Chapter 40
― The culprit, Zeros, confessed that after a thief broke into his house and killed his entire family, he had relied on a religious sect from the south… (omitted)
After learning an evil ritual from that sect that could supposedly change fate, he infiltrated a cave near Kori Village to gather hundreds of souls and spread disease using heretical magic.
― Verdict: Immediate execution.
A smile spread across the Saint’s lips as she handed the verdict back to Mateo.
“Execution… today?”
“Yes.”
“No unusual circumstances?”
“All related materials have been incinerated.”
“Good work.”
“Not at all, Saint.”
Mateo stepped out from behind the curtain and carefully opened the leather case he had been holding.
Inside were dozens of sheets of paper stamped with the emblem of the Werner Orphanage, neatly organized in alphabetical order.
Rustle, rustle.
As the elder turned the pages, the red marks on each sheet began to shimmer.
The stains, darkened by time and fingerprints, almost resembled writing.
Tap.
Finally, the elder’s hand stopped, and the red mark became clear.
It read: “Missing.”
Knock, knock.
“Ned, are you in there?”
There was no reply, but Father Mateo entered the room without the owner’s permission.
Creak.
The familiar scene greeted the priest’s eyes.
A small, musty room with mold growing in the corners.
The window existed, but sunlight barely entered because the child always drew the curtains, leaving the room dark.
On the small bed lay someone curled up, staring at the wall where cold drafts crept in.
“….”
Standing silently by the doorway for a moment, the priest slowly stepped inside.
Swish.
When the curtains were drawn, early afternoon sunlight poured in, cutting through the damp darkness.
“How long do you plan to skip meals like this? Are you trying to starve yourself to death?”
No answer came.
Father Mateo sighed softly as he looked at the child curled under the blanket.
It had been a month since the child arrived at the orphanage.
The child had survived the fire that consumed his family and home and was known as a “Stigmatic Lamb”, a special child marked by God’s miracle.
As proof, small coin-sized holes were embedded in both of his hands.
― “Upon the earthly creatures with special souls, I leave my mark, so that part of my power may be wielded to aid the affairs of the world.”
“…Father Mateo.”
“Yes, Ned. I’m here.”
The priest affectionately called Theodore by the shortened name Ned.
After a moment, the child slowly uncovered himself from the blanket.
A beautiful child with alabaster skin and jet-black hair and eyes.
His eyes were red from holding back tears.
He had been silently crying.
“I heard what the other children said,” he whispered.
“What did they say?”
“They said I’m a monster and that my parents are dead.”
“Oh…”
“They said the fire at home happened because I was cursed.”
“That’s a lie, Ned.”
Father Mateo stroked the child’s tangled hair, silently praying.
Lord, forgive me for deceiving this innocent child.
“That is absolutely not true.”
No.
It was true.
The fire that consumed Theodore’s home and the death of his parents had occurred because he was a Stigmatic Lamb.
― “I heard that the thirteenth Stigmatic Lamb has appeared, Father Mateo.”
― “Bring that child to me. This time, we must not lose him.”
― “By any means necessary.”
― “If we fail again… we can no longer hope for God’s mercy.”
The child did not cause the fire, but he had been the catalyst for it.
A pitiful person envied the divine favor that the child had received.
“You’re not cursed, you’re special. The fire… was punishment for your parents’ sins. Your survival was entirely thanks to God watching over you.”
Rustle.
The priest took something wrapped in white paper from his pouch and placed it in front of young Theodore.
Inside was a small bird that had fallen to the ground and died.
“Can you help this poor little bird, Ned?”
“…I can’t.”
The third Stigmatic Lamb, Theodore, possessed a special power.
He could channel Divine Power as a source of strength.
He had long been aware of his difference from others.
Everything he touched—plants and animals—regained vitality, wounds healed, and those suffering from endemic diseases recovered completely.
As he grew, Theodore’s divine power grew stronger.
By the time he turned ten, he had revived a deer at the brink of death during childbirth, demonstrating miracles that would extend to restoring the spirits of many.
The problem began when rumors of his miracles spread.
Pilgrimages from across the land came, hoping to witness his miracles. His parents instinctively understood that their fame would bring misfortune to the child.
The day before they were to leave the empire and abandon everything…
― “F-fire!”
A fire, source unknown, consumed everything—leaving only one exception: the thirteenth Stigmatic Lamb.
“Saint Pavella will be delighted, Ned.”
“….”
Encouraged by Father Mateo, the child finally reached out to the small bird’s heart.
Whooosh.
Divine power surged through the tiny room, and the bird, stiff and fallen, began to tremble.
Thump, thump.
Its tiny heart began to beat again.
“Chirp.”
The small bird exhaled its breath of life in a tiny chirp.
‘This… is a true miracle.’
Father Mateo tried not to show his astonishment in front of the child, but in the silence, he didn’t know what to say next.
― “The world expects miracles from me. You know that too, my Matthew.”
My Matthew.
The nickname Saint Pavella used when speaking to Mateo.
Even after so many years, her beauty remained like the bloom of spring trees.
When she gazed at him with soft eyes and brushed her hand across his face, he would fall helplessly into the abyss of temptation.
It was almost impossible to resist her charm.
― “Do not be afraid, my priest. Just follow my instructions. You know better than anyone that this is the way we can stay safe.”
“Do not be afraid, Ned.”
Father Mateo recalled Saint Pavella’s words as he placed his hand on the child’s shoulder.
“Now, rise. It is time for you to converse with the Saint. She will envelop your rotting insides with the warm light of faith.”
“…Yes.”
The child obediently rose and followed the priest.
Even after falling from Saint to monster, the winged, fallen angel had always found Saint Pavella kind and warm.
“Can you endure this?”
“…Yes, Father.”
When they reached the room where the Saint resided, the child’s shoulders visibly trembled.
On his face were fear and terror.
“The Saint is helping absolve your sins, Ned. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Father.”
Blessing.
For young Theodore, this was excruciating.
When the Saint placed her hand on his head, it felt as if every vein in his body constricted.
Every movement became difficult; it was nearly paralysis.
During the blessing, he felt something being drained from him, pulled up as if caught by sharp claws.
“My little lamb, do not hate the pain. Embrace it. This ritual cleanses the sins of your parents and the impure blood that flows in you. Consider it a fortune to participate in this holy ceremony.”
The daily “Saint’s Blessing” was called the Path of Atonement.
Through it, Theodore could at least partially atone for his parents’ sins and the impure blood he had inherited.
Though the ritual had been repeated many times, his young body still could not fully adapt.
Every day, the pain reached new depths, squeezing his very core.
But he must not succumb to fear.
I am a sinner… I have committed great sins that I cannot escape…
“Oh, you have arrived, Theodore.”
Creak.
As always, the Saint entered, smiling like a lily.
Theodore bowed deeply and walked to the center of the plush carpet, kneeling as was customary.
Tap, tap.
As the Saint’s bare feet approached, Theodore closed his eyes tightly.
