Word Of Honor Novel By Priest の小説・ストーリー

JOHN'S POV I reclined into my seat, reading newspapers were exhausting. The same headlines everyday. I knew that if I wanted to act like a judge at least I should be able to take a book and read on it.I stumbled on a textbook titled Elon Ad Vortem. It was an unfamiliar language that kept me intrigued. I checked it up on the internet and I couldn't belive that the meaning was so simple in contrast to the name itself. It meant Peace and Justice. I opened the pages and flipped through it .It was quite an heavy and voluminous textbook and the bulky paragraphs didn't help my condition.

Then: “He’s not wrong.” Her gaze snapped to his. “Arthur?” “I haven’t told you everything, Isabella. About why I became a priest. About the life I left behind.” “Tell me now.” And so he did. Piece by piece, he unraveled. The bar fights. The gang affiliations. The night he almost killed a man. The judge who gave him a choice: prison or priesthood. The man he once was — violent, broken, angry. A sinner long before he found faith.

Almost hypnotised by the sight of it, a blur of black smeared the edge of my vision, and I glanced across the road to see a priest crossing in front of a gelato parlour, a tan leather satchel clutched under his arm, his heavy, dark robes swishing behind him as he walked. I gasped and pushed myself instinctively closer to Ethan, who squeezed my hand in return, barely even giving the priest a second look. 'Not all priests are agents of the Council,' he said, as we continued to walk, and I glanced furtively back over my shoulder. 'Most of them genuinely believe that what they have dedicated their lives to, is the truth. They know no better.'

Then he looked into the flame of the lamp, and his thoughts took another turn entirely. "Loenka?" He asked, and the priest looked at him carefully. “I don't understand why the volunteer was convicted. He saved us after all. It is not fair that he should have died because of it. Why couldn't you make an exception with him? ”He was still very upset by the question, and inside himself vehemently refused to acknowledge the harsh logic behind it all. Of course he knew all the theories, the dry legal texts, which were so neatly written in small handwriting in the book of rules of the community and which seemed quite harmless. But the actual handling had horrified him. He had never before thought a

“Is that your ultimate wish right now? Don't you want me to spare yours instead of that Catholic priest?” “Maybe.” “What if I tell you that they just made up that retraction? That it was Paul Sebastiano who wanted to parade to the public that Napoleon is not an asshole but a hero. Will you forgive them both?” “If I still have a day to live, I will personally thank Napoleon Victor for his generosity.” The killer was aghast with the very idea of it. He never thought that this old man was crazy. “You must be a saint.” “No. I will never be one. But if I will not live to see the dawn, let Napoleon Victor be forgiven as well as Fr. Paul Sebastiano. They are good people.”

"Holy Jesus... I'm admitting that Keegan's death has torn me up. The old man... He's dead and it's because of me. I shot my mouth off and that got him killed... So what does that make me? Maybe it's something that has blown back on me, huh? That's what IAB thinks." "That's right." She moved the folder to read it, picking up her glasses. She held them a few inches from her face. "Mike, ah... Wazowski." Back to the blotter, they went as she laughed. "That reminds me of a wonderful story," she started as she sat back down. "One of the first Irish apostles who evangelized Switzerland was explaining to his audience of peasants that martyrs are our best intercessors before God. The shepherds of Al

They crumble to the ground with the doors still wide open, waiting for them to escape. One by one, I silence them. All, except the priest. The priest crawls backward, bible clutched to his chest like it can save him. “Please,” he whispers. “You’ll make it worse. I’m a vessel of—” I cut his throat mid-sentence. His holy words bleed out with his blood, soaking the bible he’d used to judge me. The pages turn red. Scriptures drowned in sin. I tower over him, watching the light fade from his eyes.

“I don’t believe in taking up space I haven’t earned, so I’ll let the Word speak for itself today. But I’m grateful to be here.” He stepped back. No smile this time. Just a nod. He opened his Bible. But my mind wasn’t on the message anymore. It was still trying to make sense of the man standing three feet away. The new priest. Father Dorian Vale.

"What's going on here?" Was heard from a questioning voice. Louis and Godric looked at the church door. There was a man with black hair standing there. He wore priestly clothing. It was the priest of this church. "Forgive me. It's gotten a little late. We weren't planning to cause any disturbance. ”, Godric apologized while Louis remained seated on the altar. This earned him puzzled looks from the priest. "Young man. Sitting on the altar is strictly forbidden! Please show respect for our Lord. “, The priest admonished gently, but with a bit of emphasis. He didn't want to curse, but he couldn't tolerate anyone sitting on God's altar. Louis narrowed his eyes. He didn't want anyone to tell him,

There was a stunned silence as Mad Max stood at the back of the room, one leg crossed over the other and an unlit cigarette hanging from his lips. The priest’s lips flapped like a fish. “This is highly irregular.” Max shrugged. “So is lying in a house of God, but that’s never stopped you before, Stan, has it?” There was a horrified gasp from the audience as they began to piece together that the minister and Max knew each other quite well. “What was my favorite line from just now, Stan?” Max grinned, but it only held threats. “’Gabe was a man of charity, of kindness, a man of honor.’”