Tutorial (3)
“[Sister Aria… do you truly understand what that implies…?]”
Her voice had gone completely rigid, and understandably so. The path of penance was, true to its name, brutally demanding.
Granted, unlike the old days when an initiate had to wander far-flung regions for months or even years—a practice eventually scaled back because of how many priests and nuns perished along the way—penance had technically been eased into accompanying adventurers on a single mission. Even so, most of those commissions carried an exceptionally high hazard rating; the mortal peril remained very much real.
Having spent the past week dutifully learning the ropes and minding my daily routine, she seemed thoroughly taken aback that I would suddenly bring up such a trial. I couldn't blame her. If someone listened to a detailed lecture on how lethal penance was compared to every other road toward becoming a full-fledged nun, only to turn around days later and declare they wanted to do it anyway, I would find it absurd too. But for me, this was the optimal route.
My sensory perception was still too limited to read facial expressions or subtle shifts in the air with total precision, yet I could still tell what she was wrestling with: whether she ought to allow me to walk the path of penance, or stop me at all costs.
After a protracted silence, Asselina lifted her head once more and asked through thought projection,
“[May I ask the reason?]”
The reason.
The reason, huh?
The real reason, of course, was that I needed to become the Saint. On top of that, having dumped every single talent point into sacred power, I was dying of curiosity to see just how high my character ceiling would spike if I cleared penance on top of it. While penances came in many forms, with my encyclopedic meta-knowledge of the original game, I planned to pull a little foul play rather than doing something mundane.
Merely finishing an ordinary penance would qualify me as a formal nun, sure, but that lacked impact. Worse, it offered no guarantee of catching God's eye. If I wanted to project the sublime majesty of a Saint—if I wanted to compel the Goddess to choose me—I needed to demonstrate an equivalent measure of resolve. And if becoming the Saint succeeded, it would essentially be the fulfillment of my greatest dream.
The Divine Protection of Light, granting near-immortal biological resilience immune to death from almost any wound short of venomous demonic energy, paired with the supreme Authority of Healing capable of instantly reviving someone on the brink of death. Healing someone required taking an identical wound upon my own flesh, but since I wouldn't die and would rapidly regenerate anyway, that was hardly an issue. The inherent tragedy designed into the Saint class was that the agonizing pain remained entirely intact, but...
I can hardly wait...
To suffer exquisite torment, to satisfy my innermost desires while presenting the world with an image of absolute holy martyrdom—that was why I had set my sights on becoming the Saint in the first place. Naturally, I couldn't say that out loud. I was completely sincere, but I needed a cover story.
“[It is somewhat personal, but… I wish to help people who are like me. If I complete the penance successfully, I can become a high-ranking cleric, can I not?]”
Did she think a veteran tryhard like me wouldn't know? Her Divine Eye possessed a critical blind spot. While it was an overpowered ability capable of reading my surface thoughts and overarching moral alignment, it lacked fine-grained accuracy. Pure desire is, by nature, colorless.
And I truly did want to help people. The reason being: it would allow me to become the Saint. Had I feigned benevolence while harboring malicious, insidious schemes, she would have seen through me instantly. But my desire was fundamentally pristine: I wanted to become the Saint, endure horrific pain in devotion to others, and revel in the euphoric pleasure it gave me. In her eyes, that registered merely as an innocent maiden longing to save people and ascend to sainthood.
I had deliberately dropped hints about aspiring to sainthood whenever the topic arose over the past week. Even if I seemed excessively eager to throw myself into helping others, she might at most mistake it for some deep-seated psychological trauma or martyr complex. Pinpointing the truth buried in the deepest layer of my subconscious—that I was an unhinged masochist who got off on excruciating agony—was virtually impossible.
Sure enough, at my declaration that I intended to embark on penance, Asselina cried out in deep distress.
“[Penance is perilous! You could die, Sister Aria!]”
Naturally. I could die. Masochist or not, even I feared death. But...
If I don't step in, everyone dies anyway.
This game's difficulty was set to the absolute maximum. Assuming this world had manifested exactly as I had configured it, there was zero guarantee that the story characters alone could repel the Demon King's invasion without player intervention. I had agonized over this countless times during the past week and reached my conclusion: this was the moment to put my life on the line.
“[Even should I perish during my penance… I promise my life will not be spent in vain.]”
“…”
Asselina offered no reply. My resolution to undertake the trial of penance had been granted.
Once the young girl departed, leaving only heavy silence behind in the prayer chamber, the door clicked open. A middle-aged man dressed in immaculate clerical vestments approached the Pope, lowering his head and closing his eyes in reverence.
“Pope Eusteur.”
“Priest Antonio. What brings you to this place?”
“Did you truly… grant permission for Aria's penance…?”
He must have overheard their conversation. Eusteur—or rather, Asselina—nursed an agonizing headache, torn over what to do.
Though barely a week had passed since she entered the novitiate, Aria was already renowned among the priests and nuns of the cathedral in countless ways. A blind and deaf girl who had arrived out of nowhere, burdened with afflictions severe enough to elicit pity from anyone who saw her, yet she never ceased praying to God. For the sake of good deeds, for the light, she relentlessly moved forward.
Countless hearts had been moved by the sight of her. What believer could fail to love such a child? Despite congenital disabilities far too cruel for a tender girl, she refused to surrender to despair, striving only to become a beacon of light for all creation. In just one brief week, by the time she regained the means to listen and speak, her gentle, warmhearted nature—preserved in spite of what must have been an agonizing life—became widely known. Whispers had already begun spreading that she might well be the next Saint.
And above all else...
She truly wished to become the Saint.
The aptitude to become a Saint—no, every sign in this world pointed to that young girl being the Saint. That was precisely why Asselina had leaked details regarding the position to Aria in the first place, wanting to see how she would react. She had explained that a Saint was someone who endured endless self-sacrifice to serve others. Beneath the guise of praising the Saint’s glory, Asselina had subtly urged her to reconsider, warning her of the terrible ordeal it entailed.
By all common sense, no matter how devout a nun might be, learning the grim reality behind the title of "Saint" was enough to make anyone shrink back. To save another, one had to shoulder the exact measure of agony in their stead. To defeat the mortal enemy of humanity, the Demon King, a Saint was doomed to stand beside the Hero through trials of penance and suffering beyond what any ordinary priest or nun could ever endure.
Yet even after hearing all of that, the girl had not wavered. She had chosen to embrace penance.
“Yes… Aria’s resolve was so unyielding that I could not dissuade her.”
At Asselina’s helpless admission, Antonio’s expression hardened.
“She is still a child.”
“…”
“She cannot see, nor can she hear; she can barely look after herself! And yet, you would…!!”
“Priest Antonio.”
“…!!”
Antonio choked back his words. Pope Eusteur’s face was twisted in profound sorrow.
“Could it be… that child…?”
Never before had he seen the Pope—always a figure of serene benevolence—wear such an agonized expression. Only then did Antonio realize that even the revered leader of the Holy Kingdom of Varkan was, in the end, only human. As a mortal, as a follower of God, how could anyone not lament that the fate of the entire world rested upon the fragile shoulders of such a pitiable young girl?
Yet the Pope had no choice but to make the decision.
“According to the divine revelation, the Demon King will soon revive and invade this realm.”
This was already public knowledge beyond the Holy Kingdom of Varkan, acknowledged even throughout the Empire. In fact, rumors were already circulating across the Empire that the Hero chosen by the Holy Sword had appeared. This was the most critical juncture of all.
The revelation that the destined wielder of the Holy Sword had emerged, and that the demonic race would launch a full-scale invasion upon the world, could mean only one thing: soon, the Saint would be born.
“Dear heavens… that child…”
Antonio hung his head low.
The Pope could speak no further. Was this truly right? Was it truly just to place the future of all humanity upon such a fragile, pitiful little girl?
Ah… Lady Rumania…
Her Goddess gave no answer.
Closing her eyes against the sunlight streaming through the stained glass, Asselina grieved in silent sorrow.