Persistent Doubts
One week later, in the outdoor garden nestled amid the flower beds. Rene sat facing Vargo Saintroar, sharing tea and lost in thought.
Awkward…!
It was a meeting scheduled roughly every ten days. A time to discuss life in the Holy Kingdom or her daily routine. This was only their second encounter, but Rene still found it hard to converse with him. His position as Holy Emperor made it so, as did his bickering with Vera. Every element that made up Vargo felt intimidating to her.
Because of that, she had no idea what to say. She fidgeted with her teacup for a long while until Vargo broke the silence first.
“Are you settling in comfortably in the Holy Kingdom?”
“Ah, yes! Thanks to you, I’m doing just fine!”
Startled, Rene jolted upright in her reply. Vargo chuckled at her resounding voice and continued.
“That’s a relief. It must be tough in such an unfamiliar place, and I regret not looking after you more closely, given my duties.”
“No! More than enough! You’re taking such great care of me!”
Another booming response. Fearing an awkward silence if she stopped there, Rene racked her brain for something to add.
“Um… the knight helps a lot, and Helga too, and oh, Master Trevo teaches me divine arts so well. I’m really doing great!”
“Oh, that Trevo fellow, is it?”
“Yes! He’s so kind!”
Rene smiled brightly as she answered. From her perspective… it wasn’t wrong. Trevo had been very friendly and approachable toward her.
In truth, it was largely because Vera had shot him warning glances whenever Trevo showed odd signs, but the blind Rene had no way of knowing that.
Vera watched Rene speak glowingly of Trevo and felt a deep sigh escape him. Memories of Trevo’s behavior around her flooded back—flushing at the sight of her white divine power, or suddenly eyeing the stigmata on her forearm with a lick of his lips. All those creepy actions had gnawed at his nerves. He’d need to have another “lesson” with him soon.
As Vera brooded and sighed heavily, Vargo noticed his expression, deepened his smile, and turned back to Rene.
“I’m glad to hear it. Is there anything you’re curious about? Anything you’d like to ask me?”
“Hm…”
Rene let out a soft hum at Vargo’s question, pondering. There was something she’d wondered about while living in the Holy Kingdom.
“I’ve noticed there are no separate worship services here. Why is that?”
“Ah, that’s what piqued your interest.”
“Yes. I remember the priests in my village held services every Sunday.”
She hadn’t realized it at first, but the day it dawned on her, she’d been shocked. This was the Holy Kingdom, after all—shouldn’t there be worship times? Even when she asked Helga, thinking they’d omitted it out of consideration for her, the answer was, “There never were any.” That only deepened her curiosity.
Vargo took a sip of tea, nodded at her question, and replied.
“Faith isn’t something born from coercion, so we don’t hold formal worship gatherings. Prayer happens naturally, whenever the urge strikes in daily life.”
“Is… is that okay?”
“Hmm, how to explain…”
Vargo stroked his chin thoughtfully, then raised his brows and continued.
“…Yes, let’s put it this way. You feel gratitude toward Helga, don’t you?”
“Yes, I do…”
“Does that feeling still reside in your heart now?”
A nod. Rene’s head bobbed.
Vargo nodded back and went on.
“But that doesn’t mean you dwell on that gratitude every moment of every day. It arises when you meet her or recall her help, right?”
“Yes.”
It was an obvious truth. How could anyone sustain the same thought amid all life’s ceaseless activities?
“Faith is the same. You hold thanks for God’s grace, but there’s no need to force praise. When it comes to mind in the course of living, a short, sincere prayer suffices. It’s like how you don’t throw a banquet just to express thanks to Helga.”
“Hm, it’s simpler than I thought.”
“Faith isn’t grandiose. It shouldn’t be.”
“Why not? Isn’t it about praising God?”
“The moment it becomes grandiose, flaws blanket the faith.”
It was a string of incomprehensible ideas, far removed from common sense as she knew it. Rene’s head tilted slightly, and Vargo explained in his measured tone.
“Who in this world do you think needs faith most?”
“Um…”
A tough question—one without an easy answer.
“I’m not sure…”
“Those with nothing. Those without a thread to cling to, whose very survival hangs by a thread. Faith offers them a ray of hope, something to lean on to see tomorrow. That’s its role.”
Vargo watched her face as he spoke.
Ah. Her mouth parted in realization.
“So it can’t be grandiose. People in hardship don’t have the luxury for elaborate rituals.”
“Well said.”
Vargo’s smile widened. Rene’s bright expression as she grasped it pleased him.
She’s a good soul.
The girl chosen by God had a warm heart. Despite her hardships, she showed no wrinkles of bitterness, always bright and considerate. If placed on the scales of good and evil, they would surely tip toward her. Vargo, who had spent a lifetime discerning right from wrong, judged her so once more and continued.
“Thus, deeming faith for such people, the Holy Kingdom forgoes ritual worship.”
“I see…”
Rene nodded faintly in understanding.
But.
“Hm… I still don’t quite get it.”
It wasn’t full acceptance. To Rene, gods and faith were the cruelest evils in a world that mocked her. No matter how earnestly she’d prayed for salvation, she remained blind. Having tasted the despair of lifelong desperation betrayed, she was skeptical of prayers that went unanswered.
Vargo noted her darkening expression, guessed at her thoughts, and pressed on.
“Of course, my words aren’t the absolute truth—don’t bind yourself to them. Faith is something each believer must answer for themselves.”
A nod. Rene’s head dipped.
She fiddled with her fingers briefly, then words welled up to her throat, spilling out as a question.
“You said faith exists for the most suffering people.”
“Yes, I did.”
“Then, if they aren’t saved by it, won’t those who believed feel utterly wretched?”
“Why do you think that?”
“People believe to be saved. If even that salvation fails…”
She trailed off. But Vargo understood exactly what she meant. It was probably about herself.
“This much, I can say for certain.”
“What is it?”
“Faith isn’t salvation. It’s the cheer from a supporter, bolstering believers to reach salvation themselves. Salvation is something you must achieve on your own.”
Rene turned her face toward Vargo’s voice.
“What if someone can’t save themselves?”
“Faith holds them up so they don’t crumble.”
“Even if things can’t improve? Even if there’s a cliff ahead? Propping them up and pushing forward… that’s wrong.”
Her voice carried a suppressed tremor. Vera glared fiercely at Vargo for drawing such emotion from her.
Vargo snorted at the look, then addressed Rene again.
“Then lead them another way. Toward a wide-open road, not the cliff.”
Rene froze. Her face went blank with disbelief.
Vargo gazed at her and continued in his usual calm tone.
“I once said the same to that gloomy boy. Around the time he was your age, in fact.”
Mentioning Vera. Rene pressed her lips tight and listened intently.
“God doesn’t show the path. They only watch. You must find it yourself, Saint.”
“But…!”
Objection rose, but no words followed. Rene knew. Pouring out to Vargo wouldn’t change facts. Her outburst would just be resentment toward the gods.
She bowed her head slightly toward him in apology.
“…I’m sorry. I got too emotional.”
“No need to mind. Doesn’t hardship foster growth? Ponder deeply and approach your answer. You’re doing splendidly.”
An awkward silence fell. Rene blamed herself for losing control and bowed her head; Vargo laughed heartily and apologized.
“Forgive this old man for troubling your heart.”
“No! Not at all!”
She startled upright again. Vargo chuckled at her fidgeting.
“Let’s call it here. The wind’s growing chill.”
“Ah… yes.”
Vera approached at Vargo’s words and took Rene’s hand. Vargo watched with a tsk of amusement.
*
On the way back to her quarters, Rene walked with unease, wondering if she’d been rude to Vargo. She felt foolish. She’d vowed to try hard, to do well, yet lost her temper anyway.
A soft sigh escaped at the thought. Vera, seeing it, felt anger toward Vargo rise and spoke.
“Don’t worry about it. His Holiness is just senile these days.”
Rene flinched, her fingers trembling in his grasp.
“D-don’t say that…”
“Even kings get cursed when they’re absent. I’m human too, so I can’t help it.”
His stiff tone, meant as comforting jest, drew a giggle from her despite herself.
“…Thank you.”
“No thanks needed. Just the truth.”
“Still.”
As she spoke, surprise bloomed within at how his simple words eased her instantly. How did something so trivial pierce so deeply? The unfamiliar warmth made her chew her lip before she asked.
“What do you think, knight? About… what His Holiness said.”
“Nonsense from a loose-tongued geezer. As I told you before, I don’t believe in God’s glory.”
“Is that the answer you found?”
Vera paused to choose his words, then replied.
“Not an answer yet. I’d say I’m on the path toward one.”
“The light you mentioned?”
“Yes. I believe my answer lies there. I put my faith in that light, not in God.”
Rene nodded faintly and continued.
“I envy you. I don’t even know which direction my answer lies.”
Why she’d been made blind. Why the stigmata had come to her. Unlike Vera, already seeking his truth, she knew nothing. That envy stirred in her.
Vera watched her lower her head and felt his chest stir. His lips moved.
“…You’ll find it, Saint. I’ll help you, so no need to rush.”
Cliched comfort—the only kind he knew. Silence followed, ended only by Rene’s nod.
From some point on, such talks stirred the same nagging doubt in her. What was that light, and what did it have to do with her stigmata, that he treated her so well? Unanswerable, stifling.
Emotions roiled again. Feeling them, Rene tapped the ground sharply.