Chapter 58
“An Unavoidable Fate”
“Y–Your Holiness, are you serious?”
Gerdeus was the first to speak after hearing my declaration that I would storm the Holy See myself.
“To raise your sword against the Papacy alone… it’s far too dangerous. Of course, I do not doubt you, Saintess, but the Holy See’s forces are not to be underestimated.”
His eyes widened in alarm.
“I won’t be alone,” I replied.
“…Pardon?”
“I’ll be by her side.”
Allen stepped closer as he said that. In the past, his thoughts were always written plainly on his face, but lately, that wasn’t the case. He wasn’t as cold and emotionless as his game counterpart, but still—back when I could read his mind just by looking at him, things were simpler.
“So he says,” I replied absently to Gerdeus, and then turned to another matter.
“Oh, and Evan—show me your arm.”
Before we went on our crusade against the Papacy, I remembered why I had sought Evan out in the first place.
“Yes, my lady.”
Evan began to unwrap the bandages around his right arm. I hadn’t noticed before, since he’d always kept it covered, but the faint trace of divine power radiated from the bandages. He must have been using them—and his own holy energy—to desperately keep the curse from consuming him.
Once the last of the bandages came off, his arm—blackened as if necrotized—was revealed. The rot had even spread up toward his shoulder.
Back when I’d first met him, I couldn’t have done anything about it. But now, I had more than enough power to purge the curse that had taken root in his body.
“Come forth, wisdom of purification.”
I began to recite a short prayer.
The angel I summoned through the descent of the Holy Spirit was Raphael—the Archangel who governs the Sixth Sphere on the “Scales of Sephiroth.”
Raphael’s authority was absolute: with enough divine power, he could cleanse any curse weaker than the Saintess’s holiness. Of course, for lesser saints, their low divinity sometimes made purification impossible—but that didn’t apply to me.
“Ooooh…!”
From the stigmata on the back of my hand, golden light began to pour forth. Gerdeus clasped his hands and murmured in awe—but I ignored him.
“Come closer. If it’s hard to move, I’ll come to you.”
“I’ll come to you, Saintess.”
“It might feel warm, but it won’t hurt.”
Raphael’s power was overpowered to the point of absurdity, but it had one limitation: the caster had to make physical contact with the target.
I reached out and wrapped my arms around Evan’s neck, pressing my hand against his chest—right over his heart. The curse had ravaged his arm, yes, but the seed of every curse usually nested near the heart.
“L–Lady Estelle?!”
“Sis?!”
Both Evan and Allen shouted at once. They were surprisingly in sync during times like this. Evan’s panic was understandable—but Allen’s? I had no idea why he was shouting.
“Don’t move,” I said flatly.
“I’ll… try,” Evan stammered.
“I said don’t move.”
“That’s easier said than done…”
“I’ll make it easier, then.”
As he kept flinching back, I gripped the nape of his neck with my free hand and pressed my forehead to his, holding him still. A bead of cold sweat ran down his temple before he finally shut his eyes tight, as if in surrender.
From my hand, radiant divine light seeped into his body. Slowly, the blackened skin regained its natural color. Evan’s blue eyes widened as he watched the change in disbelief.
At last, I felt the curse’s seed vanish completely. I withdrew my hand and forehead. Evan flexed his right arm in amazement, staring as though he couldn’t believe it was real.
“How does it feel?”
“The curse… it’s gone. Completely,” he breathed.
“Good.”
I followed up with a minor healing spell, mending the lingering marks and scars. His complexion brightened instantly, and seeing him recover finally put me at ease.
‘He could use something to wear, though.’
It wasn’t as if I’d never seen a shirtless man before—during my player days, male athletes went bare-chested all the time—so seeing Evan without his upper armor didn’t really faze me.
Compared to before, he’d lost quite a bit of muscle, which was unfortunate, but that was nothing a bit of training couldn’t fix. As for clothes, I could just grab one of the Holy Knights’ spare uniforms for him.
“Let’s move out.”
Now that Evan’s curse was gone, the only thing left was to overturn the Holy See itself. But just as I started walking, Allen blocked my path.
“Allen?”
“…”
“Do you have something to say?”
He didn’t answer, only stared straight into my eyes.
‘What now?’
There was something expectant in his gaze, but I couldn’t tell what it was.
“That boy… has become a man,” Evan murmured as if recognizing Allen for the first time, stepping between us.
“Step aside,” he said.
“You’re the one standing in her way. Move,” Allen shot back.
“So, you’re still as unreasonable as ever.”
“And you’re still as irritating.”
From petty bickering to this—glaring at each other like they were about to grab each other by the collar. Watching the two made my head hurt.
‘What’s wrong with them?’
In the game, Allen and Evan never clashed. Allen was a stoic, emotionless wall who only cared about his hometown, and Evan was a devoted Saintess loyalist. There was never any reason for friction.
“What shall we do, Saintess?” Gerdeus asked nervously, glancing between the two. As if I knew the answer. Maybe if I knocked both of them upside the head, they’d calm down.
“Haa…”
Watching two grown men—both supposed to be male leads—acting like this was exhausting.
“Let’s ignore them and go.”
“Eh? Is that all right?”
“Why wouldn’t it be?”
“Well, having even one of them on our side would be… no, forgive me. That was a foolish remark. I shall follow you and only you, Saintess!”
The elderly cardinal’s eyes sparkled brightly as he declared his loyalty. So the hidden quest had indeed increased his trust level. Seeing it firsthand, it finally made sense.
BOOOOOOM!
A series of deafening explosions shook the entire Papal complex. The tremors reached even the underground sanctum where Pope Johannes IV and his attendant resided.
Ever since the day his plan began, Johannes IV had not left this place unless absolutely necessary. With his attendant to relay his commands, there had been no need.
“Go and see what is happening outside,” the Pope ordered, unable to concentrate amid the noise.
“As you command.”
The attendant hurried out. Once his footsteps faded, Johannes resumed his work—searching for the perfect vessel to create an artificial saint.
Every human possessed a different capacity for divine power. Thus, he extracted holiness from potential candidates and infused it into others.
When the vessel exceeded its limit, it inevitably broke. None of the girls he had experimented on retained their sanity. Some were catatonic; others, on the verge of collapse.
But Johannes did not stop. Even if the vessel broke, the divinity remained.
At last, he had found the perfect one.
A girl named Elise Renoir—she would become the manufactured Saintess of this era.
“Y–Your Holiness!”
The attendant burst back in, gasping for air. The noise made Johannes frown.
“Compose yourself. This is sacred ground. What is happening outside?”
“T–There’s…!”
“Speak plainly.”
“We’re under attack!”
The attendant dropped to his knees, bowing low as he relayed what he had seen.
The healing of the wounded was the exclusive privilege of the clergy who possessed divine power, and through that privilege, the Holy See of Eden had maintained peaceful relations with every nation. To think anyone would dare attack it—Johannes’s brows shot up.
“Who dares? Who is foolish enough to strike at Eden—at the Papacy itself?”
“It’s true, Your Holiness!”
“Who are the attackers?”
“I—I couldn’t see clearly, but there were four of them.”
“Four?”
Johannes actually laughed—a bitter, incredulous sound. Four people? They dared assault the Papacy with only four?
“What are the Holy Knights doing that they haven’t crushed this nonsense already?”
“T–That’s just it! They can’t lay a finger on them. They’re being overpowered… by a single girl.”
“What?”
Veins bulged on Johannes’s forehead. The idea that his holy knights—trained to embody divine power—were being defeated, and by a girl, was absurd beyond measure.
“And among those four,” the attendant continued fearfully, “were the former Captain of the Silver Knights—and Cardinal Gerdeus Christopher.”
That final revelation was enough to make Pope Johannes IV’s blood pressure explode.
