The Genius Priest's Fatal Flaw
Failure, Lobel Wright. He was a genius—the sort of human chosen by the gods. And that distinction extended far beyond his status, wealth, or appearance. As a priest, talent accounted for roughly ninety percent of one's ability. Unlike warriors who grew through relentless training and battlefield experience, or mages who amassed power by devouring every scrap of wisdom from their masters and spending their entire lives expanding their horizons, the number and frequency of miracles a priest could wield were, with rare exceptions, fixed at the moment of birth and never changed. Thus, possessing eight distinct miracles and the capacity to invoke them twelve times a day marked Lobel as a once-in-a-century prodigy. It would not have been an exaggeration to call him a man the gods themselves had ordained to become a priest.
No one among his peers in the Capital could match him. Even at the tender age of a newly minted adult, he had already built a reputation that allowed him to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with the highest-ranking clergy. It was only natural that the Holy See showered him with favor. Therefore, Lobel Wright had never once doubted that the honorable position of the Saintess's exclusive Guardian Priest would be his. He had even believed that no one else could possibly be worthy of it.
If this world were a stage crafted by the Creator, then he was the protagonist—and he was meant to be. Moreover, the protagonist of any stage was entitled to a beautiful script and a perfect ending that would captivate the audience. But then Reygis Rowbill appeared, and for the first time, a stain marred the flawless pages of Lobel's life story.
He was an utterly unremarkable man. His face was passably decent, yet he carried the air of a middle-aged man more suited to the tastes of elderly widows. He seemed to pay some attention to his bearing and manners, but only enough to barely avoid criticism. To someone raised as a noble's child, where constant vigilance over one's words and actions was second nature, his clumsy imitation of nobility was occasionally repulsive. Nor did his abilities or talents compensate for his mediocre appearance and conduct. Rumors claimed he could use only a single miracle—the Miracle of Healing—and even that was limited to once a day. Without a proper medium, he could not even gather holy power. A disgrace to the priesthood. A half-baked cleric. Those were the most common epithets his colleagues used, and while Lobel outwardly rebuked them, he secretly nodded in fervent agreement.
Furthermore, the man was a Reygis. The surname Reygis was typically borne by orphans with no parents—a lowly name. In looks, ability, talent, and birth, the man was leagues beneath him. The gulf between them was as vast as the distance between heaven and earth, or even between a dragon and an ant. It went without saying that they should never have exchanged words as equals. Yet at the appointment ceremony, the one the Saintess personally selected was that very man—Reygis Rowbill. Not Lobel.
The humiliating vision of that day clung to the inside of Lobel's eyelids and tormented him even in his dreams for a long time afterward. When the Saintess's beautiful, delicate hand moved with the grace of flower petals scattered by a gentle breeze and slowly, quietly pointed at the man, he stood there like a fool with honey in his mouth for a long moment before suddenly thrusting one hand into the air and blurting out, "Anyone want to trade with me?"
That single idiotic sentence had clearly been a mocking insult to everyone present. The scent of blood that had seeped from his tightly clenched fist that day still lingered beneath Lobel's palm even now. The position of the Saintess's exclusive Guardian Priest was one that could only be filled by the Saintess's own sacred will. No other will was permitted to interfere, nor should it ever be allowed to. To object to her choice was tantamount to defying the will of the gods. Yet the burning impulse raging like wildfire in Lobel's mind showed no sign of fading no matter how much time passed.
This could not be right. Something had gone terribly wrong. A mistake had occurred. The natural order had been overturned. The gears had slipped out of alignment. How could that insignificant man—who treated the most coveted position among all priests as if it were nothing more than a cleaning duty—possibly be of any use to the Saintess? What exactly was it that made Lobel inferior to him?
Jealousy. Lobel deliberately turned his eyes away from the true name of the emotion writhing savagely within his thoughts. After all, jealousy was an emotion felt by the insignificant toward those far superior to themselves. Using the irrational desire to correct what was wrong as his justification, Lobel anchored his own firm resolve in the wrong place. He would make that foolish crown, which had chosen the wrong master, his own without fail. And before long, the opportunity arrived.
"So this is the Saintess's Audience Chamber that I've only heard rumors about…!"
Awe, admiration, astonishment, rapture. Even a veteran bard who had wandered the entire world would have found it impossible to fully express the overwhelming emotion surging through Lobel's mind with mere words. It was like gazing upon a pure white paradise that permitted no impurity to set foot within it. In the dead of night, when sinister shadows were most active, this space seemed to have gathered all the light and radiance of the world that had fled from the tyranny of darkness. It was so dazzling, so beautiful. If the gods had created a cradle to hold only the things truly necessary in this world, then surely this immaculate, boundless space was what they had in mind.
The surge of emotion Lobel experienced was immense. Feeling a thrill unlike anything he had known in his entire life, he walked forward with excited steps. In truth, the task the nun had given him was simply to guard the entrance to the Audience Chamber until Reygis returned. But to the current Lobel, blinded by selfish desire, this brief moment without Reygis felt like a heaven-sent opportunity. The nun had been somewhat aware of Lobel's excessive ambition, yet she had never imagined he would commit the madness of barging into the Audience Chamber without permission. Entrusting a fish to a cat—this was precisely that situation.
No matter how transcendent the Saintess may be, beyond the laws of this world, she is still only sixteen years old this year! Her mind has not yet fully matured into adulthood. She is bound to make mistakes sometimes, and she has surely made wrong choices before! So if I can make her realize that man's incompetence and demonstrate my own competence, she will surely reconsider the position of Guardian Priest she impulsively assigned. I can do this!
Those blessed with talent and an ideal environment, who had never once tasted failure since birth, often ended up this arrogant and ugly when intoxicated by goodwill and favor. In reality, Lobel could count on one hand the times anyone had ever refused his requests, and when the other party was a woman, he had never been refused even once.
"Oh!"
Like a man discovering an oasis in the desert, Lobel let out an excited cry and stopped in his tracks. What appeared before him as he knelt reverently, as if lifting the sacred veil before the gods' countenance, was the figure of a noble young girl. It was a radiant aura that anyone walking the path of the priesthood could never fail to recognize—the sacred presence wrapped in layers of holy blessings. The Saintess. Welna Angelas Ashes.
At that moment, Lobel lost even the last shred of reason that might have warned him he was committing a foolish misconception—that he had been born for this very instant. "It is an honor to meet you, Saintess. From today onward, I am Lobel Wright, your new exclusive Guardian Priest! I offer my greetings here and now!"
Moreover, he remained completely unaware that he had just trampled upon the reverse scale of someone he should never have provoked.