Chapter 25

The Holy Empire, Eiros.

It held the title of being the only religious state and on par with the Solar Empire Eresteb.

The name of the Holy Empire Eiros itself carried monumental weight. After all, it was an empire born from religion, especially one that worshiped the Goddess, known as the God of Creation.

That meant its standing could hardly be any lower.

Consequently, the Trelinia Kingdom was on high alert. Sending an envoy would be understandable, but the presence of a Saint with that envoy? That was not something to take lightly.

Lesberico approached the room where the Saint was being hosted with a stiff smile plastered on his face. With each step, he felt like his expression would turn rigid from the tension, but he managed to endure it.

Not without reason, though.

The Saint was, after all, a Saint of the Holy Empire.

A figure that could be considered the highest authority within the empire. To put it bluntly, the Saint, who was directly chosen by the Goddess, might possess an even greater influence than the Pope. And given that the empire was born from religious foundations,

one word from the Saint could ignite a war.

Moreover, the Trelinia Kingdom had suddenly established its own religion.

It was only natural that it could rub the first religious state, Eiros, the wrong way.

‘Absolutely… I must prevent war at all costs…’

The most frightening part was that he had no clue why a Saint had been sent from Eiros.

Saints are revered figures.

Within Eiros, they are idolized and are famously known for rarely revealing themselves in public.

What if something were to go wrong with such a revered figure being here?

That would instantly lead to war.

And would they send the Saint as an envoy without a compelling reason?

That indicated a matter of utmost importance requiring the Saint’s direct involvement.

Of course, it all began as a lighthearted endeavor for the Saint, but Lesberico could never grasp that.

Finally, the door to the reception room opened.

“Greetings. I am Lesberico Trelinia, the King of the Trelinia Kingdom.”

“Delighted to meet you. I am Belial Eiros, the Saint.”

The first impression of seeing the Saint was one of nobility.

Her pure white hair seemed woven from the finest silver thread, and her skin, radiant and untouched by sunlight, emanated a mysterious aura.

Above all,

her golden, quietly shimmering eyes.

Within those eyes, a symbol of the Goddess, the sun, was engraved like a pattern.

‘The Mark of the Goddess…’

Unlike the dozens and hundreds of heroes,

this mark belonged to just one person.

It was the most special mark that could elevate one to the highest position within the Holy Empire simply by being born with it.

The king gulped nervously and broke the silence.

“I’m glad to meet you. I hope your journey to our remote kingdom was not too difficult.”

“Remote? If this is remote, there would be nowhere in the world that isn’t remote.”

The Saint laughed lightly.

Her smile carried an air of grace.

Thus, Lesberico trembled in fear.

He had no idea what words might spring forth from that smile.

Whether she was being pleasant or not was entirely lost on him.

Perhaps it was the infinitely transparent expression of the Saint that made him feel he couldn’t read any emotions at all.

“May I inquire about the reason for your visit to our kingdom?”

“Ah, of course. And there’s no need for formality. In fact, this setting makes me feel more uncomfortable.”

It seemed the Saint had noticed the king’s burden as she smiled gently.

Lesberico, hearing that, relaxed a bit, yet still remained on guard.
Still, she hadn’t heard the reason for the Saint’s visit.

“Ah, the reason for my visit to the Trelinia Kingdom is quite simple, you see?”

“What is it?”

“I came to see if Jörmungandr… the being worshiped as a god in the Trelinia Kingdom…”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

“…is truly worthy of that divine status.”

So it was indeed something related to Jörmungandr.

The king nodded. However, he wasn’t worried by the Saint’s words.

He didn’t understand how they would determine whether Jörmungandr was a being of godly caliber, but at least Jörmungandr was the closest thing he had ever seen to a divine entity.

Suddenly, the king spoke up with a thought that crossed his mind.

“What happens if… the idea that Jörmungandr is a divine being is deemed false?”

“Hmm? Well, they might stop worshiping Jörmungandr…

or perhaps they’d go to war with us.”

“Probably one of those two options, right?”

“……”

The Saint smiled gently.

* * *

As the Saint exited the reception room, the quietly observant Cardinal finally spoke up.

“Do you really intend to start a war?”

“Well… who knows what might happen.”

“We stand ready.”

Belial looked back at the Cardinal standing behind her.

It was clear that her single word could instigate a war; the weight of that possibility reached her as well.

“Seriously, why are there so many rules?”

Don’t act carelessly.
Don’t show a frivolous smile.
Don’t interact with others.

From the moment she was born as a Saint, the immense well that was the Holy Empire sought to shackle her.

Did that mean the existence of a Saint was precious?

On the surface, it seemed like they were granting her absolute power, but in reality, it was quite the opposite.

They were trying to control her thoroughly under the guise of authority.

And it was still happening now.

The implication that a war could erupt wasn’t of her own volition.

She was merely reciting the manual of the Holy Empire, Eiros.

“Just what kind of god promotes war?”

If the Pope heard such words, he’d surely faint in shock.

Truth be told, Saint Belial held little reverence for the deity.

Why would she?

The powers bestowed upon her allowed her to feel divine presence, but besides that, the Goddess hadn’t done anything noteworthy for her.

In fact, she didn’t particularly want to be a Saint.

The title was something anyone would crave, yet Belial’s dreams were simply to build a modest cottage and live harmoniously with whoever she would marry someday.

She didn’t want such a grand title thrust upon her.

The weight of being a Saint.
The countless gazes she felt upon her.
The expectations from those who looked at her as if she must succeed.

It felt unbearably heavy.

Too heavy for just a girl to bear without becoming crushed under it.

And yet, this ability…

this power as a Saint kept her from being toppled.

“Cardinal, I think I need to rest for a bit.”

“Yes, call for me anytime.”

Having dismissed the Cardinal, she entered the guest room assigned to her, shedding the cumbersome nun’s robe that enveloped her.

As the crisp, white silk threads fell away one by one, in the end, she was left in nothing but her undergarments.
“……”

Countless scars covered her body.

So many that it was impossible to count them all.

The source of those horrific wounds?

All of them were inflicted by the Saint herself, Belial.

She silently gazed at her scars before reaching for the fountain pen on the desk.

The jet-black nib glistened sharply with ink.

——Crack!

With a decisive motion, she smashed it onto the desk.

Then, like it was second nature, she plunged it into her own forearm.

Even though it was her own body.

She thrust it down with all her might, without hesitation.

Of course, blood flowed from her arm, and a deep wound emerged.

Yet, there was no change in the expression of the Saint.

“Just as I thought…”

Belial roughly wiped the wound with a handkerchief she had tucked away and sighed as she laid down on the bed.

Though she had anticipated such an outcome, the feeling of disappointment never became familiar.

“Why…?”

Why was I chosen to be a Saint?

I never wanted to be a Saint at all.

She despised this heavy title.

She feared the gazes of others and felt burdened by having to force a smile.

Every little gesture required caution, and the constant scrutiny from the Cardinal was terrifying.

Did people even understand how dreadful that was?

Probably not.

If the Saint strayed even a little from the actions they deemed “appropriate for a Saint”…

In a dark basement.

As she was brainwashed, repeatedly reminded that her actions were wrong, the thought of “discipline” crossed Belial’s mind, instinctive revulsion causing her to cover her mouth.

The Holy Empire was not the pure and innocent place that people believed it to be.

In fact, it was the exact opposite.

A terrifying cult that followed only “discipline” and the meanings buried in the scriptures.

That’s why Belial didn’t want to be a Saint.

Part of it was certainly the way the Holy Empire strangled every aspect of her freedom, like some garbage hindrance.

“Why… did you choose me to be a Saint…?”

Upon becoming a Saint, she had to forfeit her senses.

So, she felt no pain from the wounds.

Was that all?

She couldn’t even tell if she was lying on the bed, standing up, or if she was harming herself again.

She was completely oblivious to anything.

The sense of touch had vanished completely the day she became a Saint.

That was also the reason she inflicted pain upon herself.

Perhaps if she inflicted enough pain, someday she would feel just the slightest sensation again.

Healing such wounds was a trivial matter, but it was still an extension of her self-harm.

The scars etched onto her body.

She hoped that when her senses eventually returned, they would first remind her, through piercing pain, of that brutal reality.

“I hate being a Saint…”

This was her struggle, a minimum expectation for her to get through each day.

Though she had faced endless despair and regret,

she still had to move forward into the future.

“……”

The Saint gently closed her eyes.

Imagining once more that when she opened them, everything shackling her would finally disappear.