30 Years After Reincarnating, It Turns Out This World Was A Rofan?! novel Chapter 222

A man stood on a raised platform.

He had the kind of face one could see anywhere—plain, unremarkable.

And yet, there was something about him that made it impossible to look away.

It wasn’t because both of his arms were missing.

It wasn’t because his face was covered in countless burn scars.

It was because of the sheer intensity of the spectral energy gleaming in his eyes.

With those ghostly eyes burning with fury, the man spoke, enunciating each word with precision.

“—I was once a husband, a father of two, and an ordinary accountant running a family business.”

“—And I was also a failure of a man who could not protect his home, a failure of a husband who could not protect his wife, and a foolish father who could not protect his children.”

“—I was a fool who believed in the kindness of the world. A wretched sinner!”

His words were not eloquent.

His voice was rough, unpolished. His speech pattern was awkward, lacking the natural cadence of a skilled orator.

Yet, his words carried something far more powerful—raw, unfiltered sincerity.

There was grief in his voice. There was sorrow.

A deep, festering han, a resentment so thick and bitter that it seized the hearts of those who listened. freewebnσvel.cøm

“I am a sinner. That is an undeniable truth! How could a man who failed to protect his family claim otherwise? That is why I do not run, I do not hide, and I do not deny my sins! But—!!”

“Why is it that those who have committed far greater sins—!! Those who have sold the name of God, those who have forsaken their duties—why...!”

“Why do they claim to be free of sin?! Why do they smile so shamelessly as if they have done nothing wrong?!!”

His voice thundered with indignation.

Even though decades had passed, the wounds of the past had not faded. Time had not eroded his grief; it had only concentrated it, distilled it into something more potent.

The man’s sorrow had transformed into something else entirely—hatred.

A desire for vengeance burned within him, an unquenchable fire that would consume him only when he had seen his retribution fulfilled.

And so, he continued.

“I! I have no reason to live! I have lost everything—how am I supposed to go on? Living is agony! Every breath I take, every second I remain in this world is a torment, so tell me—HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO ENDURE THIS?!!!”

His wretched scream was a mass of tightly wound hatred.

It sent a shiver down the spine of all who listened.

Yes—

The man was alive, but he was already dead.

A vengeful spirit clinging to the mortal realm, bound by the singular purpose of exacting revenge before he could finally vanish.

There was an old saying—one person alone cannot change the world, but the wrath of a single man can destroy many things.

And vengeance? Vengeance has a way of igniting the hearts of others, setting fire to kindling they had not even realized was lying dormant within them.

“Come. Let us go. Let us bring them as much sorrow as they have brought us.”

*

*

*

Thanks to Irene Windler, the fire that had engulfed the Grand Temple had been extinguished.

But fire was one thing.

Rage was another.

Unlike flames, anger could not be doused by mere rain.

Boom.

Boom...

Boom.

Crosses burned, and priests were tied to stakes.

Familiar faces.

Among them—Cardinal Michael, the leader of the Moderate Faction.

The same man who had burned the Radical Faction at the stake just the day before.

Now, his own head hung low, soaked in blood, bound alongside the rest of his faction.

One might have thought the sight too cruel.

But—

“Y-you... You killed my daughter! You defiled her! You stole her purity and left her to die, you filthy bastard!!”

For a man like Michael, even this was too merciful.

A frail old man threw a stone.

It must have taken all of his strength to lift it, yet he continued to throw, again and again.

“Do you remember me?! Do you even know who I am?! I am the daughter of the woman you deceived fifty years ago, you wretched beast! Bring my child back, you monster!!”

A storm of curses rained down on Michael.

A man once hailed as a Candidate for Sainthood had been laid bare.

But that was only the beginning.

“Do you remember the village you visited?! The one where the people were dying from the plague, with no hope of survival? You ordered them to be burned alive, you bastard!”

“Why?! Why did you do it?! We paid you! We gave you everything we had—so why did you abandon us?!”

“AAAHHHH!! DIE!! JUST DIE ALREADY!!!”

The atrocities he had committed—no, the sins he had wrought—were only just now coming to light.

And the temple guards? The soldiers meant to protect these men of faith?

Schwing.

“Do not move. Move, and you die.”

Most of them had already been subdued.

They had not been bested by ordinary soldiers, but by half-demons disguised as Holy Knights.

It was clear how those powerless people had made it this far.

This was a land drenched in hatred and vengeance.

If there was such a thing as hell—

Then surely, this was it.

“Eight hundred fifty-nine thousand, eight hundred.”

“?”

“That’s the number of people who died each year because they couldn’t afford to pay the temple’s tithes and receive healing.”

“......”

“Funny, isn’t it? The temple monopolized healing magic and medicine under the guise of divine authority, yet refused to treat those who couldn’t pay. Isn’t that absurd? This is why comedies fail. Reality is far more ridiculous.”

“Then those people are...?”

“Yes. Those who stand here today are the families, lovers, and friends of the eight hundred fifty-nine thousand people who were denied treatment and left to die.”

“......”

Dyna spoke in a low voice, laying out the brutal truth.

“The organization—or rather, the Prophet—approached them. He asked them, ‘Do you seek vengeance?’ or ‘Do you need a place to die?’ And... well, when given the chance and the means, they accepted. They chose to burn their own lives for the sake of revenge.”

“......”

Crack.

Ihan’s fist clenched tighter and tighter.

These people had nothing to do with him.

And yet, the more he listened, the more his rage festered.