On the Value of Faith (3)
The Goddess Church had no doctrine. To date, the only proof of its existence was Sara Lorojin, the object of faith itself. But humans needed reasons for their faith. Whether it was a single slice of bread or some teaching, they were the sort who wouldn't be satisfied without a plausible justification attached to what they believed in.
Thus, to establish the framework of a religion, Lenoir had already given Sara several sermon scripts to use as teachings. And there she was, reciting them.
"If you work hard, it'll come true! Our Goddess Church always grants salvation fitting the cause and effect!"
She brimmed with cheer and confidence. It went beyond mere words, drawing people in with an irresistible charm. Her blonde hair shimmered and reflected the sunlight like rippling waves, her skin pale and refined, exuding an air of nobility. When those blue eyes, filled with conviction, fixed on someone, the poor soul would often go blank, as if sucked right into them.
"You don't have to be great right now! Doing your absolute best good deed today is purity itself! Um, so... yeah! As long as you don't palm cards, you're saved!"
"Gasp, but I palmed one yesterday!"
"Anything before joining doesn't count! Ah, except big stuff like murder, rape, or arson!"
"Ooooh...!"
In the end, teachings took on meaning depending on who delivered them. Just as Sara took Lenoir's words mostly as truth, these folks saw Sara—who appeared far nobler than they—as speaking gospel truth. And since she showed them kindness, they'd believe her even more. It helped that humans were so easily swayed by what they could see. No one could argue with that assessment.
"That's the sermon for today! We're building a temple on the city outskirts, so come pray every last day of the week in the morning, and we'll give you bread and soup too!"
"Ooooh...!"
"You'll join the Goddess Church, right?!"
"Oooooh!"
"You there, red-nosed uncle! I remember your face! No-show means betrayal!"
"U!!!"
The crowd laughed at Sara's naturally bright banter. Afterward, she distributed the bread they'd brought on the cart, and they devoured the fresh loaves right there, faces lit with satisfaction.
Lenoir watched from a step back. To his eyes, it was an even more beautiful sight. Not pure golden light, but a murky hue—yet as it gathered, adding a glow to Sara, it filled him with deep satisfaction.
But the road ahead is still long.
It was the most trivial faith. Add up all life on this land, and it'd exceed billions; the value would vary wildly by the intensity of their belief. This was turbid faith, too weak to even produce divinity, let alone authority. At best, a faint warmth from a few hundred smiles.
Compare it to Immaculate Fate at her peak, and the gap was abysmal. Her divine throne had shone so brilliantly that its full circle was impossible to discern. The apostles' lanterns atop it burned fiercely, each one towering over what passed for gods in this era.
How many years to reach that height? The thought slipped in unbidden, but there was no need for pessimism.
Once the temple's built, we can properly harvest faith.
As the Goddess Church rooted deeper in their lives, faith would flow from every corner of the world, filling Sara's empty soul vessel. Today was a fine start—not bad at all. He'd praise her once it wrapped up.
That was when he resolved it. Lenoir's brow furrowed. His head turned.
They're coming.
From afar wafted the unpleasant stench of foul faith. A familiar form.
...Orin.
They were the same ones he'd encountered in Sara's hometown.
* * *
Sara herself was astonished at how much she enjoyed every moment. It went beyond simply giving to others; gathering people like this and making them laugh felt like it fit her perfectly.
The slums were familiar territory. Being one of them, she knew exactly what they wanted and understood. Plus, with her roots as a street hustler, bantering and clowning came as naturally as slipping into a well-worn coat—pure liberation.
Above all, there was this odd sensation.
My chest feels all tickly inside.
Warm and fuzzy. An inexplicable fulfillment, but it felt like more than just the current fun.
Would Lenoir know why? She'd ask him once it ended.
That was when they appeared, plunging her joy straight into the dirt.
"Who might you be?"
White robes, red trim, their signature symbol. Orin Church—the ones who'd turned her hometown into hell. Sure, those who'd wrought that hell were now idiots, but she knew their backers lingered. Her heart froze.
"This area's relief is under our Orin Church's charge. What business have you here?"
"Hmm, unfamiliar symbol. And gold trim too—no recognized church in this kingdom uses those colors."
Their exchanged glances, as they murmured among themselves, reeked of displeasure. Sara's expression dimmed a touch, and interpreting it somehow, they grew bolder.
"A cult."
"Parading a little girl to scam faith. Hey, kid. Who's behind you?"
Their up-and-down leers showed more lust than concern. Their tone dripped blatant contempt.
Sara blurted without thinking.
"No one's behind me. I'm doing this 'cause I want to. And we're not a cult."
Lenoir, approaching, halted. In that moment, Sara grasped one long-mysterious truth.
Some people can't see Master.
Nearly everyone, in fact. Lenoir's striking looks and aura made him stand out anywhere. Yet most acted as if he weren't even there.
She realized now: when he didn't want to be seen, he made himself invisible. But he'd been about to step in, and Sara didn't want that.
I have to do this myself.
Sara had a dream. Someone might scoff, but she wanted a world without arbitrary, malice-driven separations. Lenoir had affirmed that dream. So she refused to be someone who couldn't do anything alone.
Lenoir stopped again, as if to say he'd watch. It felt like encouragement. Bolstered, Sara spoke once more.
"...We're not a cult. We're a real church."
"Hah, thoroughly brainwashed! Listen, folks, don't fall for these cultists. Disperse!"
"No need to leave! Stick around and chat more!"
"Hey!"
"What?! What?!"
The young Orin priest's forehead vein bulged. Sara glared back wide-eyed. Not without emotion—she hated Orin. She knew what they did while pretending to be a true church.
"Does it matter who's giving bread? If you're just helping, come back at lunch and give extra!"
"Y-yeah...! The goddess lady's right!"
A slum-dweller chimed in. Sara straightened, adding fuel.
"Even the kingdom recognizes multiple religions—what's the big deal? We're helping folks; got a reason we can't? Worried about turf wars? Oh yeah, big trouble incoming!"
She jabbed at the middle-aged head priest.
"Orin's the cult scamming with relief handouts and massacring behind the scenes! Gotta hide it, right!?"
"Wh-what baseless slander... Shut your mouth this instant...!"
"It's not baseless! They slaughtered everyone in my hometown!"
The square murmured. The priest's eyes bloodshot.
"You wicked little whore!!!"
"I'm a virgin! You're the whore! Wrinkly perv grandpa! Face screams it! Bet you love getting trampled by big-titted sisters, gasping for air!"
"You crazy bitch!!!"
The priest raised a pot-lid hand to strike. Sara was used to hits—no fear. But backing down here was worse than death. So, gritting her teeth, glaring, she aimed a kick at his groin—
Thwack!
"Guhk!"
"Enough."
Lenoir had closed in, cane blocking the priest's arm. Everyone startled at his sudden appearance. The priest froze like bound head-to-toe, eyes rolling wildly. The young one too—shriveling like a frog before a snake, helpless.
Silence fell. Lenoir, face impassive as ever, intoned lowly.
"Is laying hands on an unripe girl your law?"
"Y-you... who...!"
"A holy knight. As servant to the Goddess, I cannot overlook this."
The middle-aged priest sweated profusely. Overwhelmed, sensing peril, he bellowed desperately.
"It's you! You're the one deluding the girl into this fake church! Everyone! Don't trust them!"
A ripple of unease. But recalling the Sara they'd just laughed with, they didn't flip easily. Chaos brewed in the square.
Lenoir overturned it in an instant.
"Then you, self-proclaimed servant of a true god."
His cane tip touched the priest's throat.
"If my whispers be evil, your piety should repel this staff. Your deeds work miracles, so succeed, and I'll gladly be the heretic's villain."
"Th-that's...!"
"Cannot? Then here's another choice. Prove your purity. Show qualification, and like a mirage, we'll vanish from this place."
The priest could do nothing. Bound by invisible coils, immobile. He could scarcely speak.
Lenoir drove the wedge.
"Not even that?"
Sara felt Lenoir's deep disappointment toward the priest. Not feigned—from deeper still.
"How then prove your purity? Your faith's truth? Deny the cunning of buying faith with bread? The pettiness scorning others' charity over tiny greed?"
The priest's white robes soaked with sweat. His gasps echoed to the square's edge. The murmurs tipped fully.
"What grand purpose justifies such faith?"
No answer. Lenoir narrowed his eyes, withdrawing the cane.
"Begone. By the will of the true Goddess I serve, mercy is... granted."
"By me?"
"...Granted."
"Ow!"
Lenoir pinched Sara's waist. Feeling unjustly wronged, she pouted and glared at him.
Ignoring her, the priests retreated in terror, spouting third-rate villain lines before vanishing.
"We won't forget this humiliation!"
An awkward air lingered. Lenoir whispered faintly.
"Clean it up."
Sara snapped to, turning. The slum-dwellers gazed at her with admiration.
Did I win?
Probably. Fist raised triumphantly—
"Wooooah!!!"
"The goddess won!"
"Goddess of fresh bread!"
"No, pure virgin goddess!"
"And a badass holy knight!!!"
Cheers erupted. Bursting with pride, Sara forgot the prior scuffle and yelled.
"Yesss! This Sara Lorojin wins! Super badass... no. We got an awesome holy knight too!!!"
"Waaaaah!!!"
"Fresh bread! Fresh bread!"
"Virgin! Virgin!"
"Eh! Virgin yes, and fresh bread too! Love the Goddess Church lots!!!"
"Waaaaaaah!!!"
Was this okay? Sara grinned wide at Lenoir. He had his eyes squeezed shut. Oblivious to his burning insides, she giggled.
"Huh? Master! Smile! We won!"
Never imagining the scolding on the way home.