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[Translator - Tangrine ]
[Proofreader - Seeker ]
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Chapter - 31: The world in suffering
Late one evening, Nova felt the sorrow of a single soul.
She was a noble’s daughter.
Born the youngest of a greedy lord who ruled over many estates, her fate had been sealed the moment she came into this world, a pawn in a political marriage she never asked for.
To those nobles who bore divine names, bloodline was of supreme value.
And so, her engagement was determined not for love, but for lineage.
She was intended for nothing more than to produce an heir.
And she hated it.
She didn’t yearn for a fairy-tale romance.
She wasn’t even asking for the thrill of courtship like everyone else.
All she wanted was to see the face of the person she was to marry.
To speak, even a few words. To make the choice for herself.
But the ‘world’ was cruel enough to crush even a wish that small.
["So this so-called divine medicine was useless on the young lady after all. Works decently on cuts and bruises, I suppose... but it doesn't seem to cure all illnesses like the rumors say. Well, that's how rumors in the slums are."]
She faked her illness. She wouldn’t speak. She wouldn’t open her eyes. She wouldn’t move.
She let her body go, even in its natural functions.
Even as insects crawled across her skin, she didn’t flinch.
It was torture.
But then again, isn’t life torture anyway?
She was powerless enough to endure her helplessness.
['I hate it all. I just... I wish everyone would die. Me included.']
Nova pondered, What sort of treatment would she need?
If she were to drain every drop of that girl’s noble blood and fill her veins with the filthy, foul blood of the slums—Would her fate change?
- “Just say it to that fucking bastard lord, ‘I refuse this garbage of a marriage!’”
"..."
Nova ignored Gigachad’s shouting beside her.
Instead, she listened closely to the noblewoman’s pain.
Her god was a god who watched over all.
So the pain of birth and the pain of death—they were hers to carry.
['It’s not like I wanted to be born into nobility. I didn’t choose this beauty, or this talent... If all of it only serves to increase my value as breeding stock, then I’d rather have been born ugly. Uglier than anyone.']
"It’s your nobility—that’s your disease."
['Honestly… I wish I had never been born at all.']
"Even the fairest heifer is doomed on the day of judgment. Beauty is vanity, and grace is hollow."
At that moment, black blood began to pour from the young woman’s body.
Her flesh writhed. Swollen lumps bulged from beneath her skin.
Bones twisted. Her skin split.
Her sweat gave off a damp, nauseating stench.
A hideous face that no one could look upon without revulsion.
She had lost all value as a broodmare.
No stallion would claim her now.
- “What the fuck—was that seriously a treatment?”
"……."
- “She doesn’t need healing. Her suffering doesn’t come from being born noble. The real problem is that she has no control over her own life. What she needs right now is to get her heavy ass out of that bed and fight that bastard lord!”
"How can a healthy person understand a sick person?"
He was right.
Perhaps what she truly needed was to rise and fight for herself.
But not everyone is healthy enough to stand on their own.
“A person’s spirit can endure sickness, but when the spirit itself is broken, no one can stand up on their own.”
To say that her will was the problem might be an accurate diagnosis, but it was far from a proper prescription.
- “So what, if it’s legs, you’ll cut it off?”
“If that’s what’s necessary, then yes.”
- “Great. If it’s the head that’s sick, you’ll cut that off too?”
“……”
The Saintess remained silent.
There was no need to answer a sharp tongue with sharper words.
Crooked words were poison that spread quickly.
And in the end, every word thrown would return to pierce the speaker.
- “You fucking idiot. I am your inner self. I’ve told you over and over—you can’t run from yourself.”
Gigachad’s tone was serious, but his words were wrong.
She could run from herself, as much as she needed to.
Since there is no unchanging ‘self’...
There is no reason to identify the heart with the self.
This was just another ailment of the soul—one to be overcome.
“Father, I have sinned in thought, word, and deed.”
Still, there were some things the Saintess didn’t know.
Gigachad wasn’t her ‘inner self.’
And ‘cutting off the head because the head is sick’ wasn’t just a metaphor.
It was a prophecy of her future.
·
·
·
The House of Count Hart was abuzz with two pieces of news.
The young lady was healed. The young lady had fallen ill.
At a glance, the news seemed contradictory.
One illness had passed, and another had taken its place.
“It’s good that Amelia has awakened… but with her looks ruined like that, no noble family will take her. Tsk.”
The count’s daughter.
Rarely called by her name, Amelia—
She had always been the greenhouse flower, known only by the worth of her bloodline.
And now, she had suddenly become hideous.
From the perspective of Count Hart, who had meant to use her as a tool for political alliance, this was an enormous problem.
Who would embrace a woman so repulsive?
“Did some witch curse her out of jealousy for her beauty?”
“Shall we summon the Hero…?”
“No. Just give up. This is for the best. She can walk on her own now—less need to spend on servants.”
“Understood.”
And just like that, the girl was left alone.
Letting such a hideous creature roam the territory bearing the name of Hart would be a disgrace…
But still, she was of Hart blood.
They couldn’t dispose of her so carelessly.
And so, Amelia was given the freedom she had only ever dreamed of.
“Angel! Thank you so much!”
No more forced political marriage.
No one is demanding anything from her.
She was no longer powerless.
No one needed to act on her behalf ever again.
It was a joyous thing.
Truly, a joyous thing that she instinctively glanced at the mirror.
“……Uegh!”
It was still her face, but it was so hideous that it made her vomit.
She laughed while vomiting.
·
·
·
A month passed.
[“Angel, I’m… so lonely. My heart hurts. Everyone hates me… Was I born just to suffer?”]
“……”
Nova had healed many.
Some bore sickness so deep it could never be washed away—
So Nova bled for them.
However, when one illness fades, another always takes its place—
That is the truth of life, aging, sickness, and death.
Suffering never ends.
["I wish I weren't lonely…."]
New illnesses require new prescriptions.
The newly hideous Amelia had grown miserable.
It was loneliness.
She felt lonely because she could not feel loved.
And so, the Saintess preached to her the joy of loving others.
It is fine, even if you are not loved.
One can truly say they are not lonely only when they are the one who loves.
[“Angel… why can’t I help the one I love? I feel so helpless.”]
And so, she became miserable from that love.
The powerlessness of not being able to help someone dear, the pain of losing someone she loved—Such feelings turned her pitiful and broken.
The greater the love, the greater the agony of separation.
[“Angel… why am I…”]
And each time, the Saintess offered a new prescription.
As one illness was cured, another lifted its head anew.
[“Angel……”]
Suffering is a great turning wheel—endlessly spinning, circling back again and again.
There is no end to suffering.
Because suffering exists only in the heart.
The more one clings to suffering, the deeper the pain becomes.
[“I……”]
In the end, the only way to sever suffering is to sever attachment.
[“……”]
The Saintess gave her final treatment.
[“Love one another.”]
[“Love your neighbor as yourself.”]
[“Love your enemies.”]
[“Ah…! It doesn’t hurt anymore. I understand now! I’m not alone. Everyone was no different from me after all.”]
Amelia became one with the Saintess—
Just like so many other patients before her.
As she gazed at the Saintess, who now bore the entirety of one person’s sorrow, and suffered for it.
Gigachad opened his mouth.
- “You Fucking Asshole. Noappy. You know, don’t you.”
“……”
- “A doctor who gives the same prescription to every patient isn’t a good doctor. If there are 100 patients, there should be 100 different prescriptions. That’s what real doctors do. They face each one individually.”
“……”
- “You’re not a doctor. You’re an undertaker.”
“……”
- “How long are you going to stay silent? Get up. Stand in front of the mirror. Look at your face.”
“……”
- “You can’t run from yourself.”
Nova looked into the mirror.
A young girl suffering from a terrible disease stared back.
“……Father.”
Nova took on all of the others’ suffering.
She was strong enough to endure every one of their suffering.
“Please… save me from this illness…”
But she could not take on her suffering.
The tiny flaw embedded in her very cells was the one thing she could never heal.
“Yet not my will, but Yours be done……”
She was born with a disease that slowly killed her from within.
Its name was Malignant Tumor.
- “Noappy. The only one who can save you is you.”
"People are..."
- “Say what you feel.”
“I…”
Nova looked at Gigachad.
That was a sickness of the heart. And the heart cannot be deceived.
That absurdly healthy body—an illusion—was precisely the ideal she wished for.
“I cannot save myself.”
In truth, she wanted to be healthy.
“I suffer from a disease that can only be healed through suffering.”
To bear the suffering of others.
A vitality strong enough to overcome all that pain.
This was the only power she possessed.
If she is to become healthy, she needs suffering.
“This suffering is mine alone. It belongs to me. I will keep it.”
Because all things in this world are suffering.
She loves this world because her disease can only be healed by suffering.
This world exists solely to make her well.
“I do not want to give up this suffering.”
In this world, only she is precious.
Since the whole world is suffering, she must bring peace.
“So, get lost.”
The first true words she ever spoke.
And Gigachad’s reaction, upon hearing her inner truth.
- “Good job. Finally, you’re speaking like a Fucking Lion.”
“...I will revise my diagnosis. You are a devil.”
- “That’s weird. I am your inner self.”
“Then I must be the devil.”
- “Haha!”
===================
“Is it cancer?”
“Yes. That’s why she appears as a young girl. Because as she grows, so do the cancer cells.”
“So is her real age older than she looks?”
“Who knows?”
Nova’s age does not appear in official profiles.
So it can only be guessed.
“Well, maybe age doesn’t matter.”
“Hmm.”
“Because in the end, she’ll die at that age.”
“...How tragic.”
“Yeah. This world is like that, after all.”
My goal is for the Saintess to voluntarily relinquish her power.
And the Saintess’s powers ‘bearing pain’ and ‘overcoming pain’ are the same power.
“Still, isn’t that better than destruction?”
In other words, the moment I achieve my goal, the Saintess will die.
No, let me rephrase.
Nova, who is no longer the Saintess, will die.
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[Translator - Tangrine ]
[Proofreader - Seeker ]
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