Chapter 8
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Translator: Ebonarch
Chapter: 8
Chapter Title: Rock Spirit Saintess
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3,129 people.
It's a number that doesn't really sink in. It just feels like, yeah, that's a decent crowd.
Not quite massive enough to call it a huge gathering, but way too many to dismiss as small. An ambiguous figure that leaves you thinking it's a lot, but not overwhelmingly so.
But seeing it with your own eyes? You'd be utterly overwhelmed by the sheer sea of heads.
Just like Erzena was right now, up on the platform.
"..."
The vast southern plains of the continent had always felt like an empty expanse, vast enough to seem hollow.
A land where you might occasionally spot grass, dirt, or birds too tired to keep flying.
But the moment rose-patterned crosses were planted into the earth and the pilgrimage declared it a temporary camp, that emptiness filled up with people in an instant.
And on this dewy morning, Saintess Erzena stood in silence, facing 6,258 eyes staring back at her.
Even from this slightly elevated spot, the densely packed crowd filled the entire plain, all visible at a glance.
Whoooosh.
It was suffocating.
Ten pairs of eyes alone could make a person feel pressured, but 3,000?
Her heart wasn't just pounding from tension—it was thrashing wildly. Her mouth went bone-dry.
No one uttered a word.
With so many people, the heavy silence felt downright eerie.
But the saintess wasn't scared. She didn't shrink back.
She slowly scanned the crowd gazing up at her.
From children to the elderly. Men and women, humans and elves. Wolfkin, and countless other races. Horses and carriages, even the crow circling above her.
For quite a while, Erzena looked at each and every one of them.
And for just as long, the pilgrims quietly watched her in return.
No signs of fatigue from the long journey showed on their faces.
If anything, they stared at the saintess with eyes full of expectation—yearning, even desperation.
Only after locking eyes with the orchestra behind her did the saintess finally grasp the long, slender staff set before her with both hands.
"Huuuuh..."
A deep exhale sent a puff of white mist into the air, carrying away her fear and tension.
"Suuuuuuck,"
This time, she tilted her head all the way back, drawing in the crisp morning air until her lungs were at their limit.
And then,
"Hello!!!!!!!! Good moooorning!!!!!!"
She bellowed at the top of her lungs.
Her voice, amplified by holy power, rang out clear and bright all the way to the horizon.
A thunderous response echoed back in unison.
"Hello!!!"
"Erzena! Saintess Erzena!!!"
"She saw me! She looked right at me!"
"No, she was looking at the horizon! Seeing the future beyond, and our Lord!"
Voices rising in a frenzy. People babbling incoherently in excitement.
Some even fainted from sheer emotion.
Erzena let their replies stir the silence for a moment before shouting even louder to her followers and pilgrims.
"Is everyone ready to praise our Father in heaven?!?!?!?"
"Yeeeeeeeees!!!"
"Listen to those voices! Think Father can hear that? Shout it louder—loud enough for the whole world to hear!!!!"
"Woooooooooow!!!!!!!"
The ecstatic cries shook the earth that early morning, echoing up to the heavens.
The chill air heated up in an instant.
Right on cue, the sun rose over the horizon, casting a brilliant halo behind the saintess.
"The sun's rising! Father heard us!"
"The Lord is shining on our saintess!"
Erzena didn't miss the moment.
As her sky-blue hair gleamed in the sunlight, holy power surged forth.
"We'll start with Hymn 174, 'Slay the Unbelievers'! Everyone know the words? Here we go! All together—juuuuump!!! "
The orchestra unleashed a piercing, ear-shredding melody, and in an instant, all 3,129 people plunged into a frenzy without a single exception.
Only after belting out 22 songs until voices were hoarse did the mad spectacle finally end.
It was supposed to be just five, but the saintess, swept up in the wild reactions, called for 17 encores.
Mohaim Espirence, captain of the 1st Paladin Order, had to endure an extra hour and a half with earplugs stuffed in.
Flutter.
"Ugh, I'm dead. Mohaim, it's over."
Erzena staggered into the tent, completely drained.
"You did well—uh."
Mohaim turned to look at her and froze solid.
She was a total mess.
Her forehead bore the bold words "Heaven for the Faithful, Hell for Unbelievers," and her cheeks were smeared with bright red cross designs.
Face paint straight out of a fanatic's playbook covered her visage.
And in her right hand dangled the pitiful remnants of a thoroughly smashed guitar.
"Hm? What's up?"
"W-well, you see..."
To an outsider, she looked less like a saintess and more like some deranged performance artist.
'Why does she always go on stage looking like that...'
The saintess's stage sense—something mere mortals could never comprehend—left him speechless.
The captain hesitated, searching for the right words, then spoke up.
"Looks like you wrecked another instrument."
He decided not to ask about her face. She seemed oblivious to the issue anyway.
"Ah, the followers were cheering so hard, I just got carried away."
This was already the sixth instrument she'd smashed mid-performance.
Just how wildly had she thrashed around while singing? Her clothes told the tale.
Soaked through with sweat, the white fabric clung like underwear, revealing every curve beneath.
Her sky-blue hair, drenched and slick, stuck to her neck, shoulders, and back, glistening wetly.
"You're always so full of energy every morning. First things first... let's get that makeup off."
Mohaim snapped his fingers, and a maid waiting in the corner hurried over with a towel to wipe down the saintess's body and face.
He walked behind the privacy screen where she was changing, keeping his back turned as he shifted his gaze to the map on the table.
"We'll reach the Crossroad Kingdom border soon, Saintess. Two days at most."
"Oh, already? We're moving faster than I thought. I figured it'd take five more days."
"Must be thanks to the holy power you shower on the pilgrims every morning. Everyone's bursting with energy."
He added, Not to mention barely feeling hungry, and grabbed a piece of bread from the table to munch on.
Erzena peeked her head through a gap in the screen, narrowing her eyes at him.
"Ah—! You skipped my songs again? That's no good. You're at that age where you need to watch your health, Mohaim."
"Your songs aren't really my taste. Sorry. I prefer something quiet."
Even as he said it, Mohaim had long noticed his chronically aching knee—the one pierced by an Evil God Cult spear 15 years ago and never healed despite priests and healers' best efforts—had become perfectly fine.
The throbbing pain and limp were gone.
He felt as vigorous as in his youth.
And that wasn't all.
The original 726 who formed the pilgrimage were all ailing patients.
Yet now they were the sturdiest in the group, first to leap around at every morning show.
A phenomenon that could only be called a miracle—or the power of faith.
Mohaim glanced toward the screen, the source of it all.
'An unbelievable miracle.'
Saintess Erzena's holy power was on another level entirely.
"Hmph, hmph~."
That abstract force said to be invisible rippled around her now like heat haze and a halo.
No prayers or solitary asceticism required.
No need to carve scripture into her flesh or battle the corrupt.
Just sing loud, rowdy songs laced with a dash of fanaticism.
That alone granted her more power than an archbishop could amass in a lifetime of prayer and abstinence.
'Only... the genre's a far cry from the choir's usual repertoire.'
He'd served two saintesses before, but none as vibrant, half-violent, and overflowing with the Lord's love as Erzena.
Which was why her role in this northern expedition—disguised as a pilgrimage—was monumental.
"Your fervent faith activities are all well and good, but don't forget why we're heading north."
Erzena, now in calmer attire, flopped into a chair.
Fortunately, no traces of the writing remained on her face.
"I know, I know. To buy the most delicious wine up north, right? What was it... Frost Dragon wine?"
"Saintess."
"Whoa, it was a joke—relax. Purging the Evil God Cult remnants and purifying the fallen holy sites. I haven't forgotten."
She grinned sheepishly, drawing crosses on the ground with her finger, but Mohaim fell deep in thought watching grass sprout where her fingertip brushed the dirt.
If her power overflowed even after sharing with 3,000 believers and civilians, she'd be a decisive weapon against the Evil God Cult.
'Intel's solid. Remnants linger in the northern empire.'
The Holy Church's long-cherished wish was within reach.
Once across, they could join forces with the local branch and wipe the heretics from the world.
But one hurdle remained.
"Everything's gone smoothly so far, but the Crossroad Kingdom's immigration officers worry me."
"Huh? Immigration officers? Why?"
"The Crossroad Kingdom despises wars and conflicts. Religious strife even more so. If they learn our true purpose, they might deny entry."
Purging the Evil God Cult.
It could never be peaceful.
Resistance was inevitable, assassination attempts on the saintess countless. Armed clashes unavoidable.
The northern brethren were already stockpiling weapons and war supplies.
If immigration caught wind, the pilgrimage's purpose would be exposed.
"So just say you're visiting northern holy sites to encourage the faithful."
"Haha. Telling the saintess to lie, Mohaim? The Lord might punish me."
"Of course not. It is an encouragement visit on the surface. We just... don't need to show all our cards."
"Hmm. If the paladin captain says so, it's no joke."
Erzena straightened up slowly.
"Meaning they might block a sacred mission to purge worldly evil, just to 'prevent war'? Why?"
"They're afraid it'll be said they opened the way for war."
"Even though this isn't some petty unbeliever squabble?"
"It won't look any different to them."
Her joyful expression gradually hardened.
"No different."
She echoed his final words, innocence gone from her voice.
"They know who we are—who I am, the Lord's will incarnate—and they might still stand in our way."
She glared down at the Crossroad Kingdom marked in the center of the map.
Smaller than other kingdoms or empires.
A nation tucked luckily into a valley of the Urakaras Mountains.
I get it.
Straddling the world's most vital crossroads, it must have endured endless incursions and bribes from outside powers.
Merely clearing a path could justify invasion; allying with one side meant making enemies of others. A brutal history.
So they'd made this choice to avoid repeating tragedy.
I get it.
But I can't accept it.
"Thinking like heretics..."
We're different.
This pilgrimage wasn't for base greed like territory or trade routes.
The paladins didn't draw swords for petty desires. Theirs was a nobler, holier cause.
Purifying evil.
Exterminating the heresy called the Evil God Cult, restoring the true Creator—our Lord's—authority to the pinnacle.
We are the ones carrying out the sacred duty all His creations should follow.
And they dare obstruct it for something as trivial as war prevention?
Erzena gripped the corner of the desk as if to crush it.
"I don't like it."
With those words, her holy power surged wildly.