"Hehe, 'who exactly am I?' That is a fine question. At this moment, I am not entirely sure how to answer it."
Hearing Mikhail's astonished inquiry, the long-haired man calling himself "Neoth" shook his head again and chuckled softly. It seemed the priest's question had placed this mysterious figure in a difficult position.
"Since you are uncertain how to answer, Mr. Neoth, let us speak of other things first."
"For instance... your act of destroying churches?"
Seeing Neoth's response, Mikhail felt he understood the situation better. Throughout his decades as a priest, he had encountered many who spoke in riddles or avoided direct questions. The best approach with such people was to let them talk about what they wished to discuss; when the time was right, the truth would flow naturally.
As Mikhail spoke, Neoth turned his gaze back to the holy mural of Jesus Christ. To this man, the image seemed to hold a profound and singular significance.
"It truly is fascinating. A carpenter, betrayed because of his words, and a reluctant governor who ordered him nailed to a cross. Because of that single event, a man who should have remained obscure has been one of the most widely known figures in existence for tens of thousands of years after his death."
"How ironic. Obscure in life, yet known by all the world in death." Neoth finally responded, his voice tinged with a trace of mockery.
"Interesting. Mr. Neoth, you seem to have strong opinions on my faith. It is clear you do not care for what Jesus Christ represents."
Mikhail narrowed his eyes slightly. The situation was beginning to feel unsettling to the old priest.
"No, Mr. Mikhail. It isn't that I simply dislike the faith he represents—let me be clear, I still hold great respect for the noble character of the historical man named Jesus. But that does not mean I agree with the organized religion that claims him."
"In truth, I oppose all religions equally. I firmly believe that the existence of religion only serves to hinder humanity's pursuit of reason and science." Neoth's tone took on a hint of arrogance as he spoke.
"So, that is why you ordered your armies to destroy every church on Terra? You chose to annihilate these religions directly rather than waiting for humanity to enlighten itself and outgrow these ancient ideologies?"
Mikhail shook his head in disappointment, questioning Neoth's methods. He clearly did not approve of the stranger's perspective.
"Yes, Mr. Mikhail. I had to destroy those ancient religions. Perhaps you are right; I should have taught the people, letting them come to believe in their own strength and embrace reason and science of their own accord."
"But I ran out of time. I have too much to do. I had to cut the Gordian knot, using the overwhelming military force at my disposal to settle these issues once and for all." Neoth fell silent for a moment after answering.
"Perhaps you have your reasons, Mr. Neoth, but is it truly worth it? Countless precious memories and artifacts were destroyed by the violence of your armies," Mikhail replied, his voice full of disapproval.
"Look at the exquisite murals around us, Mr. Neoth. It was faith in the Divine—the desire to show the Divine the greatness of humanity—that drove ancient craftsmen to use every ounce of their wisdom and skill to create these works of art."
"This cathedral is more than a place where monks pray day and night. It is where the citizens gather for festivals. It holds the memories and history of the entire city; it is an inseparable part of who we are."
"I know you believe religion is mere superstition—a way for humans to abandon their own greatness to serve higher deities. But you are wrong. Often, it is the 'illusory' god that gives people the strength to organize and endure."
"And now, you believe your army can crudely tear this place down and you can act as if nothing happened? No. You will only leave an indelible scar in the hearts of the people. In their eyes, you will be remembered as a cold-blooded tyrant for all eternity!"
Mikhail gestured to the cathedral around them, his voice rising with passionate conviction as he lectured Neoth.
"Mr. Mikhail, do you think I care about my image here? No, I do not. I do not even care if humanity is loyal to me. I only need to lead humanity to complete the Great Plan. I do not care what happens afterward—including this so-called 'Imperium.' Once that is finished, I will abandon this Leviathan, this monstrosity I created, and let humanity decide its own fate."
Neoth sighed at Mikhail's accusations, his expression becoming one of iron-willed determination. He spoke each word with deliberate weight.
"Who... what exactly are you?"
Mikhail's eyes narrowed further. He could feel that the person before him was not a mere mortal. He had suspected it before, but now he was certain.
"Mr. Mikhail, do you know? When I see documents that record my past words as if they were divine oracles, I am deeply disappointed. I never wished to become the object of worship. Yet they turned me into that anyway, and then forced others to follow."
"You were right about one thing, Mr. Mikhail. I once recognized that religious faith could unite humanity and give them strength, and I attempted to use that to enlighten them. But in the end, the destructive power of that force was equal to its benefits."
Neoth did not answer the inquiry directly. He looked saddened, shaking his head slightly.
"Are you... Jesus Christ himself?"
Mikhail was visibly shaken. Though he had entertained the crazy thought moments ago, hearing Neoth's words made the idea feel far more real. He stood there, open-mouthed with shock.
"Lord Mikhail! Are you alright?!"
At that moment, the cathedral doors were violently thrown open. A fully armed Perturabo, gripping his warhammer, burst in, surrounded by dozens of Streltsi soldiers.
"I am fine, Abo! This gentleman is very... friendly. We have had a most pleasant conversation!"
Seeing his foster son and pupil rush in, Mikhail spoke quickly to calm the volatile young Tsar.
"Who are you?"
After confirming that his foster father was unharmed, Perturabo felt a slight sense of relief. His suspicious gaze then turned to Neoth—and strangely, he felt a flicker of familiarity.
"Hehe. So you are the High Tsar of this world?" Facing Perturabo's interrogation, Neoth did not flinch, answering with a question of his own.
The disciplined Streltsi stepped forward, surrounding Neoth. Their rifles were aimed at him, waiting only for their Tsar's command.
"Indeed. I, Perturabo Rurik Kislovsky, am the High Tsar of all Kislev, Lord of the Eighteen Principalities!" Perturabo answered with a trace of irritation at Neoth's lack of deference.
"Hehe. Then I shall hide no longer."
As soon as Neoth finished speaking, his body began to emit a golden light. The radiance was so piercing that everyone in the room was forced to shield their eyes. The vast cathedral, no matter how dark its corners, was instantly illuminated by the brilliance emanating from the man.
When the blinding light finally softened, the onlookers opened their eyes to a sight that left them in absolute shock.
The man who had called himself "Neoth" and argued with Mikhail had vanished. In his place stood a golden armored warrior, taller even than Perturabo. The armor was etched with patterns of thunder, lightning, and eagles—an artistic masterpiece that reflected the absolute devotion of the craftsmen who forged it.
"Perturabo," the golden warrior said. "I am your father, the Master of Mankind."