Blessed, Yea, Truly Blessed (2)
What in the world was that man saying?
Laura von Adelaide clutched her muddled head.
The words coming from the man before her eyes—Professor Lucio Antonelli—refused to make sense.
Of all things, he was saying that Chloe, a mere magic department student and neither a priest nor from the theology department...
“Ah, haha...”
...could wield divine power?
When Laura came to her senses, she found herself already on her feet. But she couldn't trust herself to sit still calmly. The other students were no different.
“N-No way.”
“Is... is that even possible?”
“He's on another level today too...”
Bewilderment spread through their eyes, mingled with an irrepressible thirst for knowledge that peeked through. Every student's gaze burned hot.
“Ah, aah...! The Lord's blessings spreading far and wide! What a righteous turn of events...!”
“If it's truly so, it is the Lord's grace indeed...!”
The theology students were practically in tears. They clasped hands, gazing at Professor Antonelli with earnest, devout eyes.
It wasn't just them. Everyone rose from their seats, eyes wide, mouths agape like fools, staring up at the podium. No exceptions.
Right now, Antonelli was challenging the world's common sense head-on. It was tantamount to a declaration of war against everyone in this lecture hall.
I'll shatter your common sense. I'll test the limits of your intellect, the walls you couldn't overcome.
The theology lesson had long been sidelined. The class had gone utterly mad.
And suddenly, it hit Laura.
- Please compile the reasons why not everyone can use divine power and ways to resolve that issue, in about ten pages, and submit it.
Professor Antonelli's assignment. The reason those outside the priesthood couldn't wield divine power. And the method by which even they could.
The professor was now about to demonstrate every part of that assignment. It was like handing them a spear that pierced his unbreakable shield—one that pierced everything.
To just sit there dumbfounded would be the height of folly. Laura von Adelaide hurriedly gripped her pen and flipped open her notebook.
From this moment on, write down everything I see, hear, and feel. I won't miss a single instant.
With that as the cue—Laura's notebook opening with eyes ablaze—the entire lecture hall erupted in a frenzy of preparation for note-taking.
“M-Me too...!”
“Damn it...! Tear out a page for me! No, five!”
“Anyone got a spare pen?! One that writes smoothly!”
The room grew chaotic. Students scrambled to position themselves for the best view of the podium, each in their own way.
Some even cast aside decorum and pride, plopping down in the central aisle. The once-noisy hall...
Swish.
...fell silent at the mere raising of Professor Antonelli's hand. The students froze in place, staring at him.
“Everyone. This is class time. No commotion.”
At those words, order was swiftly restored. Those short on paper naturally borrowed from friends; those out of ink got spare pens.
Laura was astounded by the orderly scene. Professor Antonelli had the entire class in the palm of his hand.
All with a single declaration: that he would enable Chloe to use divine power.
As the lecture hall quieted somewhat, Professor Antonelli began to move.
“The notion that the manifestation of divine power is a privilege granted only to baptized priests has been contested since long ago.”
The students listened quietly. Antonelli continued.
“The Lord's grace, usable only by priests. God's miracles. A truly ancient prejudice. There were times it was even abused.”
The theology students' expressions hardened slightly. To them, it was like a dark chapter in history—understandably so.
“As I mentioned earlier, Saint Peter uses divine power with the Lord's aid to vanquish demons. But doesn't that strike you as odd?”
The question Antonelli posed. Why claim it's permitted only to priests?
“Saint Peter, the Lord's eighth apostle, had not yet been baptized at that time.”
“...!”
The entire hall stirred. Waves of students' shoulders rippled through the room.
Bibles flipped open in haste. Pages turned frantically.
Looking upon them, Antonelli said impassively,
“However, hear this. You, Peter. Though you raced here to Samaria in your longing to receive my baptism as an apostle, the time to wash away your sins and command repentance has not yet come.”
“...First Peter, chapter 1, verse 8...”
A theology student murmured blankly. And then they realized.
“When Saint Peter vanquished Satan and the evil spirits with divine power, he had not yet received baptism.”
Antonelli drove the point home. The students' common sense—already cracking and fracturing—shattered like glass into pieces.
Saint Peter in the scriptures had wielded divine power without baptism.
So, when did Saint Peter receive baptism?
As if resolving that doubt, Antonelli's words followed immediately.
“Only after Saint Peter vanquished the demons did the Lord finally permit baptism.”
Antonelli opened his Bible. The rustling pages stopped, and a solemn voice filled the hall.
“Peter knelt before the crystal palace, shedding tears, realizing at last the blessed grace of my Lord. And the Lord shone his halo-light upon the waters of Samaria, saying:”
“Seek, and you shall receive. Your faith has reached me.”
“You, Peter. Now is the time for repentance.”
“First Peter, chapter 12, verse 27.”
A shiver ran through the students reciting after Antonelli.
The theology students were already on their knees. Crossing themselves, kissing their rosaries—they had gained an unforeseen revelation.
“S-So that's what it was...!”
“Ahh, Lord! Today too, I am overwhelmed by Your grace! Thy kingdom come!”
The theology students' flashing insight. Its source, Professor Antonelli, swept his gaze over the silent hall and spoke.
“The introduction was lengthy, but some of you seem to have grasped half of what I intend to convey.”
Most theology students nodded vigorously. Tears streamed down their faces, noses sniffling, expressions brimming with emotion.
“That is fortunate indeed, but since not all have fully realized it... I shall now demonstrate.”
Antonelli turned to Chloe. Students' torsos leaned forward over desks.
“Now, now it's starting...”
“Insane. He's really insane...!”
Students clutched pens and notebooks. What walls would this revelation let them scale? They focused every ounce of attention, expectant.
Some would sketch the scene ahead—led by fine arts students.
Others would describe, analyze, seek answers—left to theology and magic students.
And, most fortunately, Laura von Adelaide sat in the front row.
Her hand trembled slightly on the notebook. She swallowed dryly.
Gulp.
Antonelli met Chloe's eyes. Through her pink hair, her pink pupils sparkled with awe.
“Student Chloe.”
“Y-Yes!”
“Close your eyes.”
Chloe closed her eyes. The professor's impassive face vanished from her sight, replaced by pitch darkness.
In the dark, Antonelli's gruff baritone echoed.
“First, recall the being you love most.”
In the darkness, Chloe pictured her parents. Her kind, warm mother; her gruff but secretly doting father, faintly emerging.
“Have you?”
“Yes...”
“Now, recall those you cherish most. Something different from before.”
Chloe recalled many: the cute cat at home, friends she'd met, even her best friend Eirin.
Eyes still shut, the darkness before Chloe was no longer empty. Cherished figures bloomed vividly.
“All done?”
“Mm... yes.”
“Now, the last.”
Gulp. Chloe swallowed.
Just one more step to wielding divine power—her heart raced.
To her, Antonelli said softly,
“Now, recall your greatest fear.”
Greatest fear...?
“Anything. Person, object, animal—even something intangible. Recall what you fear most, what fills you with terror.”
Chloe squeezed her eyes tighter instinctively. Cherished ones faded like mist; black darkness returned.
...Head Priest Giovanni?
Emerging from the dark: the blood-soaked ghost she'd seen before. The ghost of inaugural head priest Giovanni.
Sweat beaded on Chloe's palms. In her shrouded vision, blood dripped from its body; gouged eyes shoved back, sockets burst red.
The horrifying sight that had lately robbed her of sleep fully materialized.
“Ugh...”
Tense, Chloe gripped her clasped hands tightly without realizing.
“Student Chloe.”
“Y-Yes.”
“The fearful being you've recalled now. And all those from before. What is the difference?”
Difference...?
“...The ones before... are people I love and cherish. This one... isn't.”
“Precisely.”
Chloe didn't grasp the meaning. Head tilted blindly, Antonelli continued.
“All those beings are the Lord's grace.”
“...Pardon?”
“Student Chloe. The precious bonds you've formed. The odds of being born into this world to meet them: one in 300 million.”
You pierced those impossible odds, born blessed by all.
Chloe froze rigid. Her gaping mouth uttered nothing foolishly.
“Born into this world by the Lord's love, meeting loved ones by His grace—thus, so many precious people surround you.”
One phrase from Antonelli tickled Chloe's heart.
“Student Chloe. Recall once more those you love, those you cherish.”
Loved ones. Precious souls. Family. Friends. Even kind neighbors.
Giovanni's ghost had long vanished. In its place, cherished figures loomed larger, clearer.
“Hold them deep in your heart. Vow never to lose them, to cherish with unwavering love and faith. Etch it deeply. And now, repeat after me.”
“Yes.”
“The Lord said, 'Let there be light,' and from thence primordial divinity bloomed.”
⟨ Chloe's Recitation ⟩
“...Th-The Lord said, 'Let there be light,' and from thence primordial divinity bloomed.”
Whoosh—.
Suddenly, light bloomed in the darkness. Chloe stared blankly.
Eyes closed, yet light appeared.
Faint, small—perhaps unremarkable at a glance. But warm. Kind. Enough to illuminate this dark.
Chloe felt profound peace. Her heart swelled tenderly.
“Student Chloe.”
The soothing baritone resonated as peace enveloped her.
“Now, open your eyes.”
Chloe opened them. She gazed blankly at Priest Antonelli.
Antonelli smiled faintly.
“Student Chloe. Look down.”
“...Huh?”
It was... it was. Yes, it was...
Light.
Gold, most beautifully wrought in the world. The quietest, smallest, warmest light.
The origin of faith, of all things. Primordial truth, principle of creation, convergence of all rules and order.
The most basic miracle forged of divine power. A tiny golden sphere.
Resting atop Chloe's hand.
She stared dumbly. Nor was she alone.
Students had surged forward, crowding the podium's edge. To witness this impossibility closer. To etch the miracle's arrival.
A faint glow illuminating the podium—the manifestation of scant divine power. Yet it was no trifle.
This was the site of enlightenment. Transcending limits. Unbelievable fruition.
All converging to birth one miracle.
Surveying the cloud of students, Antonelli murmured lowly, yet audible to all.
“Blessed, yea, truly blessed.”
The Lord's love, so blessed indeed.