porcelain hand.
"You don't need to do anything. You'll naturally see what you're meant to see."
Gideon nodded and placed a few more holy artifacts around the area.
Anto glanced at them—but didn't interfere.
In the next instant, it left Mia's body, transforming into a stream of mental energy that plunged into the porcelain hand.
Gideon didn't move, but his stance remained loose, ready to leap away at any moment.
Fortunately, nothing unexpected occurred.
Just as curiosity began to rise, a soft white glow spread across the surface of the porcelain hand.
Then—
The world before Gideon's eyes changed.
---
County Galway, Ireland. Summer.
A young girl in a plain gray dress ran across lush green grass.
This place lay some distance from the village. Few people ever came here, which made it Mora O'Toole's secret garden.
Whenever she had free time, she would sneak away to this spot.
But today might be the last time.
Mora lifted her face, letting the gentle sunlight wash over her skin.
The hum of insects.
Wildflowers.
Fresh air.
The warmth and freedom of nature always put her at ease.
She knelt among the flowers, plucking fresh blossoms, then sat on a fallen log and wove them together with vines, forming a delicate flower crown.
She held it close, breathing in the natural scent.
A gift—for herself.
After today, Mora would undergo her coming-of-age ceremony.
Her mother and brother had already chosen a husband for her.
She'd heard he was the son of a fisherman—someone who could haul in big catches even among seasoned sailors.
Everyone praised his skill.
At least we'll have fish soup often, she thought.
The spring rains had lasted far too long this year, ruining the harvest.
Lately, she'd often seen her mother and brother sighing inside the house.
She shook the thoughts away.
Placing the flower crown on her head, she gathered more blossoms, planning to decorate her new home after the wedding.
Half an hour passed quickly.
She couldn't stay out too long—she still had to complete today's "bride lessons."
In the village, every girl about to be married had to take them.
The convent said that only those who performed well would receive the Lord's blessing after marriage.
Mora hurried back and soon reached the old wooden house.
"Mora, where did you run off to this time?"
Her mother's voice greeted her the moment she stepped inside.
"I'm sorry… I picked some flowers," Mora said, lifting her skirt. Petals spilled onto the floor.
"These useless things!" her mother snapped, grabbing her hand and pulling her inside.
"Only by serving your husband well will your life be happy!"
The petals scattered across the floor.
"Clean this up later. Your brother hates this sort of mess."
Inside, her mother began handing her things one by one.
The fresh green flower crown was removed.
A durable headscarf wrapped her dark hair.
An apron—dusty and stained—was tied over her clean dress.
Finally, her mother placed a wooden doll into her hands.
"Cook well for your hardworking husband. Bear him a child. That's what makes a good wife."
"Remember that—or our family will be mocked by the whole village."
The brief freedom of the meadow vanished.
Mora felt her heart sink back to the ground.
"Yes, Mother."
She watched her treasured dress grow dirty, but didn't dare complain.
Because a proper wife wouldn't think such thoughts.
The wedding was tomorrow.
Tonight was her last night in her mother's home.
She clutched the blanket, unable to sleep.
Her gaze drifted to the cabinet drawer where she'd hidden dried flower petals.
The last time her mother found them, she'd been forbidden from leaving the house until the wedding.
Thankfully, she'd saved some earlier.
They were dry—but still usable.
Knock… knock.
Someone suddenly tapped on the window.
Mora startled, but then heard a young man's voice.
"Mora… O'Toole?"
"Y-yes… who are you?" she whispered, trembling.
"Antonius Bell."
Her eyes widened.
That was her fiancé's name.
They knew of each other—but had never met.
"Why are you here?" she asked softly.
"I… wanted to see you. May I come in?"
Her instinct was to refuse.
But then she thought of the years they would spend together.
And she was curious about the man she would marry.
"You can come in," she said, her heart pounding.
Her father had died early. Aside from her brother, she'd rarely been around men.
A faint rustling sound followed.
Then a shadow slipped into the room.
"Did you… drink?" she asked, steadying herself.
"Tomorrow's the wedding. We were drinking—Iwold and the others. They all wanted me to see my bride."
She didn't recognize the name, but assumed he was a friend.
"If we light a lamp, Mother will notice. Just… stay like this," she said, turning her head.
Thankfully, the room was dark—otherwise he would've seen her blushing.
Then suddenly, her hand felt cold.
Antonius had placed her hand against his face.
"Touch me. Feel what I look like."
Her heart raced.
Curiosity overcame her shyness, and she gently raised her other hand as well.
"A round face… a high nose… that doesn't sound bad… ah—your beard prickles."
She imagined his appearance.
It wasn't what she'd pictured—but at least he was normal.
She'd heard the Lake family's daughter had married a man covered in boils.
Relief filled her chest.
Then—
His face suddenly leaned closer.
Softness touched her lips.
"Mm—"
Later—
Mora wiped tears from the corner of her eyes.
"Why did you do that?"
"You were going to be my wife anyway."
"But… we're not married yet. An unmarried woman who does that… she's called fallen."
She couldn't bring herself to say the word.
"Then I won't be a good wife."