Too Shallow for Faith (3)
The royal capital was always bustling with life. As the nation's most prosperous and secure region, even its slums benefited from church rations, making starvation rare compared to other places. Faces here were free of worry lines. Yet the liveliness wasn't always uniform. Sometimes the mood grew subdued; other times, it thickened intensely. Today was the latter.
"There go the Malik Church folks!"
"And the Belrom Church too!"
A long line of carriages stretched along the capital's main boulevard. At the end of their path loomed the royal palace, and the faces of the onlookers held a strange fervor. Many were praying. Today marked the day when the capital's churches attended the grand banquet—a rare chance for the faithful to glimpse high-ranking clergy up close. Superstition held that prayers offered near them might reach the gods' ears, so the crowds had gathered just in case.
Amid this procession stood one glaring oddity.
"Ahaha! Nice to see you all! I'm the Goddess Nun of the Goddess Church... Eek!"
A blonde girl, half-leaning out a carriage window and waving enthusiastically, was yanked back inside. Bursting with vitality, her fresh aura drew the eye, and her delicate features made her strikingly pretty.
"The Goddess Church's Goddess Nun, right?"
"Heard she wields real miracles."
"Pfft, every church has those rumors. But since the state's recognized them as legit, there must be something to it."
Public perception of the Goddess Church remained ambiguous. Some took them seriously, but it was hard to see them as a normal religion. A girl claiming to be a goddess, and followers saved by faith in her? It smacked of a cult. Yet there was no backlash because the nation had officially named them a religion. Because they truly wielded divinity.
That was why the people, who had prayed earnestly for the earlier churches, now watched the Goddess Church's carriage pass with bemused expressions. No one quite knew what to make of them yet.
The streets retained that peculiar air until sunset, when the Goddess Church arrived at the banquet hall.
The royal palace's grand banquet hall was opulent. Beneath dazzling lights, no corner lay in shadow; the vast space brimmed with dishes most commoners would never see in a lifetime. Nobles in finery clinked glasses and chatted, while priests in robes whispered among themselves elsewhere. The atmosphere screamed otherworldliness.
One group stood out as utterly alien: Sara and her Goddess Church companions, naturally.
"My lady, the food's all warm...!"
"They're keeping it that way."
"It's sooo good...!"
"A feast for those who hoard the finest ingredients."
Their table was neither too central nor too tucked away—just right for eating and drinking comfortably. Though called a banquet, it was more an exchange of interests between churches and nobles. In that context, their pure focus on the meal made them conspicuous.
Sara was eccentric enough, but her companions amplified it. The middle-aged man beside her, straining to look refined, rolled his eyes in a comically rustic way. The boy eating with her, thrilled like it was his first fancy meal, added to the folksy vibe—yet his etiquette was surprisingly polished, which was puzzling. Hard to peg their status.
Most striking was the black-haired man standing protectively by Sara. His attire wasn't flashy, nor did he raise his voice. He simply stood there, impassive. Yet he exuded an aura of dignity and pressure that dominated the space. Without prior intel, anyone would peg him as the group's true leader.
With him there, curious and wary glances kept drifting their way. Someone should break the ice—but the Goddess Church's bizarre position made it tricky.
"The first church backed by Pterin, right?"
"Unprecedented in their history."
"They never meddled in religion before..."
The continent's top guild supporting them carried massive weight. Untouchable in wealth, and never before directly involved with faiths—this was profoundly significant. Commoners questioned their legitimacy; rulers calculated the profits in allying with them. From that angle, the Goddess Church's mystery made them worth courting.
For nobles, yes. For rival churches, it differed.
"Why would His Highness back such shady types...?"
They were the ones divvying up the capital's faithful. The Goddess Church was the catfish stirring their pond—encroaching on Orin territory, swelling rapidly. Their unease was natural.
Such varied emotions filled the stares. Then, as everyone played it safe, someone stepped up. Usually, it was someone whose calculations fell short... or rather, whose thoughts were short.
Probability didn't fail here.
"Pardon the intrusion, milady."
A youthful man, late teens at most. Fine clothes, but his manner was cocky. Obvious scion of a minor noble house. His low breeding shone through: lumping the church's goddess-figure as "milady" showed his poor education.
Sara blinked. The nameless youth flushed faintly, then pressed on.
"From afar, I felt drawn into those eyes of yours..."
"Eek."
"...Eek?"
"Ah, sorry."
Sara clapped a hand over her mouth. Her eyes rolled toward Lenoir. Had she said something rude to a noble? He'd drilled etiquette into her beforehand, so worry made her glance his way. Thankfully, he showed no big reaction—at least not to her.
"Thou, impudent one."
Lenoir's archaic tone emerged.
"Shalt ignorance of thy rudeness be deemed purity?"
Someone stifled a snort. The moderate voice, enunciated sharply, carried to anyone paying attention. Especially since Lenoir had mastered "simple speech" for Sara—the youth got the point. His face burned with shame.
"Begone. My lady shall not punish thee for mere displeasure."
The final nail. As the youth opened his mouth to retort, their eyes met, and he deflated. Trembling, he backed away, then fled the hall like a chased rabbit.
A routine mishap. One might wonder why he panicked so, but Lenoir's presence drowned such doubts. His piercing gaze was too intimidating.
Yet that brief exchange revealed much: the man served the girl of his own will, with utmost devotion. She treated him casually, naturally—no awkwardness. Master-servant dynamic confirmed. Those were the thoughts of the perceptive.
A step further for sharper minds: 'Target the man, not the girl.' He held real power, seemed protective. Show respect to her, and he'd allow talk. Alliances formed on aligned interests. A juicy newcomer, unaligned—worth approaching.
People began gathering around Sara.
Sara blinked at the crowding nobles. Most bowed to her first, then slyly addressed Lenoir. The area filled instantly—enough to cramp her eating.
Lenoir had prepped her for this: eat with poise, stay reserved. He'd said her beauty could captivate superficial types. Praise from him felt good. Recalling it now warmed her again. Compliments landed well when from him.
Acting refined was second nature now. She straightened, smiled demurely.
Then her eyes met Rnier's across the room, wine glass in hand. Pride gleamed in those eyes. Sara swelled with her own.
—Got it? Just cover your mouth, chuckle ladylike, and nod along. That'll have most guys grinning. You're especially pretty, after all.
'You were watching, Master.'
She felt invincible. A bit itchy, but tolerable. She had patience.
Thus, she diligently observed the nobles' pretensions, per Lenoir's advice.
"Goddess, may I address you thus?"
A pink-haired woman approached, voice bright and bubbly.
"Ooh, the Saintess of Malik!"
"Ooh...!"
Tall. Revealing dress. Delicate features. And one more thing—Sara's gaze flicked to her chest.
Her jaw dropped.
Whoa, those tits are huge.
She kept it inside. She'd get scolded otherwise.