Faith Through Action
"Saint... confirmed."...
"…."
Yustia fell silent for a moment.
More precisely...
Her thoughts had stopped.
"Uh..."
In the observatory garden where stars drifted lazily—a place where immortals peered into the lives of mortals—thousands of worlds flowed like threads of light. Yet her gaze was fixed on a single scene.
The Holy Light Church in Brunel village, on the outskirts of the Lumenheim Empire.
And...
Her own saint, smashing a man's head with the holy scriptures containing her teachings.
"...Hold on."
Her eyes blinked slowly. She checked the scene again.
Ellian hurled the offering box. Coins scattered everywhere, people screamed.
"...Huh?"
Yustia tilted her head. With a flick of her finger, she rewound time. The scene jumped back a few seconds.
The resounding shout of the saint she had chosen echoed out.
-You blasphemous scum!!!!!
Krunch—!
"…."
She played it again.
Krunch—!
Paused.
"...Did I..."
After a long silence, she murmured.
"...tell him to do that?"
The starry clusters trembled subtly. One star in the observatory veered off its orbit with a wobble.
Yustia rummaged through her memories.
A small spark was needed.
No top-down heroics.
Someone humble, devout, spreading the light.
...That's how it was supposed to be.
But down below, right now...
-Counting coins with the hands meant for prayer, you damn bastards.
The saint was dragging a merchant out by the collar.
-Everyone except those who want to pray—get out!
Krunch—!
One of the church doors shattered.
"…."
Yustia's mouth slowly fell open.
"No."
She thought for a moment. Watched again. Then sank back into thought.
"...No, wait a second..."
She pressed her temples with both hands.
Something she'd never seen in thousands of years.
"That... is definitely the saint, right?"
One star twinkled cautiously.
A signal of affirmation.
"...The saint."
Another star quivered.
That star revealed her mistake in distributing the divinity. It shone clear as day.
"…."
She turned her head, shifting her gaze back to the saint.
Ellian tore down the cloth covering the statue.
Dust scattered in the light.
"…."
Yustia closed her mouth.
She watched the scene quietly.
People fleeing.
The church emptying.
Ellian standing before the altar, catching his breath.
In that moment...
Her gaze shifted ever so slightly.
"…."
The church no longer held any merchants.
No noise.
No haggling.
No greed.
All gone.
What remained was...
A single altar touched by light.
And one man ready to pray.
Yustia's eyes narrowed.
"...If you look just at the result..."
The corner of her mouth twitched upward, almost a smile.
"...it kinda worked, didn't it?"
The stars rustled like a murmuring crowd.
She let out a sigh.
"No, still..."
A sigh... and another sigh.
"...smacking people with the Bible is a bit much, isn't it?"
For a very brief moment.
Truly just a fleeting instant.
Yustia hesitated.
Should she intervene?
Stop him?
But she soon shook her head.
She steeled her resolve.
"...Let's watch a little longer."
The stars began to flow once more.
"Hoo..."
He exhaled deeply. Something heavy that had built up deep in his chest seemed to flow out.
This sensation was entirely new. In the days he'd dragged his diseased body along, he'd never felt this lightness. Blood raced through his veins, his heart pounded vigorously. A subtle thrill coursed under his skin, as if every nerve in his body had come alive.
Strangely enough... his heart felt unburdened.
He gazed down at his hands for a moment. Hands that, just moments ago, had stopped someone in their tracks and struck against injustice.
He'd always turned a blind eye. Ignored what he'd seen. Passed by moments of fear that stepping in might bring greater trouble.
But today was different.
For the first time, by his own will. By his own conviction. He'd put the teachings of the Holy Light Church into action.
Something burned deep in his chest. The faint flame he'd felt during prayers now blazed with clear, intensifying heat.
He slowly returned to the church interior.
He righted the toppled chairs one by one, swept up the scattered candle wax and dust from the floor. He gathered the broken glass shards and set them aside by the window.
In the now-quiet church, only his footsteps and breathing remained.
Standing before the altar, the earlier fervor subsided as if it had been a lie.
He knelt.
As he clasped his hands, the lingering tremors gradually faded. Closing his eyes, he recalled the moment enveloped in warm light—like being cradled in his mother's arms...
He steadied his breath and opened his mouth.
"...Yustia, Goddess."
His quiet voice echoed softly through the empty church.
"If I am walking the righteous path... keep my eyes from turning away henceforth."
The candle flames flickered, casting the statue's shadow long across the altar. Modeled after Goddess Yustia, it felt as though she gazed down at him.
He gently pressed his forehead to the floor.
"Do not tolerate injustice, shine light in every corner..."
Reciting the scripture verse slowly brought an uncanny peace to his heart.
Today, for the first time, he realized it.
Faith wasn't about belief—it was about action.
He rose slowly. There was still work to be done.
Places untouched by light were more numerous than he'd thought.
He pushed open the church doors and stepped outside.
A cool breeze brushed his face. The outside air was dry and rough. Standing atop the steps, he looked down at the village.
Brunel village.
Even he had to admit it was pathetically rundown.
The well had long since dried up, its bottom cracked. The fields lay barren, yellowed and dusted with dirt. Dry soil kicked up by the wind clouded his vision. Collapsed roofs dotted the landscape.
It wasn't merely in need of repair... it was nearly abandoned land.
Only a handful of merchants and a few others scraped by; most villagers seemed to struggle just to survive the day. The streets were filled with listless steps and resigned faces.
Suddenly, he felt eyes on him.
The merchants he'd chased from the church earlier. Their glares mixed blatant dissatisfaction and annoyance, but he turned away, pretending not to notice.
They weren't important now.
His eyes caught someone huddled against a crumbling wall by the roadside. A ragged cloth draped over them, woefully inadequate against the cold. Their hands were empty; passersby ignored them entirely.
He paused for a moment.
Then he pulled out a piece of bread from the church.
He approached slowly and held it out.
"...Here. Eat."
The beggar looked up in shock. An expression of disbelief. With trembling hands, they carefully took the bread.
He said no more. Just a slight bow of the head before turning away.
We mustn't beg miracles from the Goddess.
The thought struck him.
Light doesn't fall from the heavens—it must be kindled by human hands. A single act to save a life, one small choice—that might be the miracle itself.
The teachings of the Holy Light Church didn't end with raised prayers.
They were completed only in the doing.
As he turned to walk away with that realization...
He felt eyes again.
Unlike the merchants' hostile stares, these carried desperation.
He turned, and understood why.
Other beggars sitting in the alleys were watching him.
No words, but their eyes said enough. Hunger. They'd surely seen the bread he'd given.
Gazes of hope and resignation held him fast.
He stopped.
Honestly, he was flustered.
He had nothing left.
Then...
The beggar who'd received the bread began carefully breaking it into pieces.
Tiny morsels, barely a mouthful each. He offered one to the person beside him. Then another to someone else.
No hesitation in his actions. Despite his own hunger.
He watched, stunned.
Something stirred quietly deep in his chest.
I gave just one piece...
And he was sharing it.
Light... spreads like this.
A laugh escaped him unbidden.
He turned and reentered the church.
Rummaging through the kitchen corner, he gathered what food remained. Only once he'd piled it all into an old basket did the reality sink in.
Five loaves of bread and two dried fish.
He stared at them for a moment.
Far too little to feed those outside.
Impossible, by any measure.
Logically, this was the end. Give what you can, and that's that.
He gazed at the basket in silence for a while.
Then it dawned on him.
A small smile curved his lips.
"...Ah."
It was a test.
The Goddess taking his illness, facing injustice today, every event leading to this moment—it all connected.
He closed his eyes slowly.
He didn't recite a prayer. Instead, he recalled the scene he'd just witnessed.
A starving man... sharing his portion first.
Light doesn't come from above—it passes between people.
The thought flashed like lightning.
"...I see."
The way was already there.
He just hadn't realized it.
After a brief contemplation, he opened his eyes. The hazy pieces in his mind clicked into place.
It can be done. No—it will be done.
He lifted the basket in one hand. Smiling, he stepped outside.
"Goddess... I'll handle this one too."
He'd found the way to overcome this trial as well.