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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Mod7
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“…Is that so?”
“…Yes.”
Two voices echoed in the darkness. I instinctively tensed, assuming someone had broken into my room.
I sat up, ready to attack, but…
“Ah, you’re awake.”
“You must have been quite tired, Brother.”
“…Why are you here?”
It was the Saint and the Pope. And the Pope was holding a bottle of wine.
“Well, now that you’re awake, come join us.”
“…Alright.”
The Pope gestured towards a chair, taking a long swig of wine. I sat down, and he offered me a glass.
The Saint intervened.
“Your Holiness, we’re minors.”
“Ah, right. My apologies.”
He chuckled and continued to enjoy his wine. I asked him why they were here. Surely there was a reason for this late-night visit.
“Well, I have a proposition for you. Nothing too grand.”
“A proposition…?”
“Yes, a proposition.”
His expression shifted, the earlier levity replaced by a seriousness that belied his enjoyment of the wine.
“Have you considered accepting the church’s support?”
“…What?”
His question was unexpected. Church support? I didn’t even fully understand the meaning of the mark on my forehead.
“…Could you explain?”
“Hmm? Explain what?”
“Why you’re making me this offer.”
“…Do you not know what that mark signifies?”
“…The Goddess has her eye on me?”
“You know perfectly well.”
His confirmation solidified my suspicions. As I’d heard, even the Pope had never seen the Goddess directly. She was said to be impartial, favoring only the Saint.
For her to mark a human… it meant I was valuable to the church. Proof of her existence.
They wanted to use me, to bring me into their fold, to make me their pawn.
The church’s support was tempting. They had resources, influence rivaling the imperial family. I could gain access to anything I needed.
“I apologize.”
“Haha! Of course… wait, what did you say?”
“I said I refuse.”
But it wasn’t worth the price.
Money? I could earn enough selling scrolls.
Comfort? I preferred my simple dorm room, with Ella, to this opulent chamber.
Honor? I had no use for it. My focus was on finding the artifact I needed for my research, a process that could take years.
And if I accepted their support, they’d constantly pressure me to join the church, to worship Her. That was something I could never do.
“…”
“Is that all you wanted to discuss?”
The Pope stared at me, stunned, setting down his wine glass. The Saint remained impassive, seemingly unsurprised by my refusal.
“May I ask why?”
“I have no desire to be a pawn in your political games.”
“Wait! You—!”
The Saint stood up abruptly, clearly offended. My words had implicated the Pope, her adoptive father.
“Am I wrong?”
“That’s not the—”
“Hahahaha!”
The Pope burst into laughter, a hearty, unrestrained sound that echoed through the room. He laughed so hard he slumped back in his chair, tears streaming down his face. Like a child overjoyed with a new toy.
His behavior was shocking, almost blasphemous.
“Heh heh… yes, I suppose being used like that wouldn’t be pleasant.”
“…”
“I’ve experienced it myself. My apologies if I offended you.”
“…It’s fine.”
“Well, I am still the Pope. So, allow me to ask again, though it may seem shameless.”
“…”
“Will you reconsider accepting the church’s support? Name your terms.”
“F-Father!”
“Oh! It’s been a while since I’ve heard you call me that. Hahaha!”
It was an incredible offer. The Pope was essentially bowing to my demands.
The Saint tried to intervene, but the Pope waved her off, his mind made up.
“Any terms?”
“Hmm, yes. In exchange, I’d like you to answer a few questions afterwards.”
“I don’t know what you want to ask, but I agree.”
“Excellent. What are your terms?”
I took a deep breath, pausing for effect. The Pope and the Saint leaned forward, their attention focused solely on me.
“First, don’t pressure me to join the church.”
“Hmm… that’s unfortunate.”
“I agree.”
These people…
I still felt an aversion to holy power. I wouldn’t accept healing unless absolutely necessary.
“Second, don’t publicly announce that I’ve been chosen by the Goddess.”
“Ah, that’s not possible.”
“That might be difficult…”
They both agreed on that point. I’d expected as much. The church needed proof, evidence to solidify their claims. The mark on my forehead was that proof.
But it would make my life difficult.
My victory over the Mid-Rank monster had already attracted unwanted attention. Some praised me, while others were filled with envy and resentment.
If word got out that I was chosen by the Goddess…
I’d become a target.
‘User’s discomfort levels are rising rapidly.’
‘Analyzing cause…’
‘Shut up.’
I didn’t want the attention. But what could I do? I held the power in this negotiation.
“If you can’t agree to these two conditions, then I can’t play along.”
“…Even if I were to force you?”
A wave of holy power emanated from him, pressing down on me, the air growing heavy.
But I held my ground, meeting his gaze unflinchingly.
“She… chose me…”
“…You’re right.”
The pressure vanished as quickly as it had appeared. The Pope picked up his wine glass, now cracked, and spoke.
“Very well. I accept your terms. It must be the Goddess’s will. Ask for whatever resources you need.”
“…Should I thank the Goddess?”
“You! Watch your tongue!”
The Pope chuckled again, wiping tears from his eyes.
“Haha! You’re quite amusing, young man. Are you sure you don’t want to join the church?”
“Not even if the sky falls.”
“Heh heh, I figured as much.”
He refilled his cracked glass and drained it in one gulp. Despite the amount he’d consumed, he showed no signs of intoxication. Perhaps it was the holy power. A useful, but ultimately undesirable, ability. Sometimes, one needed to get drunk.
“Ah, may I ask my questions now?”
“…? Yes, go ahead.”
“You’ve met the Goddess, haven’t you?”
“Yes.”
“What did you do? What does She look like? Is She beautiful?”
He fired off questions rapidly, and I instinctively recoiled. The Saint intervened, trying to calm him down.
“Your Holiness! You’re overwhelming—”
“Daughter.”
“Y-Yes?”
“Aren’t you curious? About the Goddess’s appearance?”
“…”
“What She looks like, what Her voice sounds like, what you’d do if you met Her…”
“…”
“Aren’t you curious?”
The Saint fell silent, her own curiosity piqued. She, too, turned to me, her eyes filled with questions.
What did She look like? What did Her voice sound like? Did I see any angels?
Their questions, filled with a lifetime of longing and devotion, overwhelmed me.
I answered them honestly.
The Goddess was beautiful, her voice melodic. Michael, the angel, was stunning. The divine realm was breathtaking.
“So! What did you do when you met Her?!”
“Ah, well, I tortured—”
““What?!””
Oops. I’d said too much.
The Pope’s eyes flashed with holy power, scrutinizing me, assessing the truth of my words. It was unnerving, like staring into the eyes of a predatory cat.
The Saint’s holy power crackled around her fists. If she believed me, she’d attack without hesitation.
“You… you…!”
“Wait, calm down. I can explain—”
“You blasphemer!”
It seemed explaining would have to wait.
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‘Damn it! Humiliating me in front of everyone…’
Bishop Rignil shoved food into his mouth, his thoughts consumed by anger.
On the bed beside him, a nun gasped for breath, clutching her chest, her disheveled appearance reminiscent of a prostitute.
He’d just finished enjoying her body and was now stewing in his resentment towards the Pope.
He’d always believed he was chosen, that his holy power was a gift from the Goddess Herself, a sign of Her favor. He’d never considered it might simply be innate talent.
His inherent greed, combined with the power of his position, had corrupted him. He saw commoners as beneath him, women as objects for his pleasure.
He’d drugged and raped the nun, and was savoring the afterglow when a knock came at the door.
Knock—knock—
“Who is it?!”
“It’s Antonio, Bishop Rignil.”
“…What do you want?”
“I have some business to discuss… May I come in?”
“…Enter.”
A tall man with striking grey hair entered the room. He was well over six feet tall, his physique imposing, yet he possessed a reputation for kindness and integrity.
His origins were unknown, but he’d expressed a desire to join the church, and they couldn’t refuse him. He’d proven himself to be a reliable and hardworking individual.
“What is it? I’m not in a good mood.”
“Ah… Is it because of the Pope?”
“…Shut up.”
“The Pope was rather harsh, wasn’t he? To reprimand you like that…”
“…”
Rignil, finding a sympathetic ear, began venting his frustrations, pouring out his resentment towards the Pope.
He was listing the thirteenth reason why he despised the Pope when Antonio interrupted him with a proposition.
“…Bishop, wouldn’t you like to become Pope?”
“…What?! What did you just say?”
“The faction I represent… has infiltrated the church. They say a new saint might emerge soon… wouldn’t that cause internal turmoil?”
“…I didn’t hear anything. This is too risky.”
“Help us, and we’ll give you the Saint.”
Rignil froze. The Saint? That beautiful young girl? His?
He imagined her beneath him, her small, delicate body writhing in pleasure. His loins stirred at the thought.
Antonio leaned closer, whispering in his ear.
“Imagine her, Bishop… crying out your name…”
“…”
“Work with us, and the papacy can be yours.”
“Ahem… what do I need to do?”
Rignil grinned, imagining the Saint lying in his bed, the church under his control.
Antonio, his eyes now glowing with a faint purple light, smiled back, his expression mirroring Rignil’s, yet radiating an unsettling, childlike innocence.
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