The Melancholy of Fifteen-Year-Old Ashytara
Fifteen-year-old Ashytara wore a somewhat gloomy expression.
The reason was simple.
'Luden...'
Lately—no, ever since the first year of priestess training when interactions with outsiders were forbidden—she had been desperately trying to reconnect with Ludenberg Lavante.
But the results were unchanged. Ludenberg made every excuse under the sun and never left Lavante territory. No, it wasn't limited to Lavante. He refused to meet anyone.
It had been the same just two days ago. Even though she desperately wanted to see his face before departing for Abaran... she couldn't.
"Tara."
"...Yeah."
"Idle thoughts."
"Cloud the mind and make you forget the proper devotion to the divine."
"Pull yourself together. Abaran is almost here. Don't forget—you can't afford to make a fool of yourself once we arrive."
"Got it."
Ashytara replied in a dejected voice, and Sione, who had been staring at her sternly, softened her expression with a sigh.
"Haa. So, you couldn't meet him this time either?"
Sione looked at her with pity.
"...Yeah."
"Tsk."
She clicked her tongue softly. She knew the reason all too well. It was impossible not to know that Ludenberg had closed off his heart. No, he had severed all ties completely.
"It might sound harsh to you, but bide your time for the next opportunity and focus on Abaran for now."
"I'll keep that in mind."
As Ashytara shook her head side to side, Sione nodded back at her.
Sione seemed about to add something more, slowly opening her mouth.
"And Tara."
"What, sis?"
"You haven't forgotten what I told you, right?"
"To be careful of Abaran's saintess...?"
"Yes. Keep it in mind. Don't show that girl any openings. Despite being around your age, her true nature is utterly vile."
"Her true nature is vile?"
"Yes. She's grown up basking in adulation. Completely different from you. She's accustomed to wielding power. As Abaran's one and only saintess, backed by the pope and the holy knights, it's only natural. She seems gentle on the outside, but inside, she's crawling with erosion beasts."
"...I'll be careful."
"If possible, don't even engage her personally. That's the safest way. Abaran is different from Solem. They believe their god is supreme and shower their saintess, pope, and saints with all the power."
"But I'm a princess too, aren't I? Doesn't that make me similar? You too, sis."
"Of course we live amid adulation as well, but that's why we start rigorous training in the church from age twelve to guard against it. But Abaran... they have no such process. The blessed simply enjoy their blessings, hogging all nobility and glory. They naturally grow accustomed to wielding power. The previous saintess was truly compassionate, but this one is dangerous."
"I'll be careful. Don't worry too much, sis."
Ashytara nodded at Sione's warning.
"Crown Princess."
"What is it, Sir Martin?"
"We're almost there. Abaran's capital, Creatore, is in sight."
"Let's prepare."
"Yeah."
Ashytara steeled her expression.
'Right. National diplomacy is right around the corner. Thoughts of Luden... I'll sort them out after this is over.'
Abaran's capital, Creatore.
Saintess Eve Arcadia of Abaran was alone in the temple's prayer room, reciting the prayer with a solemn face.
"Our lord, Arcada, looks upon us and fills our hearts with peace always..."
Her sacred voice echoed through the prayer room.
Eve continued the prayer, offering vows to the divine and pledging to walk the righteous path.
But the prayer's content and her inner thoughts were worlds apart.
'Sione Solenute. So that woman's coming.'
Unlike the prayer filled with compassion, her eyes burned with intense wariness.
'Solem's Eye that reads minds. Infuriating. That woman probably already knows my true nature. Even without that power, she'd have figured me out completely. She's clever. Can't give her any openings.'
How to deal with Sione—that was Eve's dilemma.
A woman who knew her true self.
Eve half-closed her eyes, picturing Sione.
'Come to think of it, her sister is coming too. She must have warned her about me.'
It was obvious. Close sisters would easily share such stories.
Even if the Solenute imperial sisters weren't that close, it didn't hurt to assume caution.
Starting from the premise that she was wary made it easier to handle surprises.
'Then that girl won't take kindly to me either.'
"Tsk."
She clicked her tongue softly, hating that she had to put on an act again.
She was the one who received the most of Arcada's grace, even more than the current pope.
She wielded immense divine power and the god's protection.
In Abaran, there was nothing to fear.
Yet here she was, having to watch another nation's eyes.
She wanted to wield her power. Power. What a beautiful word.
Pretending to be a compassionate saintess on the outside while herding people into the abyss within was always a delight.
Having to mind Solenute filled her with humiliation.
The power of the gods. The most compassionate, the strongest god. Arcada's power.
Not comparable to Solenute's so-called six gods, mere Phisper and the like.
Yet even they were untouchable.
That was unbearable for Eve.
'Leonard Lavante. He's the problem. As long as he lives, Abaran can't surpass Solenute.'
The guardian house protecting Solenute for generations. Lavante.
From Abaran's perspective in the west, they might seem ignorable at a glance, but that was a mistake.
'You can't underestimate a man who sweeps armies alone, slaughters Devourers single-handedly. So we wait. Until he dies. The day he falls is the day Abaran spreads its wings again.'
Within her dwelled greed.
Amid that greed, Eve recited the prayer.
"Treat all with compassion. Then my grace shall envelop you."
'All exist to be beneath me.'
"Save the pitiful. Give sustenance to the pitiful. Thus shall you meet me."
'I've already met mine. My god. Save the pitiful? They're worthless, but I suppose I must. To grow more followers who move for me.'
Blind faith was fanaticism.
Fanaticism was her power.
Eve clearly remembered what Arcada had said to her as a child, upon receiving him.
[My daughter.]
'Arcada... nim?'
[You shall become the noblest being in the world. All shall exalt you—that is the rightful order.]
'Exalt me?'
[None shall defy you, none shall rebel against your words.]
'How?'
[Act. Pretend compassion. Then, those willing to lay down their lives for you shall multiply.]
Arcada's voice was solemn, like a divine oracle.
Yet the tone within was utterly ruthless.
[Human sincerity crumbles futilely. Deceive them with falsehoods and make them yours.]
'...!'
[Humans are ugly. No need to pity them. But they are easy to use. Use them. For you and me. The more they cry out my name, the nobler you and I become.]
That moment shattered every value Eve had built.
Humans are ugly. Use them.
Trample humans, devour their fanaticism, and grow to rule the world from that castle.
That became Eve's reason for living.
Thus, the once purest, kindest girl faced reality under the god's name.
'Humans aren't pitiable. They're worthless. So trample them and stand above.'
Those who live for others are hypocrites; human emotions fade in an instant.
Having heard that and toured Abaran, Eve finally realized.
Humans are foolish, greedy, horrific beings.
So use them, exploit them to elevate herself.
For the god who showed her reality.
Inversion of values. Change in life.
True feelings became an act, and the heart hidden behind the mask grew darker, mirroring the mask itself.
Eyes once focused on human goodness now saw only ugliness.
Eve could objectively judge her own transformation.
But was it bad? No. Not at all.
Knowing ugliness allowed her to exploit it, and soon she won the hearts of all in Abaran.
The pope, knights, commoners.
Acting was effortless.
Pretend to understand their plights, pretend to care... and they opened their hearts so easily.
With a compassionate smile, fitting words, and a tiny grace to the pitiful in others' eyes.
Then, all inspired by the ripple began exalting her.
Receiving endless adulation, watching her divine power grow, she was convinced.
She followed the divine will.
And that meant she had become one intoxicated by divine power, not serving the god.
Even the god had told her to revel in it, so her inner rot was only a matter of time.
Ashytara beheld Abaran's sights.
Buildings cloaked in sanctity rivaling Solenute's.
The all-white temple was dazzlingly bright.
Solenute structures were white too, but adorned with gold sun motifs symbolizing the divine. Abaran's were purely white.
No other colors allowed—the sight screamed intolerance for any other gods.
Ashytara shook her head to dispel the thought.
Judging another nation's architecture like that was quite rude.
Thunderous cheers erupted around them.
The cries of Abaran citizens believing Solenute folk had come for exchange.
Amid the cheers, Ashytara and Sione opened the carriage door and alighted before the Papal Palace at Creatore's center.
Stepping out and surveying the surroundings, Ashytara suddenly felt chills run through her body.
Why?
Unable to pinpoint the reason, she looked around until realization dawned.
The eyes of every cheering citizen gleamed with...
Blind faith.
And fanaticism.
People who would do anything for their god.
In that moment, Ashytara couldn't help but see their faces as akin to the Salvation Cult followers.