EP.121 The Worst First Meeting with No Room for Disagreement (6)
Expectations lead to disappointments, or is it the other way around? Who knows!
Expectations and beliefs.
Those were words so alien to the girl’s life that calling them estranged would be an understatement.
The background she was born into was merely shared with her sister. No, it was practically her sister’s exclusive property.
Even her looks, which were decent among her peers, paled in comparison to her sister, whose beauty was the talk of the neighboring village.
Her limited talents and relentless efforts often turned into mere shadows compared to the radiant brilliance of her sister, reminiscent of a grand sun.
Inferiority complex.
It didn’t take long for the girl to recognize the name of the thought that constantly weighed down her heart.
Perhaps that’s why.
The girl had grown accustomed to resignation over time.
Her parents’ blatant favoritism towards her capable sister.
The people around her who constantly put her on the scales against her sister.
In such a toxic environment, her sister’s excessive affection only made her feel more miserable.
But after accepting this unfair reality, the girl’s heart surprisingly found peace.
As long as she could endure the pitying gazes directed at her and the gradually gnawing despair, her sister’s comfortable embrace felt like a refuge from all the threats around her, the safest escape in the world.
A feeble and tranquil life devoid of responsibilities and decisive actions.
Some might envy such a pitiable life, and the girl had tried hard to convince herself of that.
That’s why, in her first ever bizarre experience, she couldn’t contain her confusion.
“What if it’s uncertain? Maybe Sister Welna could become the Saint this time.”
It was her first time being expected of by someone.
She didn’t really feel like digging into the true intent behind those questionable words.
The exact reason was unclear.
Maybe it was because the guy had a serious knack for betting on losing hands that lent gravity to his words.
Or perhaps it was because she couldn’t find any of those unsettling signs of falsehood that usually flicker in people’s pure white eyes.
Of course, she was also aware that her feeling of being expected was nothing more than her youthful delusion.
It was only natural for the girl to develop a semblance of admiration for the guy who had solved a problem of bullying that even her perfect sister had failed to handle.
“Rescue” isn’t quite the right word;
That feeling was too light to shake off the sense of powerlessness forged over the years with such a flimsy excuse.
However, it was clear that his brash remark had stirred some change in the girl’s feelings.
To put it simply, it was like a small stepping stone.
It seemed unreliable to put her foot on it too hastily, but the urge to tap it with her toes lingered as a distant support.
The result of such misguided emotions was this.
“Sister Welna… Could you please reconsider just one more time…?”
The voice carrying clear dissatisfaction suddenly pressed down on the girl’s thoughts.
In the dark shadow of the church, where the light had barely seeped through the stained glass, the girl was in the middle of a meeting.
Her counterpart was Bishop Ransel, the longest-serving member of this monastery.
If one were to name the most devout clergyman in this system, surely everyone would mention his name, the very exemplar of a clergyman.
Once, he had been such a high-ranking priest that he received royal invitations, but he rejected that proposal outright, saying an overreaching position twisted the soul, making that story a staple among bards.
But even he had a blatant disdain, and it was toward her.
No, to be precise, it was towards all the saint candidates, including her, that the old man couldn’t quite hide his contempt.
It was commonplace for him to openly speak ill of candidates, telling them they lacked talent and should find another path.
For those candidates suffering from homesickness after leaving their distant hometowns, he wouldn’t hesitate to berate them to go back home, calling them worthless.
Such elder’s wrath seemed to intensify when directed at the younger candidates, and the youngest among them, the girl, faced it head-on.
The discrepancy between the revered sage of rumors and the reality was always a hot topic among the candidates.
They would remark that the rumors couldn’t be trusted, or that he was merely encouraging their arrogance, and some would even mutter that he must be senile now.
“Didn’t I mention it before…? Sister Welna lacks the essence of being a saint… The very vessel of the so-called Saint.”
A sigh of irritation, wrinkles etched with anger.
The girl stood before the elderly man, whose eyes were abuzz with blatant animosity, and a bead of cold sweat rolled down her pristine skin.
Just like the other saint candidates, the girl felt as uneasy as anyone around the elderly man.
While her sister, watching from afar, felt quite reassuring, the moment she realized her sister was glaring daggers at Bishop Ransel, it only increased her tension.
“Moreover, you often say you want to go back home, that you have no wish to be a saint, always whining weakly. Do you really believe you can become a saint with such a flimsy spirit? Aren’t you ashamed before God? It’s not too late. If you want to rescind your earlier statement about rejoining the baptism, I can easily withdraw that. So fold up this foolish hope and return to your hometown immediately.”
Thud.
The elder angrily snapped the Bible shut, unleashing a barrage of biting words upon the girl.
Only a moment ago, her reaction to such cruel statements would’ve been to burst into tears at any given moment.
His logical coherence was enough to shake the resolve she had built up in coming here.
It was clear she wouldn’t become a saint. Just send her home instead of that baptism nonsense; she’d been throwing tantrums about that.
Yet now, being offered a return home made the girl contradict herself, suddenly saying she wanted to participate in the baptism, a fact that left her feeling a tad shameful.
However, even if her composure began to crumble, her firm resolve remained completely untouched.
“I-I’m so sorry. B-Bishop Ransel…! I must ask again, please… let me participate in this baptism…”
The petite girl, unable to even reach her waist with her height, clung to her collar, her voice trembling in earnest.
Even the most notorious bishop would momentarily falter at such a desperate outburst from her.
That was more than a mere resolution; it was closer to petty stubbornness.
An unpretentious desire to respond wholeheartedly to someone’s expectations for the first time.
However, that emotional appeal could outweigh considerable trickery for clergymen who had compassion ingrained in them.
“…”
The elder frowned, visibly perplexed, as he struggled to form words before eventually falling silent.
In the stillness shared by the girl, him, and her sister keeping watch from a distance, his busy eyes scanned around the church until they finally began to close slowly.
“Alright… do as you wish…”
“T-Thanks! Bishop Ransel!”
The moment she received the bishop’s permission, the girl fled the scene like a rabbit spotting a predator.
While Beltein shot a glare filled with hostility at the elder who had spoken harshly to her sister.
However, the instant the girl left, the elder, with his face buried in his hands, succumbed to despair, unable to witness what unfolded before him.
“Oh dear God…”
The old man rubbed his eyelids roughly as if he were about to dig out his eyeballs, tears of almost a sob escaping his parched lips.
“Why must these poor children… what wrong have they done to deserve such trials…”
As the lively footsteps grew fainter the further they distanced from him, the old man’s ears caught the sound of a requiem mourning someone’s death.
A few days later, a saint destined to save the world was born during a baptism led by the Vatican.
All those living in this system fervently celebrated the peaceful future of the world, and all the saints who answered the call from the Vatican gathered in that holy sanctuary to praise the newborn saint.
However, Bishop Ransel, who was thought to be obliged to attend due to his honorable position, mysteriously failed to appear there.
The Vatican officially announced it was due to the worsening health of his aging condition, but the reality was different.
He surely understood the cost of bringing forth a saint.
How many lives must be sacrificed to achieve such a grand mission of peace?
Being the highest-ranking clergyman, he could not have been unaware.
Yet he willingly participated in the bloody process. There was a reason he had to.
Ransel had a granddaughter he cherished more than his own life.
Yes, she was a precious child, as sweet as the girl he had just spoken with and of the same age.
That child was currently under close surveillance by the Vatican’s subordinates, in a situation where her life could be snuffed out at any moment.
The elder’s unwavering attitude had once declared he would rather take his own life than sacrifice the innocent lives of children, but all of that vanished once his granddaughter was placed on the scales.
He, too, was merely a human, capable of choosing a single family member over countless unknown others.
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