Chapter 205: Mora's Story
"May the Lord bless this newlywed couple…"
Under the watchful eyes of the villagers, Mora shed the clothing of her girlhood and changed into sturdier garments better suited for labor, completing her personal "rite of entry."
Her husband, blindfolded, slaughtered a chicken—an act regarded as a symbol of bravery.
But Mora knew the truth.
Someone else had guided his hands. He was so drunk he could barely stand.
After the wedding, she moved into an old wooden cabin deep in the forest—her so-called "new home."
Mora dreamed of a happy life.
Yet the endless labor quickly wore her down.
"Mora, you should have dinner ready the moment your husband comes home…"
"Mora, you're always so slow with your work…"
"Mora! If you have time to fuss with those rotten flowers, you'd be better off cleaning the house again…"
She wiped the sweat from her brow, scrubbing filthy clothes with aching hands.
She did everything she could, yet her husband and mother-in-law were never satisfied.
Only after she became pregnant did things ease slightly.
But during a family gathering, Ivo humiliated her in front of everyone.
"She slept with a man before the wedding! Antonius told me himself!"
Mora burned with anger as she stared at the blotchy-faced man.
This was her husband's friend—the same man who often spent time alone with him.
Why would he do this?
Yet what hurt more were the looks around her.
It had taken two people—but only Mora was blamed.
That very night, she was sent back to her mother's house.
In the village, a woman deemed impure before marriage was considered a sign of the devil.
Her mother and brother were furious. She had brought shame upon them.
So they bound her and dragged her to a ritual altar deep in the forest.
Bones littered the ground. The air reeked of blood.
Many "fallen" women had been brought here before her—left to starve until death.
Mora begged and pleaded, but her mother and brother turned away, leaving her behind.
It was the first time she realized how terrifying the silent forest could be.
Fortunately, Mora had always carried a small knife on her for weaving flower crowns.
She cut herself free.
But she dared not return home.
Wandering aimlessly, she eventually came upon a building adorned with a white cross.
A church, perhaps.
Clutching her torn clothing, she stepped inside.
Children's voices echoed through the hall, and a smiling nun approached her.
"This is the House of Mercy," the nun said gently.
"A place that shelters orphans… and unfortunate mothers."
In the days that followed, Mora experienced a rare sense of warmth there.
The nuns taught her how to care for a child, what to watch for during childbirth, and how to endure the pain.
Day by day, her belly grew larger.
On a stormy night, Flora was born.
It was a name Mora had chosen long ago.
She had once secretly asked a priest at the church about it—Flora meant "flower" in Latin. She hoped her daughter would grow freely, like a flower in the wild.
But after only twenty minutes with her newborn, Flora was taken away by Daryl.
Daryl was the headmistress of the House of Mercy, the woman who oversaw everyone there.
"You've done well," she said gently. "A newborn needs a few necessary examinations."
Mora nodded, her eyes never leaving her daughter.
Days passed.
Yet Flora was never returned.
"Newborns shouldn't stay with their mothers for too long…"
"Flora is about to receive the bishop's baptism…"
"I'm sorry, Mora—she fell ill…"
By the time Mora finally heard the news of Flora's death, she had not seen her daughter even once more.
She refused to believe it, but every nun in the shelter insisted it was true.
Mora tried again and again to uncover the truth, only to be stopped each time.
Eventually, they locked her inside the laundry room.
"The shelter isn't easy to run," they told her. "You must work if you want food…"
Once again, Mora's world plunged into darkness.
Until one rainy night, when she slipped quietly into the headmistress's office.
There, at last, she heard the truth she had been searching for.
"Sold?"
"Eighteen newborns in total. Only one was sick—no one wanted that one."
"Was everything taken care of afterward?"
"Don't worry. The mothers all accepted the 'facts.' Only one caused trouble, but I dealt with her today."
"Good."
"Archbishop, there's one more thing…"
"What is it?"
"We're short on baby food, and the hygiene conditions are worsening. Many of the 'goods' fall ill shortly after birth. It could affect future business."
"That's irrelevant. Dispose of the weak ones the same way as before—throw them into the cesspit."
"Yes… understood."
Mora clamped a hand over her mouth, her body trembling.
She had never imagined such a truth.
She didn't remember how she returned to her bed that night.
But from that day on, the light vanished entirely from her eyes.
She wanted desperately to expose everything—but the shelter's supervision only grew stricter.
Time passed.
More unmarried pregnant girls sought refuge at the House of Mercy.
And their fates mirrored Mora's.
Years later, most of those mothers had suffered mental breakdowns.
Only Mora remained capable of speaking coherently with others.
Her hands had grown rough and calloused—
—but she also glimpsed a faint hope.
A community report mentioned missing children, prompting a police investigation.
Mora's heart raced. Perhaps the darkness would finally be brought to light.
That was when Daryl came to her.
"Mora, I need your help. If the shelter is shut down, the new mothers and their children will be left on the streets…"
Only then did Mora realize how many girls Daryl had taken in—some had only just given birth.
"Think of Flora," Daryl urged softly. "You wouldn't want those children to die so young, would you? We've accumulated some money over the years. Conditions are much better now—food, hygiene, everything…"
"These mothers and children couldn't survive outside. They've broken sacred laws. No village would ever accept them."
Mora stared at her in disbelief.
This woman—wearing a human face—was the real demon.
And now she was asking Mora for help.
Yet what she said was true.
No village would take in an unwed mother—just as no one had taken Mora.
She looked at the newborn children… and thought of Flora.
"I… how can I help you?"
"Just sign your name on this parchment. These children will be grateful for your help."
Mora stared at the parchment Daryl handed her. After a moment's hesitation, she took the pen.
"You must promise me," Mora said slowly, each word firm,
"that you will never sell these children—and that you will raise them until adulthood. Otherwise, the Lord Himself will punish you."
It was the first time in her life Mora had ever defied someone.
"Of course… I promise."
After receiving that assurance, Mora signed her name.
Soon after, the investigation into the House of Mercy was abruptly suspended.
Officially, it was declared an unfounded accusation.
And Headmistress Daryl kept her promise—raising the children.
But the children were forced to beg every day to earn food for the shelter.
At the same time, under protection from higher authorities, more ostracized girls were sent to the House of Mercy.
And the trade in children never truly stopped.
---
The scene before them shifted back to the apartment.
Gideon closed his eyes briefly, steadying himself against the dizziness.
"Hah…" He let out a slow breath.
It felt as though he had lived through Mora's entire life.
The experience left a deep impression.
At the same time, a mass of energy floated up from the surface of the Apostle's Hand.
Within it, the faint outline of a woman's face could be seen.
"Now," Anto's voice echoed from within the porcelain hand,
"state your choice."
Faya's expression was conflicted.
"This… the Church does have heretics corrupted by demons, but that doesn't mean—"
She was cut off.
"Corrupted by demons?" Anto sneered.
"Enough of the pointless arguments. Touch that soul—and tell her your answer."
Gideon narrowed his eyes.
At this point, it seemed clear—the judge was likely Mora O'Toole herself.
But… what did she truly want?
Validation for her choices?
If so, the answer would be far too simple.
And then there was that parchment…
"I have one more question," Gideon said suddenly.
"About that demonic contract—"
"No," Anto interrupted. "This is the answering phase."
As expected.
"Can we still refuse to answer?" Faya asked abruptly.
She had realized how dangerous this game was—either choice could be deemed "correct."
If so, reclaiming the holy relic would be impossible.
"Perhaps we should report this to the Archbishop… request Gold Cross clerics—" she thought.
"Too late," Anto replied coldly.
"If you withdraw now, the Apostle's Hand will immediately connect to the Abyss. This land will become corrupted."
Faya fell silent and looked to Gideon.
He, however, had noticed something strange.
"There's something inside that soul."
Activating the Ethereal Sight, Gideon saw numerous translucent chains wrapped around Mora's spirit—tightening endlessly.
Though her face showed no expression, faint ripples of power pulsed across her form.
Only because he had levelled his Sight, was Gideon able to sense it.
"Her information is being concealed…"
Then he noticed something else.
Some of the chains shimmered faintly blue.
"That is…"
He recalled a passage from a tome on ocular disciplines:
"Emotion is a shackle upon the soul. Only by tracing it with holy power can one form Chains of True Word—an essential step toward completing the Divine Eye Seal…"
The text listed known emotions.
Blue corresponded to—
Pain.
"I see," Gideon murmured inwardly.
He spoke aloud at once.
"I'm ready."
Faya looked startled. "Father Gideon—what did you discover?"
He did not answer.
Instead, he closed his eyes.
"Just touch it," Anto said.
But Gideon did not move.
Instead, he projected holy power into the energy mass.
Inside the Apostle's Hand, Anto felt a surge of shock.
He actually noticed that…
---
Gideon opened his eyes.
The world around him dissolved into nothingness.
Before him stood a woman—bound by chains of many colors.
Mora raised her head and looked at him.
"Now," she said,
"tell me your choice."