Revelation 3: No Longer a Puppet
Vera sat at the table in the hut, lost in thought. The oracle had ended amid a bustle of activity, thanks to Vargo dismissing everyone. Before the dispersal, Vargo had told Vera to come see him alone the next day, then left.
He could tell at a glance. That oracle had been anything but ordinary. Vera wasn't so dull that he couldn't pick up on it amid the atmosphere.
Once more, the word etched above the altar came to mind. 'Passed….'
It had to mean he'd passed the trial. He'd done absolutely nothing, yet passed the trial all the same.
Through it, one of the questions plaguing him—'Who intervened in my regression?'—found some resolution.
'The Heavenly Gods.' They had intervened. Why remained unclear. But by declaring passage to someone like him, who had no proof to offer, he could infer they already knew all about him.
He dimly grasped what they meant to convey through that word.
'Declaring passage….'
Was it their way of saying he was on the right path?
Suddenly, a hollow laugh welled up with a 'chuck'. It was the exhaustion rising unbidden.
Not long ago, if the Lord God had turned back time for her salvation, he'd sworn to play his part gladly. That resolve hadn't changed.
Yet doubts lingered, leaving him uncertain if blindly following their presented path was truly right—and that uncertainty bred this weariness.
He recalled Vargo's words from their first meeting.
"You're just a puppet without a will of your own, aren't you?"
His fist clenched tight.
No rebuttal came to mind.
Vera closed his eyes and peered into the soul dwelling within him. A soul of somber black, inscribed upon it in golden light: [I shall live for the Saint.]
A vow sworn in rash fury, in the haze of near-death. He felt no regret. Even if returned to that moment a hundred times, he'd make the same vow.
Why wouldn't he? After living like a beast, driven purely by instinct, wasn't that faint light finally cast upon him? Just thinking of it stirred such thirst.
But was this the path to fulfilling that vow? Was mere obedience to them enough? That was the doubt taking root.
Vera still knew nothing of faith. He didn't believe in the gods or their glory. He could even be called a heretic.
Even with life returned, the stigmata remained to him just a useful tool.
What Vera believed in was his own strength and that dim light upon him. Nothing more.
The doubts thickened. His thoughts churned, muddling his mind.
Was following the gods' intentions truly necessary for the life devoted to her?
Vera, unable to answer alone, thought of someone who might.
Slowly, his eyes opened.
'…The Holy Emperor.' He might know.
*
The next day, Vera found Vargo sitting on a long bench in the center of the Great Temple's southern garden. He approached with deliberate footsteps.
Vargo, staring blankly at the flowerbeds with a sunken expression, spotted Vera and spoke.
"You're here."
"Yes."
Vera bowed his head.
"Good. You look like you slept well enough."
"By the Lord God's grace."
"Do you think you're some babe who can't sleep without the Lord God watching over you?"
A chuckling scoff. Vera flinched, feeling his body tremble, then lifted his head to meet Vargo's gaze.
"What did you call me for?"
"Here. Take it."
As Vera's question burst out, Vargo pulled something from his robes and tossed it over.
Vera caught the flying object and opened his palm to examine it. There lay the platinum Rosario that had always hung around the Saint's neck—the one that had irked him before.
'Apostle's token.'
His gaze shifted back to Vargo, who grinned wryly.
"Your performance rubs me the wrong way… but passed is passed, so take it."
Vera glanced at Vargo, then down at the Rosario in his hand, lips parting slightly.
"Is this the end?"
"What, expecting a feast? As if anyone'd celebrate a punk like you."
The jab lacked its usual bite this time. Vargo's earlier words echoed in his mind.
"…Does Your Holiness simply obey whatever the gods command?"
"Eh? What're you on about?"
Vera raised his head. His fist clenched tight.
Since that oracle, he'd bottled up the question choking his chest. Now it spilled out.
"Is obedience enough? If I question their will, am I wrong? Why don't you question it?"
The words tumbled forth, laced unwittingly with frustration.
He sought a life for the Saint. A life chasing that nobility that embraced even wretches like him.
But if that meant moving by the gods' design, blindly following… what kind of life was that? For whom?
Could he call it a life for the Saint—or one for the gods?
Ridiculous, well-fed doubts. Back when he scavenged trash bins and groveled on streets, such thoughts never crossed his mind.
Yet now, suppressing them was impossible. This suffocating tightness wouldn't let him just follow the open road.
Vera's face twisted. The same vein of questions poured from his lips.
"Do you truly believe that's right?"
Silence fell over the space.
Vera clamped his mouth shut, staring at Vargo. Vargo eyed him with unfathomable depth.
Only after some time did words leap from Vargo's mouth.
"Tell me. Did they show you the path through that oracle?"
Vera froze.
Show the path? Could he say that?
It was ambiguous enough that he couldn't confidently say 'yes'.
Did they intervene in his regression? 'Likely.'
Did they convey intent through the Holy Kingdom's oracle? 'Yes.'
But was that showing him the path? 'Don't know.'
Did that oracle point his true direction? 'They said nothing.'
"…I don't know."
The gods had been silent. They'd merely tossed the situation at him.
"Do they decide your right and wrong?"
Vera dipped his head slightly.
"…No."
Never once, in past life or this, had they dictated right from wrong.
"Then why claim they showed you the path?"
"…."
"Why ask why you must follow their will?"
Vera's mouth fell silent, no answer forthcoming.
Why had he thought that? The doubt stretched long.
"Kid."
Vargo's voice rang out. Vera looked up.
"…Yes."
"Let me ask. Why think your judgment is someone else's?"
The question hit like a void in his mind. All thoughts bleached white.
Vargo continued.
"Know this. Gods don't hand down answers."
Vera's gaze fixed on him—the bizarre old man chuckling, utterly unbefitting a Holy Emperor.
"Quite the opposite. They pose questions. 'What will you do in this situation?' That's what they ask."
Vargo's words sparked Vera's thoughts.
What had they thrown at him? 'A situation.'
What did they seek through it? '…Don't know.'
Who judged their intent? '…Me.'
His fist clenched. His chest tightened.
An absurdly simple doubt, yet he'd never questioned it till now.
Why? After long reflection, the answer wove together.
His own narrowness.
He didn't believe in their omniscience.
But…
'…I believed in their omnipotence.'
He trusted their power, this stigmata force manifesting in form. Vera thought they'd manipulate him. They could, and in his world of constant loss, the powerful took.
His thoughts pressed on.
All judgments—by whom? Vowing the oath, heading to the Holy Kingdom in this rewound life, aspiring to apostleship.
'All….'
His own choices.
"Tell me."
Vargo's voice followed.
"In the oracles you know, did they ever dictate right and wrong? Give answers?"
Vera expanded his thoughts once more.
Vargo's oracle: Judge the world's evil. No definition of evil. Judgment was Vargo's alone.
The twins' oracle: Grasp true guardianship. No answer on what it meant. Theirs to decide.
The Saint's oracle: Bestow the Lord God's power upon the continent. No 'how'. Her judgment.
Only now did Vera dimly realize how narrowly he'd viewed the world.
Why had he assumed so?
'Because I only knew resentment.'
To excuse that not all his past sins were his fault.
'To flee responsibility.'
He'd sworn to bear the weight, yet wanted to ignore it.
'The world made me so.' He craved that thought.
Cowardly, he'd hidden behind 'fate', needing someone to blame.
His thoughts sharpened. The strange suffocation eased slightly.
Yet a hazy fog lingered. Vera looked to Vargo, lips parting.
"Then… how should I make my judgments?"
Unsure, hoping he might know, he asked.
"Why ask me?"
A scoffing chuckle.
Vera bowed deeper.
"Teach me."
A fervent plea escaped.
Vera realized: He knew only what he perceived. His world built from what he'd seen and lived.
For the first time, he thought he needed another's guidance. A teacher to reveal unknown worlds, broaden his view.
His knees hit the ground. Kneeling, head bowed low, he continued.
"…I desperately want to know something. To pursue it. But I'm hopelessly lacking."
He wasn't yet worthy to stand beside the Saint.
Meeting her like this, he'd still be that wretched beast inside, unchanged.
Not beside her—he'd barely chase her shadow, panting.
"There's something I'd stake my remaining life to protect. My strength is far too feeble to follow it."
The sword of protection still eluded him. His blade remained a beast's fang.
"So I beg you earnestly."
To become a man worthy of her side.
"Teach me."
He had to change.
Long silence stretched.
Vera kept his head down, staring at the ground, awaiting reply.
Then…
"…What a needy little brat."
Vargo answered. Vera finally looked up.
Vargo tsked, a smile tugging his lips.
The next words sent Vera's head bowing again.
"I won't teach you. So stick around and figure it out yourself."
Permission granted.
Vera gripped the Rosario hard enough to bite into his skin.
"Thank you."
After one life's cycle, Vera learned to seek knowledge.
…And so, four years passed.