The Saint Candidate's Choice
The closest voice was Aria's. It trembled as if on the verge of tears, yet it wasn't merely the sound of fear. She was calling out to someone while simultaneously scolding herself. Pleas to be saved and warnings not to come tangled together, quivering faintly beyond the blue mist.
"Lord Kyle, I..."
The voice cut off midway. I immediately oriented myself.
"We're heading toward Lady Aria."
Edan nodded. "Understood."
He didn't ask further questions. Perhaps because he'd just witnessed his own illusion, his expression was slightly more rigid than usual. Still, his steps remained steady.
We ran down the forest path shrouded in blue mist. Zone B-7 was no longer a normal training ground. Trees floated without roots, and the path subtly shifted direction with every movement we made. It felt as though the space itself was alive and testing us.
"The path is changing again," Edan said. "The left side is blocked."
I looked at the mana lines beneath my feet. Thin blue threads tangled like strands of silk. A few led toward Aria, but the rest curved deliberately to guide us elsewhere.
This isn't a path. It's a set of choices.
The sealed gate of B-7 didn't only show illusions. It began shaking us from the very process of reaching anyone. It forced us to decide whom to save first, whom to abandon, which route to take. And the longer we hesitated, the deeper the person trapped in the illusion sank.
"Straight ahead," I said.
Edan narrowed his eyes. "There's a wall of trees ahead."
"It's not real trees." I raised my sword. "Those mana lines created a barrier to make us avoid it."
Edan glanced at me briefly, then drew his own sword. "Let's go together."
We charged toward the tree wall at the same time. Our blades sliced through the blue stems. They weren't trees. The moment the swords touched them, the stems scattered like black smoke. A narrow path opened beyond them, and at its end, light appeared.
It was the white light of holy magic. Aria's light. But it wasn't warm like usual. It was too bright, too desperate—like a flame burning itself to illuminate its surroundings.
We broke through the mist. The place wasn't a forest. It was a cathedral. Or rather, an illusion resembling one. High ceilings, stained glass, rows of pews. A pure white cross hung above the central altar. Yet it held no beauty.
People sat in every pew. Lucas Berin. The illusion of Aria who had collapsed in the rose garden. Maids from the imperial palace. Students injured at the knight department training grounds. And countless nameless wounded. All of them were staring at Aria.
Aria stood before the central altar, hands clasped as she cast holy magic. Pure white light spread in all directions, but those it touched did not heal. Instead, more wounds were revealed. Some bled, others were swallowed by black curse marks, and still others gasped for cold air. Aria was trying to heal them all. Yet the wider the light spread, the paler her face became.
"Lady Aria!" I shouted.
She turned her head, eyes widening. "Lord Kyle... don't come any closer."
"Lady Aria."
"Don't come!"
Her voice cracked sharply for the first time. I didn't stop.
At that moment, everyone in the cathedral spoke at once.
"Saint candidate."
"Save me."
"Why did you heal that person first?"
"Why did you protect Kyle Diaren?"
"He got hurt because you stayed by his side."
"Everyone became endangered because you wouldn't let go of his hand."
The voices overlapped like prayers, accusations, curses. Aria's holy magic wavered.
Only then did I understand what this illusion was targeting. What Aria wanted most: to save everyone. What she feared most: that the more she tried to save someone, the more someone else would suffer. And at the center of it all stood me.
Beneath the cross behind the altar sat another version of me. A blood-soaked Kyle Diaren—the one stabbed in the side in the rose garden, the one who took Lucas's curse in his place, the one whose arm was bitten by a familiar's fangs. All those injuries layered together as he lay collapsed beneath the altar.
Aria tried not to look his way, yet she couldn't stop herself from staring.
The people in the cathedral spoke again.
"If you heal him, we die."
"If you heal us, he dies."
"Choose, saint candidate."
"Whom will you save?"
Aria's hands trembled. "I..."
Her holy magic grew brighter. "I want to save everyone..."
The light spread, but at that same moment, the blood-soaked illusion of me collapsed even deeper. Conversely, when the light turned toward my illusion, the surrounding people groaned in pain.
I clenched my teeth. How cruel.
This wasn't a simple illusion. It was twisting the role Aria had carried her entire life in the most merciless way possible. The saint candidate—someone who must save everyone. If she failed, guilt consumed her. If she saved someone first, she was made to believe she had abandoned others. And I stood at the heart of that contradiction.
Edan spoke quietly. "An illusion that forces a choice."
"Yes."
"Yet there doesn't seem to be a correct answer."
"Illusions like this never have one."
I walked toward the altar. "They break people by asking questions with no answers."
Aria cried out again. "Don't come, Lord Kyle!"
"Why not?"
"When I see you... I want to save you first again."
It sounded less like a confession and more like a scream. "That can't happen. I'm a saint candidate. I have to save everyone. But if you're hurt, I..."
She couldn't finish. Biting her lip, she lowered her head.
"I end up looking at you first."
Everyone in the cathedral whispered at once.
"Favoritism."
"The saint candidate chose one person first."
"She is not pure white."
"She has no right to become a saint."
Aria's light wavered. I kept walking. Edan followed beside me.
"My lord, reacting to those voices will only strengthen the illusion."
"I know."
"And you're still going?"
"I have to."
"Why?"
I was silent for a moment before answering. "Lady Aria is judging herself right now."
Edan didn't reply.
I walked all the way to the altar. Aria stepped backward while watching me.
"I told you not to come..."
"Lady Aria."
"I can't."
"What can't you do?"
"I can't stay by your side. If I do, you'll keep getting hurt. If I try to save someone, you get hurt in their place. If I try to save you, someone else suffers."
Tears fell from her eyes. "I'm someone who shouldn't choose anyone."
"That's not true."
"It is. I'm a saint candidate. I have to extend the same hand to everyone. But I..."
Aria looked at my hand—the one she so often held.
"I don't want to let go of Lord Kyle's hand."
The cathedral fell silent. Those words were too small, too honest. And the illusion didn't miss that honesty.
The cross above the altar turned black. The blood-soaked illusion of me slowly raised its head and spoke in my voice.
"That's why I get hurt."
Aria held her breath.
The illusory Kyle continued. "Because you won't let go."
"No..."
"Because you look at me first."
"That's not true."
"You're a saint candidate, aren't you? Then why do you only look at me?"
Aria's holy magic trembled as if about to collapse. I tried to draw my sword, but Edan stopped me with his hand.
"My lord."
"Why are you stopping me?"
"That illusion will reappear even if you cut it down."
Edan scanned the entire cathedral. "The problem isn't the illusion. It's that Lady Aria is accepting those words."
He was right. But knowing that didn't make it any easier to stay still.
Aria was crying. Beneath the title of saint candidate, she was treating her own heart like a sin.
I took one step forward. "Lady Aria."
The illusory Kyle looked at me. "You know it too. She got you hurt because she stayed by your side."
"Perhaps," I answered.
Aria's eyes wavered. I kept speaking.
"There were times I got hurt because Lady Aria was beside me."
"Lord Kyle..."
"But there were also times Lady Aria survived because I was beside her."
The voices in the cathedral murmured again. I looked straight at Aria.
"That's what relationships are. When you're connected to someone, you might get hurt. Burdens appear, responsibilities appear, and sometimes regret appears too."
I extended my hand.
"But refusing to choose anyone isn't what makes someone pure white."
Aria's tears stopped. "Am I... allowed to choose?"
"Yes."
"Then someone might get hurt."
"They might."
"So what should I do?"
"It's not about making a perfect choice that hurts no one." I spoke quietly. "It's about not running away after you've chosen."
Aria's eyes trembled. I took another step closer.
"Lady Aria wants to save everyone. That isn't wrong. But if you kill your own heart in the name of saving everyone, you'll eventually fail to hold on to anyone properly."
The illusory Kyle sneered. "How convenient. In the end, you're telling her to hold your hand."
"That's right," I said to the illusion. "I will tell her to hold it."
Aria swallowed. "Lord Kyle?"
"But there is a condition." I offered her my hand. "If Lady Aria is going to hold on to me, then I'll hold on to her too. If she tries to disappear into guilt alone, I'll drag her out."
"..."
"So choose. Will you run away, or will you come with me?"
Every gaze in the cathedral turned to Aria. Lucas's illusion. The wounded illusions. The blood-soaked version of me. The blackened cross. All of them stared at her as if passing judgment.
Aria kept her head lowered for a long time. Then, slowly, she reached out. Her fingertips touched my hand.
Her hand was warmer than I'd expected. Whether from the warmth of her holy magic or from emotions that hadn't yet settled, I couldn't tell. She held my hand and didn't let go for a long while.
From the moment our hands touched, her holy magic no longer scattered in all directions. Only in the small space between our joined hands did pure white light bloom.
"I..." Aria said. "I won't run away."
Her voice still trembled, but she didn't retreat.
"I'm scared of you getting hurt. I'm scared of wanting to look at someone first. Even so..."
She raised her head. Her face was wet with tears, yet her eyes no longer wavered.
"I won't pretend this feeling doesn't exist."
The cathedral shook. Lucas's illusion tried to speak. The shadows of the wounded reached out again. Voices began to spill from the blackened cross. But Aria didn't look away this time.
"I want to save everyone," she said, gripping my hand tighter. "But I won't erase my own heart just to say those words."
Her words echoed through the cathedral. They sounded like something a saint candidate should never say—words that chose someone first, words that leaned toward one person, words that cracked the name of pure white. Yet Aria didn't back down.
"If this feeling is a weakness," she continued as her holy magic flowed through our joined hands, "then I'll make even that weakness mine."
Pure white light exploded. The blackened cross shattered. Lucas's illusion scattered. The voices of the wounded faded. The blood-soaked illusion of me smiled one last time.
"So you chose after all."
Aria looked straight at it. "Yes," she said. "And I'll take responsibility for it."
The cathedral began to collapse. The stained glass ceiling rained down like fragments of light. The pews turned to black ash and scattered. The cross above the altar melted away within the pure white radiance.
I took Aria's hand and stepped back. Edan approached us and struck away falling debris with his sword.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
Aria caught her breath and nodded. "Yes. Thank you."
She still didn't let go of my hand. If anything, she held it even tighter than before.
"Lady Aria," I called carefully. She looked up. Traces of tears still lingered at the corners of her eyes, yet her gaze was far steadier than before.
"Just a little longer."
"Pardon?"
"I'll hold on a little more."
It sounded like a request, yet also like a declaration. I couldn't answer. I simply nodded.
Aria smiled faintly. It was the kind of smile one might expect from the pure white saint candidate. Yet strangely, within it hid the desire not to let go.
"Lord Kyle."
"Yes."
"You have to take responsibility for what you just said."
"I've been hearing that a lot lately."
"That's because Lord Kyle says so many things that require it."
It was true, so I couldn't argue.
The cathedral vanished completely, and we returned to the blue forest of B-7. A cold chill rose in the distance—Rhea's direction. In the opposite direction, red sword light flashed—Ciella's direction.
Edan spoke. "Which way next?"
I looked between the two directions. Rhea's chill was spreading wider. It felt less like controlled magic and more like cold leaking out as her emotions wavered. Ciella's sword light was irregular, no longer precise. Both were dangerous.
Then Noel's voice echoed in my mind.
— Can you hear me? You need to move quickly. B-7 has started connecting everyone's illusions to each other.
"Connecting them?" I asked.
— Yes. When one person's illusion collapses, the remaining illusions absorb that emotion. If you're late, the other two will only grow stronger.
Damn it.
Still holding my hand, Aria spoke. "Lord Kyle."
She was still pale, but her face no longer showed any desire to run away.
"This time, I'll help."
Her words were clearer than before. She wasn't saying she would heal. She was saying she would go together.
Edan also adjusted his grip on his sword. "Let's go."
I looked toward the direction where the cold was rising. Rhea first. Her illusion would strike at isolation and distrust. And that was a wound the Black Moon had already touched once before.
"We're heading toward Princess Rhea."
We ran through the blue forest. Aria didn't let go of my hand.
This time, I didn't let go either.