SOTBW - 175

The unfamiliar woman approached Raelhag, tapping her cane on the messy floor.

Raelhag asked her in return.

“…If life is only filled with suffering, why must we live?”

The woman knelt beside Raelhag. With her hands clasped beneath the cross, she answered kindly.

“Even in the face of trials that cannot be overcome, if you do not give up on life and continue to exist, you become hope itself. All life is not found in despair and pain, but in opportunities and hope. Just as Sylin supports the world from the boundary of reincarnation, we too must live silently. However, if you wish to understand the meaning of your life and know that you are living as your true self, I will help you. Life only shines when we center it on joy, not pain. To endure life does not mean to endure pain, but to cherish the many encounters, experiences, and emotions given to us, hoping for the return of those days.”

The woman, with her blind eyes, looked at Raelhag clearly. Without words, he knew. She, too, was a holy power user, just like him.

With her hands neatly placed on her lap, she asked Raelhag.

“Wandering brings about experience, and experience sustains life. But aimless wandering only makes our souls uneasy. What was your purpose? What did you wish to confirm on this hot, cold, and dangerous journey? Please, tell me.”

Her voice carried a deep resonance, as if she truly cared for Raelhag.

“I just wanted to know who I am,” Raelhag confessed, something he had never shared with anyone during his wandering.

“I wanted to live like Raelhag, as people wished… but strangely, it felt as if I had taken someone else’s body. I am Raelhag, but I cannot become Raelhag… I have to take responsibility for this life, but I don’t know what to do…”

Releasing the worries that had burdened him since his resurrection, Raelhag’s tears fell.

“I don’t see any hope… I can’t even gather the courage to love myself… I just… feel like I’m standing alone in the ruins.”

Raelhag could no longer contain his emotions and cried bitterly. The woman, feeling her way through the air, gently touched his cheek. Through her thin fingers, warm tears flowed relentlessly.

“Lord Rakhshu Elgort said that one person’s life is like a world of its own. But for that world to shine and have meaning, it must be understood and loved by someone. So, asking such a question means… no one loves your world. Ah… should I say you’ve forgotten the people who once loved that world, since you’ve lost your memories?”

The woman, wiping away his tears, held Raelhag’s hand tightly.

“To live, one must love their own world. But it seems you don’t have the capacity to love yours… If it’s alright, I would like to be the first stranger to understand your new world.”

Raelhag stopped crying and looked at the woman, only to realize that the entrance to the cathedral was now full of priests. They did not approach him to kneel or utter words of worship, but only greeted him with a distant, respectful glance.

Sunlight poured in through the stained glass behind the cross. Raelhag realized that whether he wanted it or not, it was time to end his wandering.

The blind woman helped Raelhag to his feet and introduced herself.

“Nice to meet you, Raelhag Ranimanes. I am Letimes Opener, the seventy-first Pope of the Holy Church. We have been waiting for you to come here for a long time.”

Letimes gave Raelhag the name “Gwyneth” and the surname “Spello.” From that day onward, Gwyneth served Pope Letimes, the one who had held his hand.

How much time had passed since then...?

Living as an archbishop still didn’t sit well with Gwyneth. Like any group with power, the Holy Church wasn’t exactly a place of purity. Still, Gwyneth became an archbishop for the Pope, who had held him.

Gwyneth couldn’t predict the future like the Pope or heal people like Boris, but he could give warmth to the poor so they wouldn’t freeze to death. That was something only he could do.

That was enough. Whatever the reason for becoming a holy power user, as long as he could do his best in whatever he was given in each moment...

Gwyneth looked at Amelia. He couldn’t know exactly why she hesitated to become a priest, but he appreciated her carefulness.

“Are you curious why I recommended the priesthood to you?”

Gwyneth asked Amelia casually.

Amelia honestly replied.

“I am curious, but since you said it was a secret, I didn’t ask. There must be a reason for keeping it secret.”

“That’s right. I was worried that if I told you everything, you might become arrogant. But seeing you today, I think it’s okay to tell you everything.”

Gwyneth stood up from the bench and looked down at Amelia.

“Right now, you possess divine power equal to, if not greater than, mine. That’s why I recommended the priesthood to you.”

“…Divine power, you say?”

Amelia tilted her head, looking at him with disbelief. Her eyes clearly reflected that she was sure she had neither divine power nor any significant strength.

Gwyneth chuckled, as if he had expected this reaction, and gently brushed off the dirt from Amelia’s hair.

“Most people have only a very small amount of divine power. But someone like you, who has a vast amount, is nearly unheard of. You are special, Amelia. Having divine power close to that of a holy power user is truly extraordinary.”

“But I’ve never performed any miracles in my life. Are you sure you’re not mistaken?”

“Hmm. Are you doubting my eyes, or are you doubting your own potential?”

Gwyneth’s question surprised Amelia. She quickly shook her hands, as if to signal that she didn’t intend to argue.

“I’m not trying to deny your words. It’s just that I’m a peasant, and up until recently, I was a maid... I’m just an ordinary person...”

“Everyone is born ordinary.”

Gwyneth spoke kindly, as if not upset by her words.

“You seem to feel insignificant, but that’s far from true. Being ordinary means having infinite potential. You can be anything, Amelia.”

Gwyneth patted Amelia on the shoulder, as if encouraging her. Amelia clasped her hands together and awkwardly smiled. Gwyneth handed her the glass jar with the flame inside.

“I promised to wait for your answer, so I won’t push you. But when you’re ready, don’t hesitate to come to me.”

“Why are you giving me a choice?”

As Gwyneth turned to leave, Amelia hurriedly asked. Gwyneth calmly looked back at her.

Amelia looked conflicted, unsure of what to do. Instead of answering her question, Gwyneth gestured toward the jar in her hand.

No matter how holy Gwyneth’s flame was, if it were small enough to fit in a glass jar, it would soon extinguish. But the flame inside the jar kept burning at a steady size, as if it were continuously fed by unseen fuel. It was obvious what the flame was burning.

Amelia, fiddling with the warm jar, sighed deeply and looked at Gwyneth.

“As you said, if I have divine power, then surely you should use it to make me a priest, even by force. Why do you keep giving me the right to choose?”

Amelia’s doubt was valid. People born with divine power almost always become priests. Even if they don’t want to, they are often pushed into it by those around them.

Yet Gwyneth had given Amelia a choice. It seemed as if he wouldn’t force her into the priesthood if she didn’t want to. This attitude made Amelia question whether she truly had divine power inside her, as Gwyneth claimed.

Gwyneth noticed the negative conviction within Amelia’s question. No matter how hard she tried, she felt that she could never be anything more than Amelia Royan, the peasant. This was a glass ceiling she had created for herself, a common mindset among peasants who had spent their whole lives doing hard labor.

Gwyneth could have said something comforting to protect her pride, but after a brief moment of thought, he decided to speak honestly.

“If you don’t choose to become a priest, what would be the point? Becoming a priest in this world means you must abandon yourself and dedicate yourself to helping others. You’ve been to the relief station, right? Have you seen the priests who struggle to save soldiers there?”

Recalling her experience at the relief station, Amelia nodded with a somber expression.

“No matter how hard the priests try, there are always more soldiers who are discarded as corpses at the crematory than those who walk out of the station alive. Becoming a priest means knowing that only one in a hundred will survive, yet you must strive to save that one. The healing priests stay at the relief station with that mindset. And since you have a significant amount of divine power, you will likely become a healing priest. The virtue needed for a healing priest isn’t compassion, but sacrifice. I can’t force you to become a priest. How long do you think someone who was pushed into the role would last in this fortress?”

Amelia remembered the priests who were covered in blood and bandages, rushing frantically from one patient to the next.

They would embrace the bodies of deceased soldiers, say a prayer, and then run off again to tend to someone else. The sick were many, and holy water was absurdly scarce, yet the priests’ divine power had limits.

Amelia pressed her lips tightly together as she thought of the soldiers crowded in the relief station. She hadn’t even considered the possibility of working in such a place. She had always thought being a priest meant praying or cleaning at the church.

Gwyneth, noticing the shadow in Amelia’s expression, gave a small smile.

“Are you giving me a look of resentment, wondering why I didn’t explain things in detail?”

Though his voice was calm, a bitter smile appeared on Gwyneth’s face.

“Amelia, we live in a world where boys who should be pampered by their parents are fighting on the battlefield to protect the country. In such a world, you can’t just pray useless prayers as a priest while wasting money.”

“If I become a priest…”

Before Gwyneth could finish speaking, Amelia opened her mouth.

“…If I become a priest, will I be able to help someone who is bleeding and collapsing on the battlefield?”

Gwyneth quickly realized that the person she was referring to was Najane.

Priests don’t go out onto the battlefield. They might take time to train, but most priests spend their days making holy water or treating the wounded. More importantly, the loss of a single priest is too great.

But if someone who was once a swordsman became a healing priest...

Gwyneth placed his hand on his waist and looked at Amelia.

“Maybe.”

His response was vague, but there was hope in his voice. Amelia’s eyes widened in response. Seeing her reaction, Gwyneth smiled.

“Priests don’t wield swords, but every beginning has its own way. If you become a fighting priest, many things might change.”

With a serious tone, Gwyneth asked Amelia.

“Will you not give up the sword?”

“Not for now.”

Amelia’s response was firm. Gwyneth, as if understanding her resolve, raised the corners of his mouth into a slight smile.

“Hang in there, Amelia. From now on, I hope your life will be filled with choices that are truly for you.”