Chapter 73
Chapter 73
11. War of Faith -4
The orphanage was about an hour's carriage ride from the Saintess's residence, built in the middle of a district that was hard to describe as having good public order.
If you asked how the area around the Church of the Holy God's grand cathedral—practically the center of this planet—could have poor public order, well, don't slums always spring up in the shadowy corners of bustling districts?
Especially when the social elite have no interest in public welfare.
"Hoo."
Personally, I think the clearest indicator of whether an area is run-down or not is the smell.
The mustiness. The odor of old building materials. The body odor of people who don't wash. The dampness. These dark things layered one on top of another, forming⋯⋯ the smell of festering life.
To put it in modern terms, it was the kind of place where trash was everywhere, green soju bottles rolled along the streets, and you wouldn't be surprised to see homeless people at any moment. So I naturally felt concerned.
Wouldn't it be hard for a facility caring for children to operate properly in a place like this? Wouldn't the children be unwashed, caked in grime, living day to day like frozen pollack?
But it was a little different.
"⋯⋯The building is cleaner than I expected?"
"If tended well, flowers can bloom even in a desert."
Even though it stood in a slum, the orphanage didn't carry that smell.
Even in a medieval setting, well-kept buildings and shabby buildings are clearly distinguishable. I'm not comparing a marble temple to a thatched hut—I mean that even among the wooden structures commoners threw together just to keep out the rain, there were clear differences in quality.
Perhaps it was built with support from the Church of the Holy God. Compared to the surrounding buildings, the quality of the materials was a step higher. The craftsmanship also felt like it went beyond mere rain sheltering—it was clearly built with the intention of being a proper living space.
It was even a two-story building. This orphanage was the tallest structure in the vicinity. I didn't know how many children it housed, but if they wanted to use it comfortably, they certainly could.
Saintess Andersen spoke to me with an expressionless face.
"Let's go in."
"Yes."
Creeeak—
Andersen, a step ahead of me, pushed the orphanage's front gate open to both sides and entered. A fairly long corridor appeared. The structure was such that you had to turn a corner up ahead to see the interior.
When the gate opened, a bell hanging above jingled, and immediately the inside became quite bustling. Several small footsteps overlapped as they approached.
No matter how you looked at it, those weren't adult footsteps. Adult footsteps had a heavier sound.
⋯⋯So this really is an orphanage.
Were they tidying up the messy interior because of a guest's visit? Imagining them frantically shoving their toys into drawers made me smile.
That kind of sight was hard to see in Seoul these days. It was a withering society on the brink of destruction, after all. You'd occasionally see children with sallow faces receiving rations, or kids trying to play in the dirt at a worn-out playground before being dragged away by their parents.
When I carefully stepped inside, a clean fragrance greeted me. It was the fresh, crisp smell that only comes from regular, meticulous cleaning. There was also a genuine lived-in feel. It meant this place wasn't run for show.
By this point, I was starting to feel a sense of anticipation.
For the proposition of "a properly operating orphanage in a slum" to be realized, the intervention of someone in power was absolutely necessary. Otherwise, wouldn't some passing robber have made off with everything within a week?
So I guessed that Andersen had put considerable care into running this orphanage.
Did she perhaps like children? If so, maybe I'd get to see the rare sight of this cold Saintess showing a warm side to the kids here.
An orphanage sponsored by a Saintess would probably be steeped in religious overtones. The children wearing priest-like robes and studying scripture, or something⋯⋯
With all these possibilities in mind, I turned the corner.
"Sister, you've arrived!"
"Sister, you've arrived!"
"Ah, Sister, you've arriv—⋯⋯!"
"?"
Children standing at sharp attention lined both sides and completed a synchronized ninety-degree bow.
What the hell.
Startled by the razor-sharp precision reminiscent of a military boot camp, I looked at Andersen. She also seemed to flinch in surprise for some reason. But that expression vanished as if wiped clean.
She naturally walked past them and headed toward a table that seemed to be set up for receiving guests, as if this were an everyday occurrence.
"Have a seat. I don't have any tea to offer you, though."
"Ah, yes⋯⋯"
As I awkwardly took my seat, she sat down in an antique chair across from me and crossed her legs. At that, the children who had been maintaining their rigid postures scattered in perfect unison.
Most of them went up to the second floor, apparently to avoid disturbing my conversation with the Saintess—though a few of the older ones remained, waiting in deferential postures.
Older⋯⋯ though that was only relative. Judging by appearance, the remaining kids seemed to range from middle school to early high school age. Still very young.
Having kids like that standing at attention could only feel awkward. And on top of that, it got even more extreme.
Snap!
One child brought over a cigar carefully wrapped in a fine red cloth and knelt before Saintess Andersen, offering it with utmost deference.
"Sister, this is a cigar supplied by the artisan Orodello of the southeast. If you require a light⋯⋯"
"That's fine. You may withdraw."
"Yes."
The whole display was remarkably natural, as if rehearsed. I was taken aback by an orphanage atmosphere so far removed from my expectations. Swap out the members for middle-aged adults and it would look like a noir crime organization.
What is this, some kind of little mafia den⋯⋯
"⋯⋯⋯⋯!!"
Then I made eye contact with one of them.
He looked extremely tense. I don't think I look that intimidating. No, wait⋯⋯ maybe the Saintess usually keeps these kids under an iron grip. They'd be worried about making a mistake in front of a guest.
"W-we⋯⋯ welcome to our—"
As that child stammered and fumbled, the boy standing at the far left stepped forward and spoke in a clear, articulate voice. He even positioned himself to shield the flustered child with his body.
It was the one who had offered the cigar to Andersen. The orphanage's action leader?
"Welcome to the 'Orphanage opened in year 357 in honor of the rest and songs of Saint Roynaldo.' If there is anything you wish to command, please speak freely."
"⋯⋯⋯⋯"
Impressive that he can rattle off that long name.
Andersen spoke with both hands resting on the table.
"I thought you would use the sword, so I didn't share everything with you until now. But if you intend to wield political maneuvering as a weapon, Noah Won, I thought I should show you what I possess, so I invited you here⋯⋯ The children's enthusiasm seems a bit excessive."
"What is all this?"
"A modest information organization."
At Saintess Andersen's self-deprecating remark, the orphanage's action leader interjected to provide supplementary explanation.
"Our 'Family,' under the Sister's guidance, oversees most of the empire's underworld. This orphanage is one of our intermediate bases. Guiding you to our headquarters would risk detection by the Church of the Holy God, so⋯⋯ I understand that we have brought our honored guest here instead."
"⋯⋯⋯⋯"
"Originally, the underworld was divided into three powers among competing organizations, but thanks to the firearms supplied by our honored guest, we were able to unify the factions and consolidate our control. I would like to take this opportunity to express our gratitude."
Then it's not a modest organization.
No wonder the orphanage was strangely well-maintained in the middle of a slum—if this was the intermediate hub of a nationwide organization, of course no one would dare touch it. I nodded to the action leader boy and asked.
"Thanks for the explanation. I appreciate it, but⋯⋯ does that mean you kids are involved in that work too?"
"Yes. We are inadequate, but we contribute as best we can."
If it was underworld work, it was surely grim. And they were deploying children who hadn't even grown up yet⋯⋯ into that kind of work.
Perhaps the bitterness showed on my face, because Andersen spoke as if she had read my thoughts. Her voice was like scooping out water that had pooled deep inside.
She took a cigar from her bosom. At that, the boy dashed over and offered a lit match, and Andersen accepted it with a shallow sigh.
Tsss—
The flame caught, and smoke billowed up.
"These children know everything they need to know. Slum children don't have time to enjoy childhood⋯⋯ because if they don't grow up fast, they die."
"⋯⋯⋯⋯"
"I, on the fringes of the Church of the Holy God's power, don't have the means to feed and house the ever-growing number of children for free. Even more so if I want to maintain what little power I have left. So this place, too, could only be sustained if the children fulfilled some assigned role."
It wasn't a defensive tone. Saintess Andersen was simply explaining.
That helping children live like children was an endeavor requiring enormous expense, and this place was the compromise she had found without losing her own power.
The children's expressions hardened as they read the subtle atmosphere between me and the Saintess.
The action leader boy especially. His face went pale with self-reproach, then he clenched both fists and opened his mouth.
"I—this was my idea. Since you're the one supplying us weapons, I thought you'd appreciate seeing this kind of display. I'm sorry for putting on an act. This is actually a proper orphanage, and the Sister treats us well⋯⋯"
"It's fine, Joen. Don't speak lies to smooth things over."
"B-but it's true that she treats us well! Compared to other orphanages, here there's no beating for failing to meet begging quotas, no selling children into slavery when profits fall short. The Sister is our benefactor⋯⋯!!"
"Joen."
From what I could gather.
Hearing that the merchant who supplied the firearms was visiting the orphanage, they'd apparently thought that someone who sold such goods would be more favorably impressed by a sharp, profit-oriented display.
So this action leader boy had staged a performance. No wonder the Saintess had flinched in surprise at first—the atmosphere wasn't originally this mafia-like.
But it did seem true that the children were helping with that side of the work.
"Doesn't this seem similar, Noah Won? In this world, ideals are far too rare, so one has no choice but to pick among the things lesser than them. You weigh which existence can bring you the most benefit, act according to the purpose of the one at the top, and receive compensation."
"⋯⋯⋯⋯"
"So perhaps these children are also fighting a small war of faith. For their own survival."
The lesser evil. The better option.
Just as the restoration of the native god Holy God was an impossible dream, so one avoided the worst option of Moon Shadow and chose the lesser evil of Master Binder or Serpent-Subduing Young Lord. The children, too, had chosen to enter under the umbrella of the lesser evil—the Saintess. Was that it?
But still.
Seeing her urge the sword upon me, saying she would kill all the bishops if necessary to prevent the wrong god from being chosen—she was a realist. She seemed like a realist.
Andersen's rigidly frozen expression was hard to read. Whether she was heartbroken over an unavoidable reality, or whether she thought she bore no blame because the world was simply like that—I couldn't tell just from her face.
But there was a way to tell.
A person's heart seeps out through their actions. If you want to understand someone's true feelings, you have to look at the traces. This orphanage had such traces.
Peeking out.
There, hiding around that corner and secretly watching me, was a little girl—and the clumsily made doll she clutched preciously to her chest caught my eye. As did the wooden sword strapped to the waist of the action leader boy who had presented the cigar.
This orphanage clearly contained more than was necessary. If they were treated as tools, it would have been enough to satisfy only the essentials of survival—eating, sleeping, living. There would have been no doll. Instead of a wooden sword, they'd have been handed a sharp, gleaming dagger.
But weren't the traces of providing beyond mere survival everywhere?
Look at that wall partially covered by a picture frame. Children's crooked scribbles poke out from behind it. On the pillar concealed by a candle holder, height marks recording the children's growth are notched one after another.
It wasn't so much that they'd been too careless to erase all the traces—rather, there were so many of these everyday memories that they couldn't hide them even if they tried.
For a wicked employer exploiting children for free⋯⋯
Scrape.
I pushed my chair back and rose from my seat, then carefully approached the girl hiding around the corner. Normally, this might have felt threatening.
But one of the countless advantages of a handsome face is that it's easy to win over children. Especially little girls. I smiled gently, knelt on one knee to meet her eye level, and asked.
"Hi there. What's your doll's name? She's so pretty, I just had to ask."
"⋯⋯Berry."
"Who made her for you?"
At that, the girl's gaze turned toward Andersen.
"⋯⋯⋯⋯"
When I looked at Andersen, she naturally turned her head toward the window and tapped her cigar into the ashtray. That was a deliberate avoidance of eye contact. How long had it even been lit? She was already tapping off ash.
"⋯⋯That's not what I meant by 'prepare well.' Joen."
"I'm sorry, Sister⋯⋯!!"
Andersen, apparently realizing her own feigned indifference was quite awkward, singled out the poor boy and scolded him. But that didn't make the handmade doll go anywhere.
So she'd personally sewn and made the doll herself, had she?
Honestly, the doll's craftsmanship wasn't very good. The one Hyejin made for Sohye was far better. It seemed that despite being bad at chatting in the System, she also wasn't particularly dexterous. But it was full of care.
Andersen had compared the children's choices to a war of faith, but what flowed back and forth here was different. There was love in this orphanage.
With a much more at-ease heart, I asked Andersen.
"Would it be all right if I played with the kids a bit? For the boys⋯⋯ I could teach them some swordsmanship. I'm probably better than the holy knights."
"⋯⋯Do you know how to handle children?"
"Of course."
All roads lead to the same place.
As an idol, I'd been through countless senior center events, and I'd internalized how to entertain the elderly through my body. And mastering senior center events meant I was also good at playing with children.
I also wanted to give something to that action leader boy who had stepped forward on his own initiative. Seeing the wooden sword at his waist, he seemed to have an interest in swordsmanship, so even just helping him with the basics would be a big help.
No matter how far I had to go or how busy I was, surely I could spare an hour or so. Andersen didn't seem inclined to stop me either—if anything, she seemed pleased.
Look. Her eyes seemed to glimmer briefly with the color of sunset⋯⋯
『────』.
Flinch.
"⋯⋯⋯⋯?"
I felt something like a chill running down my spine and looked around. It felt like someone was glaring at me, so I tensed up, wondering if an assassin had arrived.
I swept every corner meticulously with 『Azure Wind Wanderer』, but there was no hidden person. It was a bit unsettling, but I didn't sense any immediate threat, so I decided to just keep it in mind for now.
Well then⋯⋯ shall I show off my skills a little?
The native god Holy God watched through Saintess Andersen's eyes. And reached a conclusion. Within that white-haired young man, a portion of its sibling lay suppressed.
Squirm.
└ ■■■'s Curse (C/??) (Inactive)
(Failed to activate due to an error)
Even though Holy God was currently in no position to exert its power, how could it fail to recognize a sibling that had once been part of the same body? That was surely 『Apollo』—specifically, an aspect of plague and curse.
And so it was concerned. Could that young man also be—like the countless deities who had reached out to this planet—a plunderer who had come to gather and reclaim it?
"Let's play house, mister!"
"P-play⋯⋯ play house?"
But that didn't seem to be the case. If that had been his purpose, he would have immediately subdued Saintess Andersen and extracted Holy God's power.
The children wouldn't have grown attached to him so easily, either. Pure souls are sensitive readers of the pitch-black malice in humans.
If—if all of this was not deception, and that man truly was a benevolent stranger who had come to save this planet—
Then perhaps the time had come to bring out the expectations it had slowly buried over hundreds of years.