I Want to Detonate
In Arbel Holy City. Through the open window stretched an endless expanse of pure white marble plaza. Holy knights bearing golden emblems marched past in orderly lines, while priests in pristine white robes moved about every corner of the square.
Ding— Ding—.
The distant tolling of bells echoed across the city. The entire place felt like one colossal cathedral.
I tightened my grip on the hand covering my nape. If I were discovered here, it would all be over. The brand of a black mage still seared my skin there. Inside my body, the master-servant imprint had yet to fully dissolve and had taken root instead.
These were marks the Church would never accept as mere coincidence. A test subject of a black mage. The instant that label attached itself to me, I would cease to be human and become nothing more than a target for purification.
What if the moment came when I had no choice but to self-destruct? The thought flickered through my mind and vanished just as quickly. No. This was the very heart of the Holy Kingdom. Even in death, I would resurrect in the nearest village or city.
That meant detonating here would likely see me waking up in the same area all over again—exploding in the middle of the holy city, only to regain consciousness nearby once more, then dragged back by the holy knights. A vicious cycle.
Besides, Mariel stood right in front of me. In the latter half of the original story, she was a core member of the demon king subjugation party. A pivotal figure who would one day be called the Saintess and steer the currents of the entire Holy Kingdom.
If I detonated carelessly now and dragged her into the blast, the latter portion of the original story would twist beyond recognition.
I could not detonate. I could not be discovered. I had to slip away quietly, no matter what it took.
“Ria?”
A low, gentle voice broke the silence. Mariel stood by the window, watching me with quiet eyes. Sunlight caught in her cherry-blossom pink hair, letting it spill softly over her shoulders. She studied my face for a moment, then approached slowly.
“Were you very startled?”
I gave a small shake of my head instead of answering. It was a lie. Mariel did not press me. She simply sat on the edge of the bed, lifted the glass of water, and held it out to me.
“You must be quite thirsty.”
I reached for the cup, but strength refused to return to my fingertips. As it began to tilt, Mariel’s white hand slipped beneath mine, warm and steady. I reflexively hunched my shoulders. Her hand paused.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
Mariel did not press closer. She did not force the cup to my lips. She simply waited at a respectful distance until I found the will to reach again.
The inside of my throat burned. Yet once the water slid down, my breathing finally eased a fraction. Mariel watched in silence, then lowered her gaze to the bandages wrapped around my arm.
“The wound is still deep. It would be best not to overexert yourself today.”
Her fingertips drifted near the bandages. When I stiffened, she withdrew her hand without hesitation.
“If it hurts, you may tell me,” she whispered with infinite care. “And if there are things you do not wish to speak of, you need not say them now.”
Her tone remained endlessly gentle. Yet somehow it did not feel like mere kindness. Mariel was too cautious, too fiercely devoted in her desire to protect me.
Knock. Knock.
The quiet shattered as someone rapped on the door.
“Come in,” Mariel said softly.
A young priest entered and delivered his message, but after one glance at me, Mariel shook her head.
“This child has only just awakened. Unless the matter is urgent, please postpone it.”
The priest asked no further questions. “Understood.”
The door closed. Only then did I truly look at Mariel again. I had known from the original story that she would become a Saintess. Even so, her name already carried considerable weight inside the holy city.
As long as I remained at her side, perhaps no one would dare lay a hand on me. If I could simply conceal my true identity, the immediate danger might pass. For one fleeting moment, I allowed myself to believe it.
For the next several days, I remained obediently in the room, behaving like a sick child. In truth, half of it required no performance at all. The aftereffects of the explosion still lingered in my body.
Mariel visited at the same hour each day. She examined my wounds, checked the fever on my forehead, and sat quietly by my side.
Even then, people came without pause—messages from the purification center, reports from the holy knight order, summons to internal meetings at the grand cathedral.
Each time, Mariel would glance at me before answering in that low voice.
“It is difficult at present.”
Those few words were usually enough to make the visitors withdraw without further inquiry. It was not a one-time occurrence. Only after watching for several days did I understand completely: within these walls, Mariel’s name held real power. And while I remained beneath it, I was safe.
Days later, when I had finally grown strong enough to leave the bed on my own, I spoke cautiously.
“Um…”
Mariel turned her gaze to me.
“Speak, child.”
“Could I… look outside for just a little while?”
Her eyes flickered. “Outside?”
“I’ve been inside this room the whole time, so…” I let my words trail off deliberately. “It feels a little stifling.”
Mariel did not answer at once. She studied my face, the bandages on my arm, and my still-weak fingertips in turn.
“It may still be too much for you to walk far…”
“Just a short while,” I said, lowering my head. “I won’t go far.”
She remained silent a moment longer, then rose reluctantly.
“You must not go alone.” She picked up the thin coat beside the bed and draped it over my shoulders. “Walk with me.”
The cloister was wide and hushed. Holy paintings adorned the white walls, and slender shafts of light slanted through every window. The floor was so immaculate that even our footsteps rang loudly. Mariel matched her pace to my small strides, moving with deliberate slowness.
I pretended to walk while memorizing my surroundings—doors, staircases, the positions of the holy knights, the corridor leading to the plaza, and the wider path beyond where carriages could pass.
Whenever Mariel passed, priests bowed their heads. Holy knights bent their knees slightly before her.
“Sister Mariel.”
“May the light of the Lord accompany you today as well.”
The greetings flowed without end.
Then came an unusual murmur from the plaza. At first I mistook it for solemn communal prayer. But soon a raw, muddy voice cut through.
“No! It wasn’t me!”
A cry of pure grievance.
Mariel turned her head. On one side of the plaza, holy knights dragged a man forward. His hands were bound; he thrashed wildly. His clothes hung in tatters, and a black pattern spread from his nape down past his collarbone.
“I’m not a black mage!” the man screamed until his voice cracked. “I didn’t carve it! Someone—someone put it on me—!”
His desperate protests ended abruptly. The knights forced him onto the purification pyre, a towering pile of firewood. A high priest in red vestments ascended the platform, opened a holy book, and spoke in a heavy, sorrowful tone.
“Truly a pitiful soul.”
“May the Lord’s mercy be with one who has touched black magic.”
The man’s face twisted in horror.
“Don’t speak to me of mercy! I told you it wasn’t me!”
Whoosh—. Flames surged upward. A massive blaze laced with sacred golden light swallowed the pyre. Yet to the man atop the burning wood, it was no merciful radiance—only fire devouring flesh and bone.
“Aaaaagh!”
The scream ripped across the plaza. His body convulsed. Iron chains around his wrists rattled violently. Each time the golden flames licked the black patterns, his cries rose higher.
Hundreds of citizens of the Holy Kingdom filled the square. Not one turned away. Some wept as they prayed. Others clasped their hands and drew the sign of the cross in visible relief.
Mariel slowly closed her eyes. Her cherry-blossom lashes settled like falling petals. She clasped her hands and prayed in a low voice until the flames died completely.
I stood frozen in place. The man’s screams eventually cut off. Only the crackle of burning wood remained, soon joined by the solemn tolling of bells from above. The plaza reeked of ash and incense.
“Ria.”
Mariel’s voice came from beside me. Only then did I realize I was shaking.
She wore an expression of belated regret. “I’m sorry. That was not a sight you should have seen.”
Her hand rose to rest gently on my shoulder. The touch was warm. For some reason, that warmth terrified me more than anything.
“That man…” My lips barely moved. “Was he… truly a black mage?”
Mariel did not answer immediately. I stared at the blackened ashes left on the pyre.
“Just because the mark was on his body?” My voice cracked. “Even if he never wanted it?”
She lowered her eyes for the briefest moment.
“Whether or not he willingly accepted black magic,” Mariel said quietly, “is not the most important question here.”
I looked up at her slowly. “Pardon?”
“The imprint of black magic was upon his body.” Her gaze remained fixed on the pyre. “If it had reached his soul, allowing him to suffer longer would have been the greater cruelty.”
Words failed me. Heat seemed to bloom across my nape. I tugged my hair down further to hide it.
“What if…” My voice trembled. “What if he was truly innocent? Wrongly accused?”
Mariel met my eyes. Not a flicker of doubt disturbed her cherry-blossom gaze.
“Then the Lord will know,” she said, her face radiant with genuine faith. “If we have misjudged, the merciful Lord will embrace that soul with warmth.”
Ice slid down my spine. The image of the man writhing in the flames refused to leave me—the black pattern spreading across his skin, the rattling chains, the screams swallowed by prayers.
Then, without warning, his face blurred. Over the burning man, my own features superimposed themselves. Silver hair. Small frame. The brand upon my nape. My breath locked in my throat. I yanked my hair down harder.
That night, I pretended to sleep. Mariel sat by the bed for a long while, occasionally checking my forehead and carefully brushing stray strands of hair from my face. Her touch was so painstakingly gentle that I could not bring myself to open my eyes.
Eventually the door clicked shut. The room fell silent.
I could wait no longer. I knew Mariel did not intend to harm me, but that did not make me safe. I had simply been lucky these past few days. Discovery was inevitable. The moment it happened—even once—everything would end.
My arm throbbed. My legs still refused to obey properly. Gritting my teeth, I slid from the bed.
I scanned the room. On the desk lay the small holy emblem Mariel had left behind—a silver-bordered badge attached to a cherry-blossom pink cord bearing her mark. I slipped it into my clothes, along with the small coin pouch from the drawer.
I needed a carriage. All I had to do was leave the holy city. Distance did not matter. I simply had to escape the heart of this grand cathedral and the holy knight order.
I eased the door open and stepped into the corridor. The midnight cloister was dark and still. The scent of incense hung thicker than during the day. Faint prayers drifted from somewhere far away.
I moved as silently as I could, breath growing shorter with every step. I could not stop. The carriage area. The wide path. I retraced the route I had seen while walking with Mariel.
After some time the corridor branched. I hesitated, then chose the right path.
“Stop.”
A cool, low male voice stabbed into my back from the darkness.
From the shadows emerged a man in black clerical robes. He looked nothing like the ornate, shining holy knights. Black collar. A holy emblem at his waist. Though he appeared young, the dry, cold gaze that swept over me sent chills racing across my skin.
An Inquisitor.
My throat went bone-dry.
“At this late hour, where might a young child be going alone?”
I clenched my hands. I had prepared an excuse.
“It’s… an errand for Sister Mariel. I must urgently visit the relief station in the village outside the holy city and return.”
His gaze lingered on my face. “A village outside the holy city?”
“Yes.” I pulled out the emblem. “This…”
The Inquisitor took it. His fingertips traced the silver mark.
“It is indeed Sister Mariel’s emblem.”
For a split second, relief flooded me.
“However, the night carriage stop for departures beyond the holy city lies in the exact opposite direction.”
“…Ah.” I bowed my head quickly. “I don’t know the paths well… I became confused.”
“That can happen.” His eyes remained ice-cold. “In that case, you must have brought the night passage permit.”
“Pardon?”
“Late-night carriages leaving the holy city require an official permit issued by the Church and the handwritten signature of a high-ranking cleric. An emblem alone is insufficient.”
I had known nothing about it.
“Did Sister Mariel not provide you with the document?”
My mouth went dry. “I… left in such a hurry.”
“In a hurry,” he repeated softly. Silence thickened between us. “Then some verification appears necessary.”
A cold hand seized my wrist. I tried to pull away by reflex, but I had no strength. The Inquisitor searched inside my coat—Mariel’s emblem, the thin outer garment, the coin pouch.
Jingle. Coins spilled into his palm. His gaze locked onto them.
“A generous sum for a simple errand.”
My throat tightened further. “She gave it for the carriage fare…”
“Night carriages within the holy city do not accept coin.” He spoke without inflection. “They move solely on permits and signatures.”
I could not speak.
“You do not even know the way to the stop. You are ignorant of the most basic procedures.” His eyes moved from the emblem to the coin pouch. “Yet Sister Mariel entrusted you with her personal emblem and a heavy purse of money.”
My fingertips turned to ice.
“Suspicious.”
I tried to step back. His grip on my wrist tightened like a vice.
“Stay still.”
His other hand seized my right arm—the bandaged one, near the monster bite. His fingers halted.
“…What is this?”
My heart plummeted. His gaze rose slowly—arm, shoulder, then the nape hidden beneath my hair.
“The stench of black magic—”
“Release that hand.”
A gentle voice sliced through the corridor. The Inquisitor’s fingers froze. At the far end stood Mariel. The kind smile she always wore had vanished completely. Her face was blank as she looked at me once, then turned an icy stare upon the Inquisitor.
“…Sister Mariel.”
She approached without haste.
“That child is my apprentice.”
The corridor fell deathly silent. The Inquisitor’s eyes narrowed.
“I have never heard of this.”
“You have heard it now.” Mariel’s voice remained steady. “This child is a precious one the Lord Himself entrusted to my care.”
The Inquisitor did not yield. “But Sister, I sensed traces of black magic upon the child. If we simply—”
“Naturally. She was bitten deeply by a monster.”
She carefully folded back part of my bandage, revealing the blackened tooth marks.
“The monster’s dark power has driven deep into her body through the wound. It is only natural you would sense it.”
The young Inquisitor’s lips pressed into a thin line. “However—”
“Enough.” A lower voice cut him off.
From deeper in the shadows emerged another Inquisitor. His steps were utterly silent, as though he had been present the entire time. He appeared far older. The hem of his black robes showed signs of wear, and the emblem at his waist gleamed from years of handling.
He bowed respectfully to Mariel.
“Sister Mariel. The hour is late.”
Mariel regarded him in silence. The middle-aged Inquisitor swept my right arm with indifferent eyes. I held my breath and tugged my hair lower.
“If this child has been personally vouched for and taken in by Sister Mariel, the Inquisitor’s Office shall withdraw.”
The younger Inquisitor lifted his head. “But just now, I clearly sensed—”
“She was bitten by a monster. Residual black magic remains.” The older man spoke quietly. “That is all.”
The younger Inquisitor’s fingers twitched. He did not look convinced, yet he said nothing more.
Mariel stepped forward, shielding me with her body.
“This child still requires rest and stability.”
“Understood.”
The middle-aged Inquisitor bowed once more, then glanced at his junior. “We are leaving.”
The younger man looked in my direction one last time. His gaze did not rest on my face but lingered beneath my hair. Finally he lowered his head.
“…Understood.”
Only then did the iron grip on my wrist release.
Mariel studied the marks left on my skin for a moment before silently taking my hand.
“Let us return.”
She said nothing on the way back. I stood before the bed with my head bowed.
“…Thank you.”
Mariel gazed at me for a long time. She picked up the emblem I had stolen and placed it gently back into my palm.
“I do not yet understand what the Lord intended by sending you to me.” Her voice carried the cadence of prayer. “But if there were no purpose, you would not have come before me.”
I stared at the cold silver in my hand.
“Rest now,” she said, carefully smoothing my blanket. “You must not overexert yourself.”
I lay down without another word. Mariel remained at my side until my eyes closed.
Some time after the door finally shut, I opened them again.
I had survived the crisis. Or so I believed.
When I woke, a pure white nun’s habit lay neatly arranged upon the bed. A modest collar that rose all the way to the neck. Clean sleeves. Small embroidery of the Holy Kingdom’s emblem upon the white fabric.
“…What is this?”
Mariel, who had been offering morning prayers by the window, turned slowly. She smiled with such benevolence and serenity that it seemed almost holy.
“It is your clothing, child.”
“My… clothing?”
She carefully straightened the collar of the habit.
“Hehe.” A soft, pleasant laugh escaped her lips. “Did I not tell you yesterday?” Her cherry-blossom eyes met mine. “That you are my apprentice.”
My breath stopped. That had only been a convenient lie to escape the Inquisitors—hadn’t it?
Mariel draped the white habit gently over my shoulders.
“You are a child sent by the Lord.” The pure white hem settled over my arms. “Therefore, neither your arrival here nor the wearing of these clothes can be coincidence.”
I parted my lips. “I…”
“It is all right.” She did not hurry me. She simply smiled with infinite tenderness. “You are still young and confused. That is all.”
Her warm fingertips fastened the collar of the habit with meticulous care, sealing every gap.
“Why you came to this place.”
“Why the Lord entrusted you to me.”
“And what kind of child you must become.”
Mariel’s voice was low and devout. Her eyes were not truly looking at me; they seemed lifted toward heaven in prayer.
“You need fear nothing even if you understand none of it. I will teach you everything, from first to last, by your side.”
She smoothed the white folds weighing upon my shoulders with reverent fingers.
“So that you may stand upright beneath the light.”
Her fingertips fastened the final button. The pure white collar that rose to my neck slowly tightened around my throat.