CHAPTER 76………………….
Clack, clack.
The doorknob turned and then stopped.
I pulled the key from my pocket and glanced back and forth at the door that wouldn’t open.
It was thanks to my careless decision to lock it when I came in here.
Even so, every nerve in me was on edge, as if I might be discovered at any moment.
“What kind of place is this that the door is locked?”
“Seems like a scripture archive.”
“Huh. A scripture archive in a building with a saint.”
“Can you open it?”
I pressed my lips together at the conversation I overheard.
The half-turned keyhole on the doorknob returned to its original position as if it had been released.
“I’ll try.”
I glanced around nervously at the voices coming from behind the door.
There wasn’t exactly a good place to hide, but it was better than being caught.
Just as I was about to move, another voice came from outside.
“What are you doing here?”
It was Marsha.
The cardinal cleared his throat and replied.
“Ahem… I came to see the saint.”
“Did you make an appointment? She is sleeping right now.”
The young man tapped lightly on the door as he spoke.
“What kind of place is this that it’s locked?”
“This is the room where the saint is staying. Were you trying to open the door?”
The cardinal spoke with a hint of irritation.
“How could I know the layout of the Verche temple? So the saint is in this room.”
Footsteps sounded briefly. Judging from the young man’s voice moving away from the door, he seemed to have approached Marsha.
“Why was the door locked?”
Marsha casually lied, feigning ignorance.
“Isn’t it obvious? In our Verche, women lock their doors at night.”
“Then how do you get in?”
“We only enter if the saint calls for us. How could we ever enter her room without permission?”
“Why are you here at this hour?”
The man’s words made my shoulders tense. His commanding voice sent a chill down my spine.
“I could hear the conversation. My room is close to the saint’s.”
Marsha’s answer made me think of the room I stayed in.
It was a plausible explanation.
They fell silent, perhaps looking in the direction Marsha had indicated.
I strained my ears. The cardinal spoke again, as if resigned.
“Ahem… I came to inform the saint about tomorrow’s schedule. Since she’s sleeping, there’s nothing I can do.”
The footsteps faded. Then I heard Marsha’s voice.
“Then, please go in carefully.”
Only when the footsteps were gone did I exhale deeply.
I wasn’t sure whether she was trying to guard the scripture archive, but it worked in my favor.
Just as I was about to avert my gaze from the door, a voice called me.
“Saint.”
“….”
I couldn’t respond at once. Did she know I was here?
“The Melisa members have left. You can look freely.”
“…Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Well then, I’ll leave first. Call me if you need anything.”
Had she come to find me? Or did she assume I was here because I wasn’t in my room?
Her footsteps faded.
It was now too late to ask her directly whether she had helped me.
I turned my gaze away from the door and slowly returned my attention to the books.
I pulled books out and replaced them several times, frowning in concentration.
“Spirit?”
I immediately grabbed a book.
It was something I had lightly studied before becoming a saint. Up to the previous pages, other royals likely learned it too.
Finding what I didn’t know was important.
With utmost seriousness, I scanned the book quickly.
I couldn’t tell if it was firsthand observation or written based on oral traditions.
But I had met and even destroyed spirits, so I had to believe in their existence.
A sentence caught my eye, and my hand froze just before turning the page.
“The power of spirits is divided into two types: the force of nature and the sacred power granted by the gods. Spirits sometimes lend their power to humans through contracts.
While the terms of these contracts varied, the spirits made one demand.
Since the power of spirits was like the power of the gods, everyone coveted it, and eventually, the spirits hid to avoid humans trying to steal their power.
However, until the contractee dies, the contract remains unbroken….”
Reading this, I recalled the conversation with the Spirit of God’s Flower.
“What do you want to do?”
“…Kill me. Even if it’s hell, I want to die.”
“You won’t go to God’s side. You killed someone, so you might fall into hell. But if that’s what you want, I’ll do it.”
Perhaps I had contracted with that spirit.
At first, I only thought the Spirit of God’s Flower had healed me one last time before disappearing, but this book suggested otherwise.
Maybe when the spirit vanished, its power became mine.
Those moments when my body recovered, even though my heart was exhausted, came to mind.
Though my body couldn’t be healed by sacred power alone, I recovered quickly after the carriage accident—unlike before.
I turned the pages rapidly, hoping to find something about the spirit I had seen.
Then it hit me: the words “Plant Spirit” appeared before my eyes.
“…Found it.”
While the book didn’t describe the spirit’s appearance, its power matched my expectations.
“The Plant Spirit was called God’s Flower or God’s Herb.
It is said that the first saint, Aliana, attempted to contract with the Plant Spirit.”
Although briefly written, this spirit clearly had healing powers.
The first saint likely sought it because its power surpassed her own.
Or perhaps she wanted it to heal herself.
The book didn’t mention whether she successfully contracted with it. She probably hadn’t.
No one could have predicted that the Spirit of God’s Flower would appear at the boundary.
And by then, the spirit had already lost its power.
At the last page, I finally found the information I wanted.
“Attachment.
While contracts with spirits are generally one-time, if the spirit disappears before the contractee, its power can be attached to the contractee.”
It is said that if the contractee dies, the power disappears from history.
Could it be that the spirit’s power resides within me?
My first thought was whether I could be healed even if I used the power recklessly.
In essence, a magician seeking immense power and I were not so different.
A small cautionary note seemed to reproach me.
The attached power is not one’s own; using it excessively could consume the user’s life.
It read as if punishing humans who had coveted the power of spirits.
Since the lifeline wasn’t physically marked, there was no way to measure it.
How much this attached power drained my life was unknown.
It was a power that could be very advantageous if used carefully, but could also take my life if misused.
Excitement at the thought of controlling the power drained instantly.
I set the book down, biting my lip.
I repeated this with several other books, unable to find anything about controlling sacred power the way I wanted.
Perhaps in history, there were no others who used sacred power differently, like I did.
I gave the scripture archive one final glance, then abandoned my search and left.
Neither Marsha nor anyone else was visible. In the quiet corridor, only the click of my heels echoed.
I walked down a long hallway toward the back door. At the end, a door leading outside came into view.
Even the previously stubbornly locked door clicked as the sharp key turned.
As the door opened, the scent of grass drifted in with the night wind.
An unexpected scene unfolded, and my eyes widened.
I had expected something unusual—the dead pope had come here, after all.
But to think it was the site of an altar…
