Chapter 10

〈 Chapter 10 〉 Failure

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Robel Wright. He’s a genius. The so-called chosen one by the godly sort.

And that’s not just about his status, assets, or looks.

In terms of clergy ability, talent accounts for about 90%.

Unlike the warrior who grows by solid training and experiences in real battles, or the mage who accumulates power by exploring wisdom from a great master and dedicating their lifespan to broadening their knowledge.

The number of miracles a priest can use is mostly determined at the moment of birth and does not change throughout their life, except for a very few cases.

Therefore, holding an extraordinary talent with a staggering eight types of miracles, and twelve daily miracle uses—Robel was truly a century’s genius, one that might only be born once every hundred years. It was not an overstatement to say he was chosen by the gods to become a priest.

Among his peers, there was not a single person who could catch up with him in this system, and even at his youthful age of just becoming an adult, he had built enough reputation to stand shoulder to shoulder with the highest-ranking clergy, so it was only natural for him to receive the Vatican’s favor.

Thus, he firmly believed he would be chosen for the esteemed position of the Saintess’s Personal Guardian Priest. He even thought that no one else was fit for that role other than himself.

If this world were a theater created by the creator, he was the protagonist and had to be the protagonist.

Additionally, the protagonist of the stage was supposed to have a beautiful scenario to captivate the audience and a perfect ending.

But.

Regis Lowville.

With his arrival, the once smooth road of Robel’s life story created its first ‘blemish’.

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He was a man with no outstanding traits.

Though his face was somewhat average, he gave off the strong impression of a middle-aged man preferred by elderly widows.

He seemed to be somewhat careful about his posture and mannerisms, but that only went as far as maintaining a threshold that others wouldn’t criticize him for.

From the perspective of a noble heir who naturally pays attention to every detail of his words and actions, his awkward attempts to mimic nobility with shallow knowledge sometimes appeared downright ridiculous.

However, neither his appearance nor behavior could compensate for his lack of abilities or talents.

Rumors said the only miracle he could use was the ‘Miracle of Healing,’ and even that had a limit of once per day. Without a proper medium, he couldn’t even gather divine power.

The disgrace of the clergy. A half-witted priest.

Indeed, that was the most common term used by his comrades to describe him, and although Robel superficially suppressed their jests, inwardly he would secretly clap his knees in fierce agreement.

Moreover, he was ‘Regis.’ Originally, the surname Regis was not one that orphans raised without parents would use; it was a lowly name.

Outwardly, in terms of abilities and talents, he fell far behind Robel.

In essence, there was a gap between him and Robel that could be compared to heaven and earth, no, even a dragon and an ant, making it clear that they were on completely different levels not to be casually mingled with.

But.

At the ceremony, the Saintess personally chose that man—Regis Lowville. Not him.

The humiliating vision of that day stuck to the inside of Robel’s eyelids, haunting him even in dreams for a long time.

In that moment, as the Saintess gracefully pointed at the man with a gesture like delicate flower petals swaying in the breeze, the man stood there dumbfounded like a deer in headlights, then suddenly raised one hand high and said:

“Anyone willing to swap places with me?”

That foolish remark was clearly mocking everyone present.

The lingering scent of blood that seeped from his tightly clenched fist on that day still lingered within Robel’s grip to this very moment.

The position of the Saint’s Personal Guardian Priest is appointed solely by the holy will of the Saintess. There is no room for anyone else’s will to intervene, nor should there be. Disputing that choice is akin to defying the will of God.

Yet, the urge burning like a wildfire in Robel’s mind showed no signs of extinguishing, no matter how much time passed.

This couldn’t be right. Something must have gone wrong. An error had occurred. The order had been disrupted. The gears had misaligned.

How could such an insignificant man.

A person treating the esteemed role that all priests yearn and dream for as lightly as a cleaning duty, possibly help the Saintess?

What made me inferior to that guy?

Jealousy. Robel desperately tried to ignore the true nature of the ferocious feelings stirring within him.

Jealousy is an emotion felt by insignificant beings towards those who are far superior.

Using the unreasonable desire to correct what is wrong as a justification, Robel fixed his firm resolve in a misplaced position.

He vowed to make that foolish crown that found the wrong master his own.

And soon, the opportunity would come.

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“This is the Meeting Room of the Saintess I heard rumors about…”

Astonishment, admiration, amazement, reverence.

Even if a seasoned bard who has roamed the world were to describe the overwhelming emotions swirling in his mind, it would be impossible to fully articulate them in words.

It felt like witnessing a pristine paradise that would allow no filth.

As night fell and the outside world was filled with chaos, he became overwhelmed by the illusion that the light and brilliance of the whole world converged in this singular space; it was blindingly beautiful.

If God were to create a cradle to carefully hold only the things truly necessary in this world, it would undoubtedly be this pure and vast expanse, and Robel’s emotions were nothing short of intense.

Experiencing a new type of thrill he had never felt since birth, Robel walked forward with buoyant steps.

In reality, his task assigned by the Sister was merely to guard the entrance of the Meeting Room until Regis returned, but in his blinded state of greed, this moment without Regis felt like the perfect opportunity granted by God.

In truth, the Sister was somewhat aware of Robel’s excessive ambition, but she never imagined he would do something so mad as barging into the Meeting Room without special permission, resulting in this tragic moment.

Handing fish to a cat would surely describe such a situation.

‘No matter how much a Saintess is a transcendent being beyond the laws of this world, she is still only 16 years old this year! She’s still in her formative years! Surely there will be times she makes mistakes! She might make wrong choices! So, if I can point out that guy’s incompetence and showcase my own abilities, she will definitely reconsider the impulsive choice of Guardian Priest! I can do it!’

A person born in a blessed environment and gifted with talent, who had never experienced ‘failure’ in his life, was bound to become blind and arrogant in his naive views.

In reality, he could count on one hand the instances when his requests were rejected, and he had never been turned down when the request was directed at a female counterpart.

“Ohhh!”

Like someone discovering an oasis in the middle of a desert, Robel gasped in exhilaration and froze.

Finally, as if unveiling the sacred veil in God’s gaze, a noble girl appeared before him, kneeling reverently.

A radiant figure recognized by anyone who had devoted themselves to the path of the clergy, a divine being cloaked in layers of sacred blessings.

The Saintess. Welna Angeles Ashes.

At this moment, Robel lost even the slightest sliver of reason, convinced that he had been born to meet this moment.

“It is an honor to meet you, Saintess. From today, I shall be your new Personal Guardian Priest, Robel Wright! I salute you here and now!”

Furthermore.

He was completely oblivious that he had just trampled upon someone’s forbidden line that he should never have touched.

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