The Saintess Candidate
The high collar of the pure white novice habit was far stiffer and taller than I had expected. It didn’t quite strangle me, but every time I drew breath the rigid fabric pressed against the hollow beneath my throat.
Without thinking, I lifted a hand. My fingertips brushed the snowy cloth. It felt suffocating. Yet I could not pull it down. No one knew better than I what lay hidden beneath that collar.
The brand remained. Deep inside my body, the master-servant imprint had not fully dissolved; its roots still clung stubbornly. If anyone drew close enough to lift the collar, brush aside my hair, or simply look too carefully, it would all be over. The habit bound me. At the same time, it concealed me.
I stopped at the entrance to the convent. Inside, footsteps never ceased. Novice nuns in white robes, sisters clutching heavy crosses, priests hurrying past—there were so many people. And many people meant just as many eyes.
Mariel held my hand with careful gentleness. She was not dragging me, yet she showed no intention of letting go.
“...Must I really go in?”
Mariel did not answer at once. Her cherry-blossom eyes drifted to my hand—the one still clutching the collar. That gaze lingered only a moment before returning to my face, soft as ever.
“People sometimes,” Mariel said quietly, “see the name laid over the surface before they see the person’s true nature.”
Strength bled into my fingertips. Even noticing it, Mariel did not tighten her grip.
“So there are times when where you stand now matters more than where you have walked from.”
“......”
“This robe and this name.” Mariel’s gaze moved toward the convent’s interior. “Will one day become a solid shield to protect you from the storms that are sure to come.”
A shield. I slowly lowered the hand that had been touching my collar. I understood what she meant. Last night, when the inquisitor’s hand had seized my arm, what pulled me free was not my own excuses.
It was Mariel’s name. Mariel’s novice. The child Mariel herself had vouched for. Because that name had stepped forward first, the inquisitor could not press deeper.
If that was true, then the habit might serve the same purpose. Novice nun. Child of the Holy Kingdom. One whose name was formally recorded in the convent. If those titles stood in front of me, at least not just anyone would be able to pry beneath them.
It was not a perfect shield. But it was better than standing bare.
“You don’t have to trust me right this moment,” she said, giving our joined hands the faintest squeeze. “Today, let us simply step through this door together.”
At that very moment a solemn bell rang from inside the convent. I looked past the doorway. So many people. So many eyes. Yet even if I turned and fled, I had nowhere else to go.
I gave the smallest nod. Not out of trust. To survive, I needed—for now—to remain beneath the shelter of her words, this robe, and this name.
The convent’s days flowed to the rhythm of bells. The morning wake-up bell. The solemn prayer bell. The meal bell. The short, sharp bell that announced classes. At first I could make no sense of any of them.
On my very first day I stood frozen in the wrong line for food distribution. A small hand tugged my sleeve.
“Not there.”
When I turned, a girl slightly smaller than me stood there. She wore the same white novice habit. Her hair was tied back neatly. Her shoulders were hunched up with unnecessary tension. She cleared her throat once, then thrust her chin high.
“You’re the new girl, right?”
“...I’m Ria.”
“I know. I heard.”
The girl stepped boldly in front of me.
“I’m Pia.”
“Yes.”
“And I’m your senior.”
I briefly lowered my gaze to the top of Pia’s small head. Her eyebrows twitched.
“What? Did you just look at my height? You looked, didn’t you?”
“No.”
“You did!” Pia’s face flushed scarlet. “Height has nothing to do with being senior! I came first, so I’m the senior!”
“...Yes, Senior.”
“S-Senior?” Pia’s eyes widened like coins. Then the corners of her mouth slowly curled upward. “Uheheh.”
Her already tense shoulders rose even higher.
“Good. You pass. This senior will kindly teach you. The novices’ line is on the right. The middle is reserved for the high priests. The left is where the Holy Knights sometimes eat when they visit from outside.”
“You know the place well.”
“Of course.” Pia puffed out her chest. “I’m your senior, after all.”
From that day on, Pia stuck to me like a burr. The next day, when I wandered lost between the prayer room and the laundry, she appeared without fail.
“Not that way. Laundry’s on the opposite side.”
“Ah, is it?”
“Two rings for the dining hall, three for prayer.” Pia folded her fingers one by one. “And four rings mean…”
Her confident voice suddenly faltered. She tried to look serious, but her eyes darted around. A nun passing by with an armful of laundry slowed her steps just enough to murmur, as if to herself, “The laundry room will be piled high with baskets this afternoon.”
Pia’s eyes lit up. “Ah, right! Four rings is the laundry room!”
She nodded as though nothing had happened. “The most important thing is to listen closely to the divine will carried in each bell. Understand?”
The passing nun finally burst out laughing. “Our Pia is taking her senior duties very seriously.”
“Yes!” Pia’s energetic reply came half a beat too soon.
The nun gave me one warm glance, then looked back at Pia, who was clearing her throat again. “Then, Senior Pia, I’ll leave it to you to make sure the new child doesn’t lose her way in this big place.”
“You can count on me!”
Once the nun had gone, Pia leaned toward me, trying—and failing—to suppress her grin. “Did you hear that?”
“Hear what?”
“She asked me to look after you. The nuns trust me quite a bit, you know.” After a short pause she added in a smaller voice, “...Even if I do get scolded sometimes.”
I nodded silently. That last part sounded more accurate.
Time passed in small increments. Every morning I memorized prayers. During the day I learned the convent rules—most of which Pia taught me. Sometimes she was right. Sometimes she was wrong. Every mistake earned her a scolding, yet she always returned to my side soon after.
“Everyone’s like that at first,” Pia said, trying to sound wise. “I didn’t know anything when I first arrived either.”
“You too?”
“Yeah. I was rescued by the Church when I was little. There was some incident in my village.” Pia tapped the floor with her toe. “They said it was monsters or black mages or something like that.”
She kept tapping the ground as if it meant nothing. “Lots of kids here are like that. Kids without parents. Kids with nowhere to go after the wars.”
“......”
“But don’t worry too much. You get used to it.” Pia lifted her chin again. “Besides, you’ve got me. A reliable senior.”
“Yes.”
“Hey, why does that sound so dry?”
“Because you’re so very reliable and trustworthy.”
“R-really?” Pia’s ears turned red again.
One afternoon, while Pia and I stood at a corner of the cloister, I caught sight of a familiar white habit in the distance. It was Mariel. She was speaking with another nun, handing her something. After a brief exchange she turned and happened to look our way. Our eyes met. Mariel lifted her hand in a small wave—just a short greeting.
But Pia beside me gasped sharply. “...Did you see that?”
“See what?”
“Just now! Sister Mariel waved at us!” Pia pressed both hands to her cheeks. “At me! She waved at me!”
It had probably been meant for me, but I said nothing. Pia’s ears were already crimson.
“I think I can memorize two extra prayer sheets today.”
“That impressive?”
“Of course. It was Sister Mariel.” Pia was still staring at the far end of the cloister where Mariel had vanished. “She really is amazing.”
“You like her that much?”
“It’s more than liking.” Pia lowered her voice. “They say among all the saintess candidates, Sister Mariel is the closest to the Lord’s light.”
“Saintess candidate?”
I had never heard the term before. Not that I was unfamiliar with the word saintess. In the original story Mariel had already become one—a key member of the demon king subjugation party, the one who poured miraculous healing over hundreds of dying soldiers. The heart of the Holy Kingdom, before whom even the holy knights bowed their heads.
I remembered the description: a brilliant, faint halo always hovered above her head, shining like a sacred afterglow or the thin ring of an angel.
“You don’t become a saintess just by having strong holy power,” Pia said, lifting her chin knowingly. “You must receive God’s answer.”
“God’s answer…”
“Yes. Someone the Lord personally acknowledges. When the proof descends from heaven, that’s when they’re called a true saintess.”
Only then did I understand. The mysterious halo circling Mariel’s head in the original work might not have been mere embellishment. It was the mark of a saintess. Which meant the Mariel of now was still only a candidate. Even so, she would surely become the saintess in the end.
Pia looked proud, as if it were her own achievement. “Our Sister Mariel will definitely receive that proof soon.”
“......”
“Or maybe she already has. People say she’s been different lately.” Pia kept chattering, unaware of my expression. “Ah, I wish I could learn directly at her side one day. Even a single day would be enough.”
I looked at Pia’s still-excited face but said nothing. She didn’t know I was already living beneath Mariel’s name. Nor did I know how long I could remain hidden there.
That evening Mariel came to see me as always. She looked after me every day. I answered in short sentences. She never pressed for more. Her gaze fell on my fingertips. I was still absently touching the collar of my habit.
There had been unusually many people that day—in class, in the dining hall, in the corridors. Every time someone passed, my shoulders unconsciously tightened.
Mariel asked softly, “Was it uncomfortable?”
I couldn’t answer. She didn’t ask what had been uncomfortable, nor who had caused it. In that silence the words slipped out on their own.
“Why…” My voice cracked. “Why are you doing all this for me?”
Only after speaking did I realize I should not have asked. Mariel studied me for a moment, then slowly reached out. I stiffened, but she merely straightened my slightly crooked collar.
“The dark places you have passed through,” Mariel whispered near my ear, “do not have the right to bind and decide the place where you will stand, Ria.”
I had no reply.
“I believe there is still another path for you. Not one where you must hide forever in darkness.”
Her voice grew deeper, more solemn.
“A path where you will one day stand proudly beneath the light.”
Mariel’s face held not a trace of doubt; she truly believed it.
“We cannot know yet exactly what that path is. But I want to stand beside you and teach you, so that you may face that brilliant light.”
The words were not easy to swallow. If any path remained for me, it was surely not the one Mariel imagined.
The moment the people of the Holy Kingdom saw what was carved into my body, they would not bother asking about paths or circumstances. Salvation, injustice, pitiful victim—none of those sentimental excuses would matter. The mere trace of black magic would be enough.
Yet Mariel never looked beneath my collar. She never asked. She simply covered it again.
“I…” My lips moved. I’m not the child you think I am. Before I could speak, Mariel smiled gently.
“You don’t have to answer right now.”
“......”
“Neither faith nor the path can be found by pushing someone forward against their will.”
I lowered my head. The thought of running away had not disappeared. But hiding beneath Mariel’s name now felt a little heavier than before.
The convent’s days continued to pass by the sound of bells. Pia kept chattering at my side.
“And never go down that cloister alone. If you get lost you’ll end up near the purification ward. I went once and got scolded terribly.”
“Even you?”
“I’m the senior, so I learned from experience first.”
“I see.”
“...Why do you keep looking at me like that?”
While Pia was talking, someone approached from the far end of the cloister. Her voice cut off abruptly. I glanced at her. The lips that had been moving nonstop were now pressed tightly together.
“...Lower your head. Quickly,” Pia whispered.
“Why?”
“It’s Sister Iris.”
At the name, Pia’s shoulders shrank even smaller. From beyond the cloister, the woman approached with slow, elegant steps.
Her habit was white, embroidered with dark, frost-like blue patterns. Though similar in cut to Mariel’s, the aura it radiated was cold and barren.
Long hair the color of melted midnight purple fell to her waist. Against her pale skin her beauty was undeniable, yet simply looking at her sent a chill down the spine.
Especially those grey eyes tinged with blue—they seemed to pierce straight through a person’s innermost secrets. Her thin lips curved in a perfect, smiling arc.
“Sister Iris,” a passing nun greeted, bowing low.
Iris. One of the saintess candidates Pia had once called closest to the Lord’s light. Pia had warned me about her before: Sister Iris is scary. When she looks at you, it feels like she’s digging up everything inside.
Iris stopped precisely in front of us. Unlike Mariel’s gentle spring-breeze smile, hers was sharp and cold.
“So you are the pitiful new child.” Her voice was soft and smooth. I lowered my head.
“...I am Ria.”
“Yes, I know.” Her fingertips paused. Iris continued smiling. “You’re that child, aren’t you? The one Lady Mariel personally vouched for with her own name.”
Beside me, Pia drew in a tiny breath. Her gaze darted between my face, my habit, and Iris. No words came. Iris seemed to notice every reaction, yet she paid Pia no attention. Those blue-tinged grey eyes were fixed solely on me.
“It is common for children who have lost their protectors to enter the convent. The Holy Kingdom does not turn away those with nowhere to go.” Her tone remained kind. “However, a child personally guaranteed by a saintess candidate is quite rare.”
I curled my fingers tightly. Iris took one step closer. A strong fragrance washed over me—cold and clear, like ice and winter.
“If you make a mistake here,” she said, “people will think of Lady Mariel’s name before yours.”
Mariel’s name. The name that had wrapped around me like a shield.
“So do be careful, Ria.” She spoke my name as if she had known it from the beginning. “Lady Mariel’s mercy may be a shield for you, but to others it may appear as an indelible, dirty stain.”
Iris passed by with that same gentle smile until the very end.
Even after she had gone, Pia could not lift her head for a long while. I touched my collar. The pure white fabric rose stiffly to my neck. My fingertips, smoothing the edge of that rigid cloth, suddenly froze.
On the spotless white hem of the collar, a faint smear of dark ash had appeared from somewhere. No matter how I rubbed and brushed at it, the black stain that had seeped into the fabric refused to disappear. Instead, it slowly, steadily spread farther.