Chapter 181

“I think people die because they believe there’s no reason left to live.”

Even when you try to hold on, it’s not easy to do so.

….

I quietly stared at the face of the elderly man before me. It was devoid of expression.

They say that if one dies in pain, traces of that pain remain on their face, and if one dies peacefully, they might even smile. But the old man before me had neither.

Instead, his lifeless expression seemed to indicate just how hard and futile his life had been.

…Sometimes, peddlers arrive in these rural towns, selling expensive “medicines” that are of little real benefit.

Some people genuinely believe these things work, while others know the truth yet still buy them.

In either case, the underlying reason is surprisingly similar: they place their faith in someone, in some way.

Peddlers don’t just tell them to buy their potions. They gather the elderly, who have children that rarely visit, in places like the town hall, chatting with them enthusiastically, singing songs and dancing. They speak to them as if they were their own children, asking how they are.

The reason people go to see these peddlers is simple: it’s because there are people who treat them like human beings. Those peddlers exploit that psychology. The reason some elderly people buy the potions, even knowing they don’t work, is that spending money there brings them joy and comfort.

Some flashy “religions” penetrate into people’s lives in a similar way.

People who are desperate in life, and those who long for something ardently. They approach these individuals, kindly engage them, and invite them to church. Once there, they find only kind people, and the lonely individuals, isolated from the world, make acquaintances and friends. They feel a sense of belonging and continue to visit.

“What did this man want?”

I wondered as I knelt beside him. Just to check, I placed my hand on the old man’s body, but his heart, with only part of his upper body remaining, was surely no longer beating.

“We are still searching.”

A knight said dryly.

It’s only natural to not show emotion while working; otherwise, it would interfere with the task. Yet perhaps that’s why his voice felt strangely cold to me.

…Ah, I see.

They called it an “Inquisition.” For most churchgoers, especially those so devout they work within a church, this would naturally be a story to be abhorred.

And considering he belonged to the Inquisition…

There are indeed those who believe in that ‘heresy,’ and many have suffered because of it. It’s understandable that believing in such a thing can be difficult.

Once I had thought that through, I stood up without a word.

“I want to look around the village a bit more. We should purify the magic too. …Is this man the only survivor?”

“Yes. No other survivors have appeared in the village yet.”

I nodded and looked at Ria.

She stepped toward me and stood right in front of me. The knights surrounded us.

How ironic it was, to be a non-believer alongside an inquisitor.

…

After making a round of the village, I confirmed that truly, there were no survivors. The remains we encountered were all of the elderly man.

All of them were missing parts of their bodies. Yet, they weren’t bleeding, which made them look pale and bizarre, like corpses pickled in formaldehyde.

After a moment of contemplation, I clasped my hands and bowed my head.

…This wasn’t a story I could escape simply because I wasn’t the church’s representative. Even if I’m technically not a saint, I’m already being treated as such simply by being here. The white dress, the Knight Order escorting me, and even the church, which had hoped I’d come here, were all regarding me as a “representative.”

Furthermore, I ultimately couldn’t abandon this position due to my cowardice. Had I firmly rejected the idea of God and left the convent like I originally thought, I might have been able to claim that none of this was my fault.

But due to my profoundly personal emotions, I wished to remain here without questioning reason and logic.

I kept postponing the responsibility that was mine.

“It’s not your fault.”

As if she knew exactly what I was thinking, Ria spoke to me.

“It was far away, and who could have known this would happen?”

Just like the gods of this world are not all-knowing, you aren’t either. You’re not a god.”

….

“The police can’t control all the crimes happening in this world. You’re no different… You’re a nun. There’s no reason for an ordinary nun to solve all this.”

I looked up at the sky.

As if completely unaware of these events, the sky was just blue.

“Ria, have you ever wished for something from God?”

I don’t consider them to be a god. I know that being doesn’t have the capacity to fulfill my wishes.

But most people do not think that way.

The more accurately someone understands that being, the more powerful their Saint Power becomes. The Saint Power is the power of understanding. As our souls get closer to where that being exists, possibly where our souls came from, the stronger the Saint Power erupts through that person’s soul into this world.

Though I didn’t know the theory behind it at all, I understood it through experience.

The reason my Saint Power is unlike that of the esteemed clergy is the same.

If one calls that being a ‘God,’ it ultimately leads to wanting something from them. As she struggles to cherish those beneath her and save as many as she can, people project their desires onto her.

They wish for the power to save someone. The power to heal someone. As long as they cling to such desires, they’re bound to drift further from their own essence.

“Have you ever faced something difficult and, feeling unbearable pain, sought someone to blame and begged for them to intervene?”

“……”

Ria fell silent.

I’m sure she has.

Now that it’s known that there is a God, wouldn’t it be too strange not to do that at least once? Anyone who believes there is a God has probably done so at least once.

After all, that being wouldn’t chastise anyone for such feelings. No matter how much you curse or blame, they can’t really say anything to you.

But in that kind of story, that being is bound to have no answer. They may know. They might merely endure their existence.

“There might be someone wishing for that criminal, who brought them immense suffering but couldn’t be legally punished, to suffer in pain.”

I muttered.

“They might have wished to meet those who passed first, or asked to be loved by someone. Those can’t be prayers that being can fulfill.”

“…Are you suggesting demons can grant those?”

“If it’s through magic, they could indeed. Have you seen how Paina was manipulated? They can create illusions, making it seem like the dead have returned.”

It might require immense magic power, but ‘demons’ can do it.

“The religion that the sect serves is not about superstitions. At least, what can be gained in reality is merely borrowing a part of that being’s power by perceiving their essence. And to do that, the key is to recognize that existence above. Not hoping for something, not exaggerating anything, but simply acknowledging that being as it is. That’s what’s most important.”

This is not merely my assertion; it’s fundamental theology. For this sect, that being is sacred in its very existence, and therefore, faith is about having one’s heart prepared to meet that being in the afterlife rather than asking for something from it.

The Saint Power is something that naturally comes from that process. In simpler terms, it’s just a measure of faith.

And, it’s an extremely challenging thing. Uncomplicated as it may sound, it’s difficult. Who in this world can completely believe in a god without wanting something for themselves?

If I hadn’t read such works before coming to this world, if I hadn’t thought that being up there was too human-like, I might not have called forth that Saint Power.

…Ria. What could our faith give these people? What can we do for them?

It seemed Ria completely understood what I was saying.

It’s impossible to believe in that being above, without any demands. Even if one did believe, the process to gain Saint Power is extremely challenging, unless they grew up in a convent since birth.

“Anna.”

Ria took my hand.

I didn’t pull my hand away.

My body began to tremble a little.

Somehow, I understood why that being hadn’t revealed this story to me.

Maybe the higher-ups of the sect were having some valid discussions.

This sect needs a symbol.

A symbol that is unfathomable to any being and steadfastly holds its ground.