The Path of Faith
“I will trust you.”
The second trial took place several days later.
“The second trial is the Path of Faith. We must determine whether you possess unwavering judgment even in situations where it is impossible to see even an inch ahead. This illusory dungeon shall test that qualification!”
More than ten minutes had passed since Arty entered the dungeon. The prayer priest’s declaration already felt like something from a distant past. The trial was that mentally exhausting.
From the very beginning, everything in this dungeon was an illusion.
“…Haa.”
Arty trudged along a rural road that had appeared out of nowhere. In one hand he held the Holy Sword, and in the other, a wooden holy relic of the Sun God.
“How unnecessarily realistic.”
It was his beloved hometown. The vineyards of southern Gallia came into view. As he reached the village entrance, someone approached.
“Darling—!”
“Woof, woof!”
Aria, her silver hair swaying, came running toward him in plain clothes. Beside her, a large dog commonly raised in the countryside wagged its tail as it approached. From afar, Aria furrowed her brows delicately and called out.
“Darling! Why are you so late? I was worried!”
“…”
“Hm? What is it? Are you ignoring me? Fluffy! Go scold him!”
“…”
“Woof woof!”
The dog came bounding over with its tongue lolling out, looking as though it wanted to leap into its master’s arms.
“Hey! Fluffy! That’s not what I meant by greeting him—!”
Arty’s expression remained indifferent. Another illusion of Aria. She was being so persistent that his mood was starting to sour.
“…”
For a brief moment, a wistful feeling stirred in him, but Lydia’s training and the holy power flowing from the wooden relic kept him from being swept away by the illusion.
‘The Saintess and I were never married. I never raised a dog back in my hometown. Therefore, all of this is nothing more than a dream.’
The dog charging toward him was… nothing more than an illusion meant to deceive him.
“Woof woof!”
Arty swung the Holy Sword at the approaching dog. A blue crack formed from the point of impact. The warm vision of his hometown vanished like a lie. What appeared before his eyes were grotesque fangs and a blood-red tongue.
Swish—!
[Krrraaagh—!]
When he came to his senses, a shadow wolf lay split in two before Arty. It was a spectral demonic beast that used illusions to lower its prey’s guard.
‘If I had focused on the Saintess in the illusion, it would have been dangerous.’
“…Haa.”
Arty’s head throbbed. Every time he shattered an illusion, intense fatigue assaulted his sight and hearing. So he gripped the wooden relic and prayed.
“O blessing of the Sun, grant me the strength to move forward…”
A blue aura emanated from the wooden relic. The mana circulating through the Holy Sword and his body transformed into holy power and answered Arty’s prayer.
Flash—!
His mind cleared. The exhaustion disappeared. Though not as potent as the Holy Sword Danan’s accelerated healing, the gentle waves unique to holy spells awakened his spirit.
Arty murmured with satisfaction.
“…This is good.”
If a priest had been nearby, they would have been shocked to see a commoner who had never even received baptism freely casting holy spells. But Arty no longer concerned himself with such trivial matters.
—Think with all your might.
“…”
‘The teachings of the Sun God now reside in my mind. This spell is proof of that. I will continue to ponder and advance together with Him.’
Keeping the sun in his heart, he never took his eyes off reality. He simply pressed forward.
‘Along the path that will allow me to stand beside the Saintess…’
He prayed that this path was the right one.
*
Outside the academy, at the entrance to the illusory dungeon, a vast crowd had gathered upon the green plains. They had come as witnesses to the second trial. Lydia was among those waiting.
“…”
Lydia sat in the “reserved seats” alongside the academy’s high-ranking noble students. The location was much farther from the dungeon entrance where the crowd had gathered. It was a spot prepared by Raoul, who was overseeing the trial.
—We have prepared separate seating for the noble students. Please, if you would…
In truth, this “consideration” was aimed at only one person: Lydia.
‘Raoul, that brat’s gotten clever. Using the excuse of accommodating high-ranking nobles to keep me from directly interfering in the trial, is it?’
Beside Lydia sat her friends Mave and Morgan, present under the pretext of being “related parties.” Elsewhere, swordsmanship department freshmen were chattering.
—I feel like Arty’s going to pull it off again this time.
—He’s a commoner, but he’s pretty strong.
—If he keeps leading the charge against dark demonic beasts as the Hero, he might even become a full-fledged knight.
—Hmm, he’s not bad. He’s like Her Highness the Princess’s right hand, after all.
“…”
People like Dominic—individuals who were somewhat favorable toward Arty. After Lydia had invited Aria to the tea party, they seemed to have done quite a bit of digging.
‘According to Béatrice, Raoul’s direct holy knights have been visiting the back-alley information brokers. They wouldn’t know the exact details, so they probably only heard rumors about the princess’s faction.’
Even if they tried to fail him now, it probably wouldn’t change the test results. This was simply Raoul’s desperate struggle.
Lydia had a feeling. Sooner or later, one side or the other was going to take the bait.
“…”
Mave glanced around.
“I don’t see Aria anywhere.”
“Hmm, I looked for her as well, but she was nowhere to be found.”
“Do you think she might be unwell? It feels like nearly ten days since we last saw her…”
“You will see her soon enough.”
“Huh…?”
At those words, Mave tilted her head. Morgan glanced briefly at Lydia before lowering her gaze again. There were too many high-ranking noble students nearby, and it made her uncomfortable.
“…”
And what bothered her was…
—What do you think, Sir Lucian?
—In an illusory dungeon, cold judgment takes precedence over raw strength.
“…”
Morgan found the sight of that hulking figure repulsive. It was annoying to hear him spout things everyone already knew as if he were the only one who understood them. The way his muscles bulged like lumps was also unpleasant. If delicate(?) Lydia was sitting beside him, she might get contaminated by that musky smell. Ugh.
‘…I’m going to be sick.’
The hangers-on were one thing, but that golden lump in particular was disgusting.
‘Engaged to Lydia with a guy like that…?’
Just imagining it made her dizzy. For the first time in a while, Morgan felt nauseous enough to vomit.
“…”
‘And the seats are way too close to that golden lump. What if Lydia hears more strange rumors and gets upset again…? I hate this seating arrangement.’
Whenever that lump and Lydia were near each other, strange rumors always started circulating.
—Her Highness the Princess and Sir Lucian, side by side…
—As expected, the two of them are still…
“!”
See? There it was again. Still seated, Morgan scooted her chair toward Lydia with a scraping sound. So she wouldn’t hear that nonsense. And so she wouldn’t be contaminated by the smell of sweat.
“…Hmph.”
As she drew closer, she heard Lydia mutter.
“…It’s about time.”
“?!”
Morgan flinched in surprise. Time? For what…? But Lydia paid her no mind and slowly raised her hand. Then she snapped her fingers.
Crack—!
A clear sound rang out, carrying an oddly strong resonance.
“?”
People nearby glanced over for a moment. But seeing Lydia calmly fold her arms again, no one said anything. They simply resumed their conversations while watching the dungeon entrance.
—In my opinion, the position of Hero is…
—Just like the Saintess, Gallia’s religious…
Only Morgan, who had been focused on Lydia from the start, noticed her gaze shift to the watchtower beside the academy’s main gate, on the opposite side of the plains where the dungeon stood. And for a brief moment, a light flashed there.
Flash—!
“…?”
Morgan frowned.
‘What was that?’
But even after several minutes passed, she had no idea what had happened. Then, as the dungeon’s stone door opened once more, she naturally forgot about it.
Rumble—!
The heavy stone door opened, and a boy holding a purple orb and a blue sword stepped out. Arty handed the orb to the prayer priest.
Thud!
“…”
“…”
The two of them met each other’s eyes with solemn expressions.
“…”
“…”
Neither spoke. But both had learned to communicate through faith. Therefore, a silence heavier than ten spoken words passed between them.
The prayer priest slowly nodded.
“You have passed the second trial as well. Having cleared two of the three gates… you have already proven your basic qualifications as the Hero.”
“!”
“!”
“!”
The boy who had overcome the harshest ordeal. The Hero was born. He was Gallia’s resilient youth. Not some puppet born from the Theocracy’s mercy.
Just as the crowd was about to erupt into cheers…
“Wait—! I object!”
It was Cardinal Albert and the Heresy Inquisitor Raoul. They approached with stiff, hardened expressions. Prayer Priest Edrian looked at them.
“You have no right to reject this result. In this world, only the Sun God can overturn the outcome of this trial.”
“…”
The sun and the sacred altar floating behind the prayer priest shone quietly. No lightning struck, and the earth did not overturn. The people understood the will of the Sun God.
Albert nodded with difficulty. Cold sweat streamed down his face.
“Yes, of course I have no intention of overturning this result.”
“Then what is your objection?”
“I believe the Hero candidate should proceed to the final trial as planned. Of course, he has already proven himself, but… the rising and setting of the sun is unrelated to the completion of daily tasks, is it not?”
“…”
“One must witness the sun rise and set until the very end. Only then can the legitimacy of faith be supported.”
All rituals must be carried out to completion. Even if it was the Hero’s trial.
The cardinal’s words were full of holes, but Edrian did not refute the only sound argument.
“…The final trial is the Trial of Oath. It is the moment when one swears one’s resolve before the Sun God at the Sun’s altar.”
“Yes, I am well aware.”
It was a trial that only required prayer. That was why it was the easiest. As long as one did not hand their soul over to the devil and stood proud before the sun, they would pass.
Edrian looked at Albert with sunken eyes.
“…”
“…”
The one who spoke up next was the Heresy Inquisitor. His expression was strangely complicated. But it was not as desperate as Albert’s.
“…Even if it is a trial he will pass anyway, I agree that it must be carried through to the end. Only then can we hear his oath beneath the banner of the One God and the Theocracy.”
“…”
Edrian remained silent. He knew. He knew that they were not acting out of pure faith. But as a believer, it was an argument he could not easily refute.
‘All rituals must be carried out to completion… Even if the end is in sight, one must see it through to the last.’
Therefore, he nodded.
“…Very well.”
Edrian turned to Arty. The boy had maintained a calm expression the entire time.
“The Hero candidate must now undergo the final trial. Even if it is a meaningless one.”
“Yes, I accept. Before the Sun God, I will remain proud until the very end.”
The people were impressed.
—Look at that commoner. His expression didn’t even change.
—His passing grade just slipped right past him…
—He has more composure than his age would suggest. He’s like a priest.
The authority of the Theocracy meant nothing to him.
The Heresy Inquisitor Raoul sighed as he watched the scene.
‘I hope the Saintess doesn’t misunderstand after seeing this. No matter what happens to the Hero, everything must remain under the Theocracy’s banner… This is my mistake.’
Just as everyone was lost in their own thoughts, Cardinal Albert quietly smiled. A flash of malice glinted on his teeth for the briefest moment.
‘Now… it’s done. I can finally breathe easy.’
At that moment, a girl’s voice from afar chased that malice away.
“In that case.”
“?”
“I will oversee the final trial.”
“?!”
Everyone turned to look. There stood the silver-haired Saintess, Aria, breathing heavily. Behind her was a carriage led by a maid. Aria held a small letter in one hand. Gripping it tightly, she spoke with determination.
“I am the Sun God’s representative, the Saintess. Therefore, not by the Theocracy’s authority, but as the direct proxy of the Sun God… I will dare to oversee the final trial.”
The Saintess’s declaration rang out before the crowd. Prayer Priest Edrian answered solemnly.
“…You are correct. You are the only one in this vast world who can directly represent Him. So you have finally come to realize it yourself.”
The gathered people were all shocked. That prayer priest—the man who would never renounce his faith even with a blade at his throat—had acknowledged it.
—Not the Theocracy’s… but the Saintess’s right…?
—Did the Saintess truly possess such authority?
—She wasn’t just a puppet of the One God?
Raoul’s expression twisted slightly. His pupils trembled faintly.
“…Saintess?”
And Albert’s face looked as though it was about to shatter into pieces.
Lydia had watched it all unfold.
“…Heh.”
Now it was certain.