The Weight of Unwanted Power
With great power comes great responsibility.
It had already been two weeks since the chaos caused by the unregistered dungeon that suddenly appeared in the Capital.
Perhaps it was because there were more tangled threads of doubt than settled sediment. Even though I’d had plenty of time to organize my thoughts, my mind still felt far from refreshed.
I knew all too well that obsessing over unnecessary unity in the dungeon’s anomalies was a completely pointless endeavor. And yet, I couldn’t easily shake the clear sense of unease that this particular dungeon was fundamentally different from any I had seen before.
Why had the power the Saintess engraved on me resonated with that dungeon?
Why had I felt that the dungeon resembled the Audience Chamber?
And just who in the world was that unidentified being I encountered inside the dungeon—neither human nor monster?
A question that spawned more questions. This was exactly what people meant by that phrase.
That was why I had tried several times to consult with the Hero, who should have shared the same questions, about what happened there. But just like thick fog being blown away layer by layer by the wind, the longer time passed, the more the Hero seemed to lose her memories of that place. By now, it looked like she had forgotten everything except the fact that she had met me there.
“I can’t remember anything! When I came to my senses, Father was right in front of me! It’s truly mysterious!”
It was a monumental moment in which the credibility of that research paper claiming “the more oblivious a person is, the longer they live” skyrocketed inside my mind.
Well, what did it matter if she was a bit slow upstairs? Just grow up healthy and live a long, long life.
“Huu….”
Lying in bed, I slowly shifted my gaze toward the back of my right hand resting on my forehead.
A pattern of seven strokes engraved on the back of my hand.
Six strokes of transcendent holy power overlaid upon my own meager divine energy, plus one additional stroke.
The day we finally identified what these symbols truly were, the monastery had been thrown into complete pandemonium. It was still vivid in my memory.
In this Capital, which boasted thousands of years of history, she held a position similar to that of Dangun in Korean mythology.
The first Saintess, Honorel Larabai.
She was said to have healed severed limbs without so much as a scar. She could cure the gravely ill simply by breathing near them. It was even claimed she could bring back those whose time had already come. A truly legendary figure.
The shocking truth—that a fragment of that power was contained within these symbols—was first revealed through ancient texts discovered by the nuns. The day that happened, I was so overwhelmed I took to my bed for a while. My comrades still tease me about it from time to time.
How could such a noble being reside in a shabby place like this?
It was no laughing matter, nor could it be dismissed as one. It was far too serious an issue.
It was like pouring the world’s finest black tea—worth an entire teacup per sip—into a used yogurt container.
The pattern consisted of seven strokes in total.
Or, to be precise, six strokes and one.
Laid over my originally pathetic holy power was enough transcendent energy to be used roughly six times. The sublime authority the Saintess had received from God.
The most appropriate way to describe it would be that I had been lent a tiny fraction of that power for a very short time.
Saintess, you can’t just lend something you borrowed from someone else to another person. That’s not how it works.
On the day the dungeon disaster occurred, I had used holy power once on Apis and twice on Victim and Dawna. The fact that I was able to use it more than twice in a single day had also been thanks to this mark.
Therefore.
At first, I had desperately tried to expend every last bit of this power and be rid of it.
With great power comes great responsibility.
It was a truth of the world that even children who loved action movies would have already learned from watching Spider-Man during Chuseok or Lunar New Year.
Moreover, having once suffered greatly for reaching beyond my station in pursuit of undeserved honor, I was fully aware that this power was not something I deserved.
But.
The circumstances under which this mark had been engraved on my body were what held me back.
“Mwah.”
The Saintess’s lip ritual that had now become part of my daily routine.
And every time the Saintess pressed her lips to me, this mark gained another stroke. It was a truly bizarre mechanism.
Therefore, no matter how recklessly I tried to waste this power—spending it like water, like toilet paper—it seemed I would have no choice but to continue holding onto this undeserved strength as long as the Saintess’s bad habit remained uncorrected.
I could already picture the Saintess’s explosive reaction if I tried to forbid all skinship entirely, when she had thrown a fit just from me suggesting we reduce the number of kisses.
Casually trying to eliminate all physical contact was out of the question.
Until the Grace Bestowal Ceremony concluded safely, I had to refrain as much as possible from any behavior that might negatively affect the Saintess’s emotional state.
Resigning from my position as her personal priest and putting distance between us was also not an option during the seven days the ceremony would take place.
However, that also meant that once those seven days were over, it would become an option.
By the time the Grace Bestowal Ceremony ended, I would finally be able to step down from this wretched position of Guardian Priest.
The detestable threat from my former boss about revealing my location to my old comrades no longer held any power over me now that I had already reunited with them and cleared the air to some extent.
But why was it?
The emotion hanging over my current thoughts was quite far removed from relief or liberation.
It was a messy feeling, like several different colors of paint sloppily mixed together, impossible to pin down. If I had to roughly bundle them up and express them in a single sentence, it would be this:
I felt conflicted.
Uneasy. Unsettled. Uncomfortable.
The heavy drinking I’d done just yesterday seemed to have had quite an effect on this mood, but it didn’t feel like it was solely because of the hangover.
Now that I thought about it, where exactly had I wandered off to after drinking yesterday?
I vaguely remembered climbing somewhere high up, pouring my heart out to some nameless person, and then impulsively stopping by a shop and buying something expensive.
But everything after that was extremely hazy.
“I think I bought something really small and sparkly… What was it again…? Ugh… my head…”
Asking my already splitting hangover-ridden brain to focus on deep thought seemed too cruel. Unable to overcome the headache that felt like fishhooks were lodged in my skull, I soon gave up on thinking altogether.
It was right then.
Bang!
The sound of a wooden door being violently thrown open disturbed my consciousness, and immediately afterward, someone burst into the room like a lightning bolt.
“Father! You’re finally awake!”
“H-Hero?!”
The intruder was the Hero, dressed far lighter than usual.
She had thrown off the armor that normally covered every inch of her body, revealing her figure in an incredibly thin outfit. In that defenseless appearance, not even a trace remained of the heroic dignity she usually carried.
If someone who didn’t know her background saw her like this, they would probably mistake her for a simple country girl. Or perhaps an innocent village maiden. The thought came to me unbidden.
“Excuse me!”
Whoosh!
Like a golden retriever greeting its owner returning home, the Hero suddenly leaped toward me and wrapped both arms tightly around my waist.
I felt like a teddy bear that a preschooler refused to let go of even for a second.
The ferocious strength with which she gripped my waist from behind gave me the same sense of security one might feel while wearing a seatbelt in a car.
“G-Good morning, Hero. Don’t tell me… you were waiting outside until I woke up?”
“Yes! Since Father came home unusually late last night, I waited outside the door the entire time until all the fatigue in your body was completely relieved!”
She wasn’t even a dog, yet every time she spoke, the Hero shook her whole body as if she couldn’t contain her excitement. Naturally, my own body—entangled with hers—shook along with her.
Creak. Creak.
Each time that happened, the bed let out an irritating noise. I found it slightly displeasing, but I quickly shook my head from side to side to erase the impure thought that had just flashed through my mind.
“Hero, just in case—did you remember to wear the perception-inhibiting necklace while you were waiting for me outside?”
“Of course! The fact that I, the Hero, am already here in this monastery before the Grace Bestowal Ceremony is top-secret information!”
“Yes, it would be even more perfect if you could just lower your voice a little.”
“Roger that! Please rest assured!”
“…….”
Whether it was because of her booming voice echoing through the room or the Hero’s utterly confident attitude that lacked even the slightest basis, my still half-asleep brain couldn’t figure it out. All I knew was that my head was throbbing. But since I couldn’t very well frown in front of the Hero of all people, I forced a smile onto my lips and was about to speak when—
“Huh?”
A single seed of anxiety that had been quietly budding in my chest suddenly swelled up like a waterlogged cotton ball, swallowing my thoughts whole.
“H-Hero. What time is it right now?”
“It’s exactly seven o’clock!”
“Ugh!”
I was late.
A scream erupted from deep inside my heart.
My body, reacting a beat slower than my mind, frantically twisted in an attempt to break free from the Hero’s arms that were still wrapped around me.
“Are you going to see the Saintess?!”
“Yes! That’s right! Hero! So if you could please let go of me for a moment—!”
“I don’t want to!”
“Pardon?”
“I said I don’t want to!”
Creak.
Almost as if to express my complicated feelings, the old bed once again groaned on its rusty springs.
