Vacation, leisure, rest.
What deeply moving words!
Natida lay back on the bed, stretching her legs and feeling the warmth of the blanket, letting out a long sigh. Whenever she relaxed like this at the front lines, Rania would often come by and throw new tasks at her.
But where was this place?
It was the North, where Rania’s influence did not reach.
That meant she could rest without worry. Natida thought she had enough justification to take a vacation, so there seemed to be no need for concern.
“Hmm, hmmm.”
As she hummed a tune, something on the notepad next to her bed glimmered. It was a signal that a reply had arrived. Natida stretched out her hand to check the notepad.
“…Hmm?”
Natida blinked.
After reading the note several times, she tilted her head in confusion. It asked to show her a sword? What did that mean?
‘Isn’t he using an axe in the first place?’
The Guardian of the North, Lac von Grace.
She had never heard him using a great sword before. Was she to assume he had a decorative great sword or something? Despite her doubts, Natida called for a servant to bring Lac.
Not long after, Lac arrived.
Natida handed him the notepad, while Lac read the letter he received from Rania, blinking in surprise. If there was something that could be called a great sword mentioned in the letter, there was only one thing.
‘The First Holy Sword.’
A treasure passed down through the family and a historical holy relic, it wasn’t something to be easily exposed to outsiders. However, with the request from Rania, who played a crucial role in obtaining it, the situation might be a little different.
“Yes, understood.”
Without a moment’s hesitation, Lac nodded.
As soon as he put down the notepad, Lac lightly shook his wrist. Then, he stretched his hand towards the air. The space rippled as it engulfed Lac’s wrist.
“Hmm?”
Natida’s eyes widened momentarily.
Slowly, Lac’s hand emerged from the void. Something was grasped in that hand, and as it came out into the open, it radiated a brilliant light.
Flash!
Immediately, the dazzling starlight filled the room.
*
In a distant past, in a now-forgotten era.
There was a hero who led a glorious age.
Ganikalt van Galatrick.
Standing at the forefront, facing disasters before anyone else, he was a hero, a champion. In his hand was always a platinum-glimmering holy sword, and people referred to him as the Avatar of Deloheim.
Hero, champion, saint, and apostle of the god.
Every time he swung his sword, the cascading light was so overwhelming that anyone had no choice but to embrace their faith. The aristocrats trying to control the Church, the people living in barren lands pretending not to believe in God, all felt the sacredness emanating from Ganikalt. Therefore, he was a saint (聖人).
Centuries passed since then.
Now, no one remembers that era, yet the First Holy Sword could evoke the same feelings that people had centuries ago. Natida felt it now.
“W-what…?”
Natida blinked, gazing forward.
There was light.
It was hard to explain with words, it was just light—so radiant that it felt like her eyes would go blind. As she stared at the light, Natida’s mouth gradually opened in wonder, feelings of mystique and shock washing over her.
What in the world is that?
Natida had seen countless holy relics during her time in the Church. However, none of them could compare to the light before her. If the holy relics she had seen had dripped a drop of sacredness…
What lay before her now was something made entirely of sacredness.
Holy relics typically reflect the good deeds, achievements, and faith of their bearers. In that sense, the ‘First Holy Sword’ that Lac just revealed was indeed one of the most powerful holy relics.
Before the Church’s downfall.
The most sacred of times.
Before the rise of the Deloheim Church, established to purify evil and save all. Even Natida, who despised the Church and loathed God, could not help but feel its holiness in front of the relic that had led that golden age.
“…”
Natida’s eyes softened.
The tangled flow within her body started to unravel instantly. The uneasy breathing became easy in an instant, and the persistent headache vanished just as quickly.
All that remained was a pleasant exhilaration.
“Hehe…”
As if about to drool, Natida leaned in closer to the holy sword. Ignoring Lac, who flinched, she rubbed her cheek against the blade.
It felt like being intoxicated.
With her senses overwhelmed by the sacred power emitted from the holy relic, Natida rubbed her face against the sword for quite some time until she suddenly locked eyes with Lac. He looked at her with a genuinely regretful expression, and in that moment, Natida hastily regained her composure.
“Ahem, cough.”
What an embarrassing display.
Mumbling that, she quickly pulled her face away from the sword and fixed her disheveled hair. After wiping the drool from the corner of her mouth, Natida turned back to Lac.
“Um, young lord.”
“…Yes.”
His response was a bit delayed, but she decided to let it go. Natida savored the pleasant exhilaration left by the holy power and smiled brightly. Seeing her smile, Lac thought to himself, ‘This is the expression that warriors who drank all night wear in the morning.’
“Could it be that you belong to the angelic race?”
Her pupils dilating, intoxicated by the sacred power, Natida looked at Lac and said.
‘This sounds like the nonsensical mumblings of warriors who are inebriated all night,’ thought Lac, giving a casual reply.
“I am a warrior. It seems we share the same character.”
Strictly speaking, it would be a different character, but it’s the same in pronunciation, so one could say it’s similar. Lac thought that was a very ‘Lac-like’ response.
2.
A year ago, the young man Zitapan, who suddenly found himself in the papal position of the Deloheim Church, let out a long sigh. His sighs had been increasing lately.
Clunk.
For a carriage that the Pope rode in, it was unrefined and made loud clunking noises periodically due to its speed. Zitapan looked out the window.
The scenery whizzed by at a rapid pace.
The direction the carriage was heading was the place humanity referred to as the front lines. The reason for the journey was simple—he was going to beg for forgiveness.
‘It’s not like I committed a grave sin…’
In this case, it was a matter of attitude.
Of course, even a member of the royal family couldn’t bring the Church’s actual leader, the Pope, to his knees unless it was a grave crime, but there was one being in the world who could easily bring the Pope to his knees over a “trivial” matter.
A year ago, a single person had toppled the Church.
Erasing the higher-ups of the Church and placing the lowly Zitapan in the papal seat. Zitapan understood very well the importance of making a good impression. If he failed to do so, hell awaited him.
Clunk, clunk.
He was getting closer to his destination.
Zitapan reflected on his mistakes in silence. Technically speaking, he hadn’t committed any sins; it was one of the priests of Deloheim Church who had messed things up.
“Natida, do not approach that girl.”
“Do not make any contact, approach, or attempt to send messages. The moment I catch you, I’ll wipe everything out.”
Even though he had been warned by her, one of the priests had managed to make contact with the Saint Natida heading for the North. Zitapan sighed deeply.
“I wish this could be brushed aside easily…”
He shivered at the thought of the being he had seen a year ago.
*
In a reception room prepared near the front lines.
Zitapan sipped nervously on the tea prepared for him. Naturally, there were believers and holy knights from the Church present at the front lines, so Zitapan was to be treated with utmost respect, though he refused such treatment.
He had only just sat in the Papal seat.
As someone who was once at a similar level, he wasn’t used to being treated like this. Furthermore, he didn’t want to show them a submissive side.
Creeeak.
How long had he waited in the reception room?
The firmly closed door slowly opened. Zitapan shook with anxiety and lowered the tea cup he held. He swallowed and slightly bowed his head.
Bam, bam.
Footsteps echoed amidst the silence.
Zitapan slowly lifted his head at the presence that stopped before him. There she stood.
“…Hero, I present Rania van Trias.”
“Ah, it’s been a while, Zitapan.”
Rania casually called him by name without any honorifics and sat on the sofa opposite Zitapan. He swallowed hard, glancing at the woman before him.
Rania van Trias.
The one who witnessed the atrocities of the Church against Saint Natida and wholly toppled the Church. Zitapan vividly remembered how the Church’s prideful holy knights and the prayer room fortified by layers of protective spells ended up in shambles that day.
“What brings you here?”
Rania asked, her voice icy.
Zitapan opened his mouth slowly.
“To naturally apologize.”
Zitapan quickly lowered his head.
There was no hesitation.
Zitapan hadn’t forgotten.
He was acutely aware of how significant the being before him truly was. The woman sitting across from him was referred to as the pinnacle of humanity.
‘Taking on the entire front line single-handedly…’
Had there ever been an individual throughout the centuries who held such power? Undoubtedly not. Zitapan reminded himself not to be deceived by her seemingly gentle appearance. The being he faced now…
‘If she so wished, she could wipe out humanity overnight.’
A blade aimed at humanity.
When that blade turned and Rania’s intent targeted humanity, there would be no one to stop her. Zitapan learned this from direct experience.
“Forgive, forgive us.”
“Oh God, oh God, oh God…”
There was no requirement for a transcendent being to reside in the heavens. A year ago, Zitapan witnessed a being like that standing on the ground.
–Ka-zak, ka-zhuchch!
Every time the figure before him swung her hand, the barriers of the Church would shatter and crumble, and he recalled the holy knights who struggled to survive against the onslaught.
Zitapan poured his heart into each word of apology.
“The priest who caused the issue has been immediately punished, and they have been permanently exiled from the Church…”
If necessary, he would bow his head over and over.
As long as the situation could be resolved by bowing, he would bow as many times as it took. Zitapan sincerely believed that.
He was a person who could see reality.
Despite belonging to the Church, he was not overly trusting of the gods. Perhaps this made him fall short of being a qualified cleric, but this quality made Zitapan suitable for the leadership position in the Church. That was why Rania appointed Zitapan to the papal position.
“…That’s all.”
As Zitapan concluded, he raised his head slightly to gauge Rania’s reaction. Desperately trembling at what words might come from her lips, he suddenly blinked.
“Hmm…?”
Rania tilted her head in confusion.
After blinking for a moment, she spoke up.
“Wait, is that why you came?”
“Uh…? Yes, that is correct…”
“I thought something significant was at stake.”
With a long sigh, Rania continued.
“I was worried that the Church did something petty in some village or something.”
“Such disgraceful actions shouldn’t happen, of course.”
“Right, that’s what’s important. You didn’t need to come in person for this.”
She relaxed her shoulders and brushed her hair back. Her ashen locks cascaded elegantly through her fingers.
“Zitapan.”
“…Yes.”
Rania’s soft call made Zitapan shudder. Even now, he felt a sense of fear toward Rania. With a bitter smile, Rania continued speaking.
“I didn’t place you in the Papal position because you’re exceedingly devout or skilled in holy magic. You understand that fact, right?”
“Yes, I am aware of that.”
“You’re quick-witted and can communicate. You’re not a fanatic, and you know how to survive.”
Rania placed great value on that quality.
“I didn’t destroy the Church that day solely because I thought people still needed religion. They would need a place for inner peace.”
She had expressed those same thoughts back then.
Before the ruins of the main Church, Rania had given Zitapan the same explanations. Even now, she emphasized the word ‘still.’
“‘Still’ means—”
Rania propped her chin up.
Then she gently asked.
“Are you ready?”
It was an aimless question.
Zitapan answered immediately.
“…Currently, I’m collaborating with the Master of the Ashen Tower for research.”
“Any results?”
“It has been confirmed that we can inflict damage. However, it seems meaningful strikes aren’t possible yet. We’re facing issues in the critical output area…”
“Still, it seems progress is being made.”
Rania casually remarked.
“In two years at most.”
The promised timeframe.
“Perhaps in two years, the Church may no longer be necessary. When that time comes, should I introduce you to a decent job?”
Rania chuckled softly as she sipped her tea.
Zitapan thought Rania was prudent enough to have him under her command.
“W-would be an honor, but… Perhaps we can discuss that at that time…”
“Sure, maybe think about it for now.”
As Rania leaned back, tilting her head back, she felt the gaze piercing through her, even though there was a ceiling obstructing her view.
From afar, in the heavens, she sensed those eyes upon her.
Feeling the gaze of a star, Rania chuckled. The day would come when she sat as the Pope and plotted the unforgivable sin of heresy.
‘Long live to see that day.’
Rania thought to herself.
