Faith Too Shallow for the Name (1)
Time flowed like a relentless river, sweeping away two or three months in its current. The church had grown larger than before. It had advanced beyond mere gatherings and communal meals: now priests took on duties and preached doctrine—that was the first milestone. The second was the presence of Joseph, whose devotion manifested in miracles. Rumors spread that the goddess's power, a true authority, had saved a child dying from mana poisoning. Naturally, the faith swelled. By rough estimate, there were nearly three thousand believers. Not all were devout, of course, but numbers held their own formidable power.
In that time, a few more priests had joined under Balt's command, reciting creeds. The absolute number of the faithful had increased, so the influx of faith naturally grew. Now, the refined divinity within Sara was enough to fill the tip of a finger. Changes followed.
"I-it worked, Master!"
"Indeed. You are finally bearing fruit. Well done."
Joseph had moved beyond mere study to learning a few of Lenoir's techniques. Swordsmanship first, then divine arts. He had succeeded in his first divine spell. The boy, ever earnest in his studies, progressed swiftly. A faint golden light shimmered in Joseph's eyes. The wooden sword in his grip glowed subtly with the same hue. It was one of the most basic divine arts of Immaculate Fate.
"It is called the Sacred Edge. Depending on the amount and purity of the divinity infused, the blade gains auspicious power. It corrects the sword's trajectory and strikes at the enemy's weak points—a localized miracle."
"Yes, sir! I'll remember that."
"Then let us spar with divinity coating your blade. Come at me."
Lenoir took up his cane as Joseph's sparring partner. Joseph charged with a stern expression, but as always, he yielded after fewer than three exchanges.
"Ugh... When will I ever make you move your feet, Master...?"
"Do not be impatient. You are only twelve years old."
The boy burned with ambition. Unfortunately, if Lenoir willed it, he could withhold that single "step" Joseph craved for a lifetime. It went beyond mere talent; it was a matter of existential rank and time. He was the son born from a god's own flesh and authority, who had lived nearly a millennium. The gap was unfathomable. Yet Lenoir knew an overly distant goal might crush that drive, so he planned to yield a step now and then, to build a proper reward system.
"As I always say, focus on growth over achievements for now. Do not forget the importance of ample rest and meals."
"Yes...! You mean I need to build my frame!"
"Precisely. With divinity dwelling within you and aspirations matching my own build, your growth can be guided to some extent. When potential opens, nourish it. Eat well and sleep deeply."
Obvious advice, perhaps, but worth repeating to engrave it deep. With that, Lenoir ended the lesson. He sent Joseph off and turned away. A deep sigh escaped him.
"Ugh... Grrr...!"
A girl glared at him with bloodshot eyes, trembling in fury. Did she need introducing?
"Little Sara. Why such venom in your gaze?"
"I wanna use divine arts too! I wanna...!"
It was Sara Lorojin, the church's mistress, consumed in real-time by jealousy.
The church had grown, and so had the supply of faith. Naturally, the amount of refined divinity increased, enabling new feats. But that was Joseph's story as an apostle. Sara still couldn't do anything with hers.
Lenoir had explained: "I told you. You wield fate itself. The flow of your power is too vast for localized miracles like divine arts. The divinity gets swept away in it."
"I know, I know. But Joseph's doing cool stuff, and I'm the only one who can't...!"
"It will differ in the end. Even if he performs life-risking miracles, you will surpass them as effortlessly as breathing."
"That's later! What's the point if I'm a grandma by then?!"
Her feelings were understandable. From their first lesson, she'd been smug until Joseph beat her in studies. She'd barely won her revenge match after, but from then on, she saw him as a formidable rival she couldn't easily best. Now she treated him as her sole competitor, needing to outdo him at every turn to feel satisfied. A pampered goddess feeling threatened by her own follower—what a sight.
Sara trembled with rage. "I'm mad! So mad I could die! My head!"
"...You make such demands so casually."
"But! But! But!"
"Enough. Calm yourself."
Lenoir placed a hand on Sara's head and stroked it. Normally, she'd melt into a grin by now, but lately, no such luck.
"Eeeek...!"
Sara hugged Lenoir's waist, burying her face in his chest. She made crying sounds, but they were fake. Sniff, haaah, sniff, haaah—she was secretly inhaling his scent. Knowing her twisted intent, Lenoir still couldn't push her away. He'd learned it only fueled her tantrum more. Call it a clever girl exploiting even her own frustration. Lenoir wasn't sure whether to rejoice or sorrow at this. At least she was spirited enough to have energy left for it. Better than when she'd flee lessons entirely, no?
That sense of rivalry had turned into motivation; Sara now studied with real zeal. Changes followed.
"A believer approaches."
The moment he spoke, Sara detached smoothly, clasping her hands demurely before her. She turned with a sweet smile.
"Have a peaceful day."
"Ah, Goddess!"
The believer bowed with hands clasped. The picture of superior and devotee—for an instant, at least.
"Gone?"
"Yes."
"Phew, close call. Now, back to... Ehehe!"
"Clever Sara. Such lack of sincerity."
The instant the believer left, Sara clung back on. Lenoir sighed deeply.
Her growth was... off-kilter. He'd thought etiquette and decorum would refine her thoughts and actions naturally. Instead, she'd mastered hiding her true self and putting on airs. Her penchant for petty tricks had found an easy compromise.
He tapped her head lightly. Then he said, "There's a gathering soon, is there not? Off you go."
"What do I do? I'm out of script."
"Crafting plausible words is always the hardest part. I understand the struggle."
"You do?"
"The essence of faith is pure reverence. Mortals believe something sublime only if adorned with a thousand words. How could I not grasp that superficiality?"
After speaking, Lenoir added one more line. And he instantly sensed his mistake.
"The goddess found that endearing..."
"Are you comparing me right now?"
"...A slip of the tongue."
"You must really like the goddess."
Sara's eyes narrowed to triangles. Perhaps a month ago? Her mind had sharpened; she grasped more nuances. Whatever the trigger, she bristled like this whenever mythic-era goddesses came up.
She jabbed Lenoir's solar plexus with her forehead, pressing hard. "I'm the goddess, you know. You should only think of me!"
"...You know they mean the same to me."
"Not to me! I don't know why, but when you miss the goddess, it sours my mood. My chest tightens!"
Not an incomprehensible sentiment. Not everyone enjoys others projecting through them. Existence and self are one perfect whole; feeling like a mere proxy stirs bitterness. Not a mortal flaw—Lenoir and his demigod siblings had despaired similarly when the gods left, feeling like tools for loving mortals. It was the nature of self-aware beings.
Thus, his carelessness. Nearly a millennium of revering his mother goddess had ingrained the habit, leading to slips like this.
Lenoir humbly admitted and apologized—as the cunning Sara demanded, not with words alone.
"Piggyback."
"Just don't bury your nose in my neck."
"It's not like I can help it?"
"Practice restraint."
"You smell like flowers! I wanna sniff!"
"Hold petals in your hand instead."
Position shapes a person. Those in authority grow accustomed to commands. Sara, innately kind, never bullied others—but her demands grew ever more brazen.
Lenoir offered his back; Sara giggled, wrapping her arms around his neck.
"You know it's your fault, right? Seducing me with that good smell! I tried not to!"
Words rose to his throat—"The goddess designed this body to emit fragrance"—but he swallowed them. Unlike Sara, Lenoir wasn't so reckless as to repeat the same mistake twice.
It was a peaceful day.
As always: Joseph achieved something, Sara spied with jealous eyes, then clung while pretending to complain. An ordinary day.
"A church assembly banquet?"
"Yes, a grand event at the Royal Palace during this harvest season."
A pebble had been tossed into their tranquil routine.