Chapter 8
Chapter 8
Episode 8.
Blue flames clung to the sinners' bodies.
Aiden sharply turned his head to look at Zeras.
"It's no longer mine."
The small sparks had already grown into roaring flames, consuming the two men.
The fire was unnaturally cold—so cold it felt wrong. It swallowed the sinners in an instant, reducing them to mere ashes before blazing proudly.
Aiden was overwhelmed by exhaustion. His entire body felt drained of energy, as if he might collapse at any moment.
"Flame Creation devours both divine power and stamina to an extreme degree. Use it carefully."
The flames vanished as quickly as they had appeared. They did not spread elsewhere, having fulfilled their sole purpose—judging the sinners—before dissipating.
Aiden's emotions were complicated. While gaining new power and growing stronger was undoubtedly joyous, he couldn't understand why this authority had been transferred to him.
If all his previous growth had stemmed from his own plans and intentions, Flame Creation was closer to sheer luck.
Zeras watched him with a satisfied, refreshed expression.
"...Are you alright, Master?"
In the game, Flame Creation had been Zeras' defining ability. Reality wasn't much different.
"A worthy individual has claimed divine authority. What could possibly be wrong?"
There was no pretense in his words.
"All that matters is using that power beneficially."
"I have absolutely no intention of burning innocent people alive."
"Haha, seems you've got some lingering resentment toward me. Well, I hope the public agrees with your sense of justice. Even if I failed."
He didn't know much about justice, but he knew what needed to be done.
Aiden changed the subject.
"First, I need to hear about the Archbishop. Did Forel tell you anything detailed?"
"No. Only that they share some kind of connection."
Forel wasn't the type to withhold information under Zeras' interrogation.
"I should meet the Archbishop."
"You'll attend the Saintess Coronation. Most bishops and above will at least make an appearance."
"Understood. For now... I need to rest. Apologies, but could you handle the rest?"
"Go upstairs and get some proper sleep. By the time you wake, the city will be buzzing with talk about you."
Aiden trudged toward the room Zeras had provided.
Forel's acts of heresy and numerous atrocities were thoroughly exposed by the Holy Council.
Some argued for quietly burying the incident, but the Council deemed concealment impossible—Zeras' escort of the apostate had overlapped with the Sacheri family's procession.
Several high-ranking clergy cast reproachful glances at Zeras for tarnishing the Church's honor.
They criticized him for failing to handle the matter more discreetly within the Church.
Of course, they couldn't apply official pressure.
Dozens of young girls were discovered in the basement of Forel's former residence in the southwestern diocese.
Some had been dead for a long time; most were mentally broken from horrific abuse.
The Church sent the children to monasteries for protection and treatment.
The Church's special forces launched a large-scale investigation into heresy, but yielded no significant results.
Only a few low-ranking priests guilty of minor corruption were hanged. Most of the executed were below bishop rank.
All eyes turned toward Aiden, the central figure in these events.
The Holy Temple, where the Saintess Coronation was held, was packed with imperial nobles and dignitaries. Naturally, the hottest topic was this very incident.
"Oh! You must be Sir Aiden! A pleasure. I am Count Gafield, Lord of Grandel."
"Your reputation precedes you. You defeated the Dark Warrior, didn't you? I'm Sir Bekman of the Imperial Royal Knights."
"They say you survived the flames of a fire demon. Is that true?"
"The Lord will remember your devotion in saving those young lives. I am Priestess Amelia."
...
When Aiden first created his character, he had set his status as a commoner. The lower the lineage, the greater the advantages in stats and traits.
An orphan abandoned at a monastery—in a society where status dictated everything, that was a fatal flaw.
Until he rose through the ranks, slaughtered countless demons, and earned his reputation, nobles had scorned him relentlessly.
So this treatment felt utterly foreign.
Before the coronation began, the Holy Temple's grand chapel resembled a noble social gathering.
Had it not been for Archbishop Tegain, Aiden wouldn't have come at all.
Masked nobles approached him, making him uncomfortable and annoyed.
Friendship with a paladin was valuable, so his table never lacked visitors.
Just as he was wasting time with meaningless chatter, a massive man approached, carrying Aiden's weapons in both hands.
"I am Lady Yuriel's guard. I've come to return what you entrusted."
Yuron spotted him and rushed over from behind.
"Give them to me!"
Aiden was puzzled. The Yuron he knew wouldn't have heard that even if he died and came back to life.
Yuron took the weapons, held on for a moment, then—unsurprisingly—collapsed as his legs gave out.
Still, Aiden was somewhat satisfied. A week in the Holy Kingdom, and Yuron had spent every day training at Zeras' residence.
This was remarkable progress.
Three paladins watching from a distance burst into laughter.
"Haha, he's useless like that."
"Is his reputation exaggerated? With a squire like that, his master's fame will suffer."
"Don't be cruel. The great Sir Aiden must have his reasons for keeping such a delicate boy around."
Yuron's face flushed with shame. For a novice, serving a paladin was the highest honor.
He wanted to do well. Even if it was temporary, he wanted to leave a good impression.
To him, Aiden was a paladin worthy of respect.
"Get up. Straighten your shoulders."
Aiden lifted the weapons weighing Yuron down.
"I overstepped. My apologies."
"It was your duty. Do better next time."
It sounded cold, but to Yuron, it was an opportunity.
Aiden's gaze clashed with the paladins' in midair.
They approached first, offering greetings.
"A pleasure. I'm Tyrun. You passed the Trials in two years? Impressive—if true."
Normally, it took seven. Four at the earliest. Aiden was the only paladin in recorded history to pass in two.
"Likewise. Though... forgive me, I don't recall hearing of you."
For a moment, competitiveness flashed in Tyrun's eyes. He laughed and extended a hand.
"Hmm, that's just due to lack of exposure. Visit the north sometime. You'll hear tales of the paladin who tore apart the monstrous bird Monta. Haha."
Aiden smiled back and clasped his hand. The other two paladins watched with amused expressions.
Crack. The sound of bones twisting echoed. Aiden's face remained calm, while Tyrun's flushed red.
"Rumors lose meaning when spread by one's own mouth."
Aiden tightened his grip.
"Tearing apart a monstrous bird? Sounds like empty boasting."
Tyrun wanted to scream and pull away—but couldn't. Pride. He was a paladin too.
Aiden slowly released his grip. Such power struggles were common. Show strength, but don't go too far.
Tyrun seemed to think differently. His burning fighting spirit seethed violently, as if ready to erupt. Had they been outside, he might have challenged Aiden to a duel.
Just as the atmosphere chilled, the noisy hall fell silent in an instant.
All eyes turned toward Yuriel as she entered.
The woman walking across the pristine white carpet was as breathtakingly beautiful as her in-game design—so flawless it forbade even jealousy.
Groans escaped from all corners of the hall. Aiden couldn't help but acknowledge the sheer impact of her appearance.
Even Tyrun, who had been burning with competitive fire, was captivated by her.
Yuriel scanned the room with her eyes. Spotting Aiden, she approached slowly.
The crowd's gaze followed.
The three paladins greeted her with refined expressions and gentle tones.
"Saintess, it's an honor. We are from the northeastern diocese—"
"I'm not the Saintess yet. More importantly—Sir Aiden."
Yuriel lifted the hem of her white dress slightly in greeting.
"Your advice saved my life. On behalf of House Sacheri, I offer my formal gratitude."
Whispers erupted. That paladin saved the Saintess' life? To Aiden, Yuriel's performance was more than welcome.
Someone devout seemed genuinely moved—his Sanctity stat had risen subtly.
"My father has promised adequate compensation."
"I don't need compensation. Saving you was the Lord's will, not mine."
"Was it?"
A strange light flickered in Yuriel's pupils. Her divine ability—the Eyes of Truth—had seen through his nonsense.
It didn't matter. Those eyes had long witnessed the Church's corruption and the hypocrisy of its clergy. Romantic notions didn't exist in her heart.
Such people didn't place expectations on others—and thus, never felt disappointment.
The "noble hypocrisy" that crumbled under others' disillusionment was meaningless before her.
"Indeed. If you insist, dedicate your gratitude to the Lord instead."
"Very well. But may we speak for a moment?"
Aiden gestured to the seat opposite him. When Yuriel silently asked for space with her eyes, the gathered paladins and nobles stepped aside.
She sat across from him.
"You threw yourself into the Inquisitor's flames to save a child. Was that also the Lord's will?"
He had expected questions about the attackers—but he was wrong.
"No."
With no eavesdroppers, lying was pointless. She'd see through it anyway.
"Then?"
"It was my will."
"May I ask why? You must have known about Flame Creation."
"For myself."
Yuriel looked puzzled. Even her Eyes of Truth couldn't discern the meaning behind his words.
Had he said it was for the child, her ability wouldn't have reacted.
"Jumping into flames for yourself... That's an ambiguous statement. I don't fully understand, but your devotion deserves reward. The Lord would will it so."
Yuriel placed both hands neatly on the table.
"Sir Aiden, take my hands."
She intended to bestow the Saintess' Blessing—a buff that increased stats. Of course, in-game mechanics might differ in reality.
Regardless, there was no reason to refuse free benefits. Though limited to once, it was highly valued.
Aiden clasped her hands.
"Here, the Executor of Judgment has faithfully fulfilled his sacred duty. With strength to vanquish evil and compassion to nurture the weak, he has spread Thy teachings. If the Lord permits, I wish to share this blessing."
Warm light enveloped Aiden. The crowd clapped or nodded approvingly.
A satisfying result followed.
"Will you always remain faithful?"
"I will."
"Will you always spread the Lord's teachings?"
"Yes, I will."
"Will you lead the charge against evil for the Lord?"
"Of course."
With each question, Yuriel's expression wavered slightly.
"...Will you always devote yourself to the Lord?"
"Naturally."
She lifted her eyelids. Her eyes trembled with doubt.
"Sir Aiden? Are you... perhaps—"
Most people in this world held faith. In a land teeming with inexplicable mysteries, even villains didn't deny the divine.
Yet a paladin who didn't believe in the Lord? That was unthinkable.
Leaving a bewildered Yuriel behind, Aiden stood.
"I'll put your blessing to good use. Thank you."
"Wait—"
"We'll talk later. I have something to attend to now."
Archbishop Tegain—the ultimate reason for his presence—was entering the chapel.