30 Years After Reincarnating, It Turns Out This World Was A Rofan?! novel Chapter 236

Tuk. Tuk.

"Agh, my shoulders...."

The old man lightly tapped his shoulders, groaning in exhaustion.

He liked to think his spirit was still as strong as ever, but his body—his body could no longer lie about the weight of time. There wasn’t a single part of him that didn’t ache.

Just ten minutes. If only he could close his eyes for just ten minutes and rest...

"Bishop Raphael! The frontline against the demonic beasts is requesting priests. They say it’s urgent—how should we respond?"

"—So I’m not even allowed to rest, huh."

There was no time to close his eyes.

Urgency bled through the priest’s report, and it didn’t stop there.

"We’ve received word from the border! A demonic outbreak is imminent—they need healing priests or medics immediately!"

"A plague is emerging. Since last month, the number of priests assigned to rural areas has been insufficient, and villages that lacked proper oversight seem to have succumbed to disease."

"Urgent message from the royal capital...."

"......Ha."

A relentless stream of reports, one after another. Raphael could feel a headache creeping in.

"Your Holiness!"

"...I’m not the Holy King."

"Ah! Bishop!"

"Mm...."

At this point, he had given up correcting them.

He wasn’t sure if his brothers in faith were doing it on purpose, but they kept calling him either the Holy King or the Bishop.

It made him uncomfortable.

But he couldn’t bring himself to scold them.

Because, in truth—

"—You’re the only one they have left to rely on."

"Oh, Brother Roen."

"Don’t call me brother. I’m neither a follower of the God of Light nor someone who tolerates the Temple."

"Then shall I call you Young Master instead?"

"...That’s even worse. Just use my name."

"Heh, very well, Roen."

"......."

Roen Dmitri de Lionel.

A black-haired young noble, a blood relative of the Lionel family, and the de facto heir of the North.

He entered Raphael’s office, frowning as usual, but no one found it strange.

For the past month, he had been visiting the office daily, almost like an employee clocking in.

But more importantly—

"The Temple’s greatest patron has arrived, so I should at least offer you some tea."

"I don’t want any. Just don’t bring me anything."

"Then how about some holy water?"

"......."

—Roen had practically bought out the failing Temple, rescuing it from total collapse with his wealth.

There wasn’t a single person left in the Temple who could refuse him entry.

And yet, despite holding what was once an institution as powerful as the royal family in the palm of his hand, Roen looked utterly displeased.

"Haah... if not for my instructor’s advice, I wouldn’t have gotten involved with the Temple at all."

"I will always be grateful to Brother Ihan. And to you, of course, Roen. Thanks to your support, the Temple is still functioning."

"...Tch."

Whether it was Raphael’s respect toward him—an elder priest bowing to a much younger man—or simply the absurdity of the situation itself, Roen clicked his tongue in irritation.

‘...This is fucking ridiculous.’

Cursing in his head, using words he had learned from his instructor, somehow made him feel a little better.

***

‘Me, standing here as the Temple’s benefactor? This is insane.’

Before the Miracle of Time, before he experienced regression, Roen—the Roen of the first timeline—had been the Temple’s greatest enemy.

No other person had killed more inquisitors and holy knights than him.

Many had called him a butcher, a monster. They said he was ruthless.

But even back then, Roen had something to say in his own defense.

Simply put—

"—If my acts were brutal, then what the Temple and the Noble Alliance did were atrocities beyond human comprehension."

Roen had been a man seeking vengeance, but the Temple and the nobility had been demons in human form.

That was why, in the first timeline, Roen’s methods had only grown harsher with time.

Now, in his second life, he had worked tirelessly to prevent the same future, meticulously preparing to destroy the corrupt high priests and the nobles who were worse than monsters.

But—

‘I never expected one of my greatest enemies to self-destruct like an absolute idiot.’

If his old comrades from the first timeline could see this, they’d be just as baffled as he was.

Even now, a month after it happened, Roen still found it hard to believe.

‘Those vile bastards actually crumbled on their own.’

The infamous Bishop Michael, the very bane of Roen’s existence in the first timeline—was dead.

‘A man like him should’ve come back as an undead if nothing else.’

Roen had once sworn to kill him with his own hands, so the fact that the bastard had died under torture left him with a mix of disappointment and satisfaction.

But even more unbelievable than Michael’s death was—

‘The Temple has collapsed.’

Completely.

Seventy percent of the high-ranking clergy had been wiped out.

Most of the Temples across the capital and the provinces were either abandoned or destroyed.

Even if they started rebuilding immediately, it would take at least ten years... No, considering how much trust they had lost, maybe even thirty.

Temples could be rebuilt. Priests could be replaced.

But—

"Trust, once lost, is not so easily regained."

Roen had once wanted to tear the Temple down himself.

Now that it had collapsed under its own weight, should he be happy? Or should he feel hollow?

Frankly, he wasn’t sure.

But considering the ripple effects of the Temple’s downfall, celebrating would be ridiculous.

"Healing priests are scarce, and plagues have started spreading."

As corrupt as the Temple had been, it was still revered for one irreplaceable reason:

Holy Power.

The undeniable proof of divine existence. The [Mystic Gift] bestowed upon the faithful.

But now, the supply of Holy Power had been cut off across the continent.

Chaos was inevitable.

‘If I hadn’t invested early in training medics to replace healing priests, the damage would’ve been far worse.’

But medics weren’t a perfect substitute yet.

Which was why—

"—I ended up helping the damn Temple."

"And for that, I remain deeply grateful, Roen. Thanks to your support, the Temple can still function."

"It’s not out of kindness. I just..."

He simply chose the greater good over his personal grudges.

He recalled a conversation with his instructor.

"So, kid—what’s your plan?"

"What do you mean?"

"Don’t play dumb. You’re smart enough to know what I’m asking."

"Instructor, I hate the Temple."

"I’m not asking about your hatred. I’m asking about your goal."

"...What?"

"You hate them, fine. But are you just going to let the Temple fall apart? If you don’t care, I won’t say another word. That just means you have a plan of your own."

"T-That’s...."

"Besides, if you don’t step in, others will—whether it’s the royal capital, the Merchant Guild, the Noble Alliance, or the Trade Federation."

"That’s not an option! Letting those bastards take over would be like handing a fish to a starving cat! Those vultures will strip the Temple of everything! And even if the Temple recovers, it’ll be rotten beyond saving!"

"See? You already know the answer."

...!?

In the end, you just don’t want those bastards to take control, do you? Then change it to suit your terms instead. If that works in your favor, wouldn’t that be better?

......

—This man was the only one who could guide the Temple into its next era.

Even though the entire South cursed the Temple, Raphael alone still had the people’s trust.

There was no one else who could take the throne.

‘The decades he spent traveling and healing people are finally paying off now.’

At this moment, there was no alternative.

No one else could be crowned as the Holy King.

For that to happen, a saint or a holy woman from centuries past would need to rise from the dead.

Of course...

‘Even if they did, I wouldn’t accept them.’

Roen would put this man on the throne.

Because to achieve his ultimate goal, he needed power.

Power strong enough to—

‘Crush even the royal family itself—!’

This was only the first step.

And Roen would not stop until he forced this stubborn old priest onto the throne.

—No matter what.

***

"Man, he's obsessed...."

"Our lord does tend to be like that. But please try to see it in a positive light, Saintess."

A girl who had been eavesdropping clicked her tongue.

The conversation was like a battle between an unstoppable force and an immovable object.

A brutal war of attrition.

She narrowed her eyes at the one who had called her Saintess.

Lately, that title had become the thing she hated most.

"Jack. Do you want to fight me?"

"...My apologies."

"Then don’t call me that. My head’s already hurting enough as it is."

"But people admire you, Lady Irene. That’s why they say it."

"Yeah, yeah. That’s why I’m letting it slide. Tch."

Kuguguguung!

Irene spun her staff, her magic swirling around her in soft waves of blue.

In an instant—

Fwoooosh!

The fresh scent of water spread through the scorched, blackened earth.

Like washing a filthy cloth, the land that had been burned by fire was restored to its original purity.

And more than that—

Tuk, tuk.

It wasn’t just the surface that was cleansed.

Tiny green sprouts began to break through the soil.

Even trees that had been reduced to ashes reversed time itself, restoring their former glory.

"......."

In the blink of an eye, part of the forest had been revived.

Birds and squirrels—animals that had gone into hiding—began peeking out into the newly regrown wilderness.

"Agh, this is exhausting. How much more do I have to fix?"

"......."

"Jack?"

"...And you still say you’re not a Saintess? You expect me to believe that?"

"Excuse me?"

"...Never mind."

Jack shut his mouth.

There was no point in arguing.

Because he, more than anyone, knew—

That beautiful magic of hers...

Was more than capable of cutting a man clean in half.