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Chapter 37: Historia (1)
All sentient beings on this land believe in gods.
But not for political functions like religion often serves—it’s because gods actually exist and bestow blessings upon the world.
That wasn’t much different for humans.
Even back when they were slaves to other races—no, even before that—there were gods who granted their blessings to humanity.
Specifically: Fate and Hope.
Twin goddesses who lay upon the divine pantheon and govern the flow of the mortal realm.
Even just their names sound awe-inspiring.
And in truth, their ranks are among the highest of all the gods.
Which naturally raises a question: If such mighty gods exist, why were humans ever enslaved by other races?
The answer: I don’t know.
In fact, no one in the world knows.
Isn’t that obvious?
How could a mortal creation possibly comprehend the will of an almighty god?
That sort of grandiose discussion is better left to scholars.
So let’s talk about something more practical.
After gaining freedom and establishing a nation, the very first thing humans did was appoint bureaucrats to establish administrative systems and priests to serve the gods.
Some of those priests built temples on human soil.
Those temples gradually evolved, eventually forming what we now know as the Holy See.
And here’s where it gets important.
The Holy See serves two gods.
Naturally, that means there are two factions within it:
The Church of Fate, and the Church of Hope.
Two factions preaching different faiths in the same institution.
You can probably guess what that means.
“There’s a power struggle.”
The crown prince said with a slight smile.
Just as he said, there was constant friction between the two factions within the Holy See.
Thus arose the need for figureheads to assert the superiority of each faith—
Hence the creation of the Saint of Fate and the Saintess of Hope.
These titles were given to those within each sect who possessed the most exceptional potential of their generation.
That’s the background.
Now let’s dig a little deeper.
“Hope has never once defeated Fate.”
It’s always been Fate that steers the Holy See.
Hope merely lingers, kept around for appearance’s sake.
Why?
Simple.
“Because Hope never grants blessings.”
Since the liberation of mankind, the goddess of Hope has never once bestowed grace or revelation.
Only the followers of Fate have ever received divine blessings.
Thus, Hope’s legacy is barely preserved through those born with a spark of her divine power.
Even citizens of the Empire, when invoking the Holy See, refer only to the god of Fate—that tells you all you need to know about the disparity.
Still, when you get down to it, whether it’s Fate or Hope, aren’t they really the same?
“Can’t even stop one demon, and you’re calling yourself divine…”
Seen another way, it’s understandable.
After all, gods and demons are fundamentally the same in terms of hierarchy—they merely represent opposing directions.
A Saint is not a god—just a creation touched by divine blessing.
Which means, even if a common girl under the Church’s protection could banish a summoned demon, she would still be unable to perceive the very concepts manipulated by demons.
Anyway, let’s get back to the point and discuss the strategy we must take in this situation.
The crown prince sought to exploit their internal power struggle.
“It’s an opportunity for the Church of Hope. If the current Saint commits a blunder like Beatrice once did—or even shows signs of it—the Church of Fate will weaken. And the long-sidelined Church of Hope will have a chance to rise to the center of power. They’ve likely been waiting for just such an opportunity.”
“Indeed.”
“The factions are different. So even if the Church of Fate falls prey to some scheme, the Church of Hope may still retain suspicion and objectivity.”
“That’s also true.”
“Their political dynamics will be useful to us. If we can spark suspicion in the Hope faction, they may uncover the Saint’s irregularities without us lifting a finger. So I want you to influence the Saintess. She’ll probably go in your place for the preliminary investigation.”
From a political standpoint, it was a sound plan.
The oppressed tend to thirst for power the most.
But the crown prince had overlooked one crucial variable.
“Can you do it?”
I answered:
“It will be difficult.”
“Ha! If anyone can do it, it’s yo— Huh?”
“It will be difficult. Moving the Saintess.”
“Why not?!”
The prince’s smile faltered.
“Come now, Yuren. How can you talk about difficulty before even trying? That’s not like you!”
Maybe he thought I was afraid.
Judging by his flustered attitude, maybe he just thought I was being lazy.
He was wrong on both counts.
I told him what I knew.
“The Saintess is a clergywoman.”
“Of course. She wouldn’t be a Saintess otherwise!”
“I’m not talking about her job.”
“…Huh?”
If only things were that simple.
A sigh escaped me.
I tapped my chest with my finger.
“She is a clergywoman. That’s why she can’t be pulled into a political game.”
And as I spoke, I recalled her words:
—I choose to believe in the will to be good. Because that’s my duty.
Just remembering that uncomfortably radiant smile made my heart feel heavy.
* * *
When was it again?
I first heard of the Holy See’s downfall during my time in the dungeon—an era when I’d long stopped keeping track of days.
My sister told me during a visit.
“The Holy See has fallen. They say the Saint of Fate violated a taboo.”
It wasn’t about demon summoning.
The nation had already suffered once from Beatrice’s incident, leading to strict surveillance afterward.
The Holy See, in particular, was heavily criticized for failing to contain that incident, and its internal oversight on demonic activity had become intensely strict.
So, the taboo the Saint violated was something else.
“They say… he researched forbidden texts. No one knows when it began, but the research polluted the Holy See from within. All those with divinity either died or were crippled. Only those who weren’t deep inside survived…”
What the Saint did was horrific.
“…And they were left in forms no longer human.”
What he researched was the racial transformation experiments studied by the Night Races during the age of human enslavement.
A type of black magic so grotesque that it had no equal.
The tribe who created that magic was so reviled that the entire continent launched simultaneous assaults to wipe them out. That’s how abhorrent it was.
Racial transformation—a defiance of creation itself, a taboo that denies the identity of life.
No one ever learned why the Saint conducted such experiments.
Not even the man himself—because he was caught in his own disaster.
“When they found him, he’d already turned into a twisted mass of flesh. It was Sir Drenor, the knight commander, who delivered the final blow. He called the Saint’s form a ‘monstrosity that should never have existed.’”
The man had been consumed by the storm of his own forbidden experiment.
Twisted into something inhuman, and then slain by Drenor.
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His motives were lost to the void forever.
What happened afterward?
―The Holy See was criticized for failing to properly manage the release of forbidden texts. Well, it was a chaotic time. Because of that, the judgments handed down seemed more like arbitrary decisions.
Forbidden books discovered or acquired by the Empire were sent either to the Imperial Forbidden Archives or the Holy See’s Sealed Vault, depending on their type.
Among them, books related to species mutation experiments were kept in the Sealed Vault—because they were considered heretical from a theological standpoint that undermined the relationship between species and divinity.
The misconduct of the Holy See, who should have overseen that vault, was the charge at hand.
On top of that, with the person directly involved in the incident dead, responsibility floated without a proper anchor.
Meanwhile, the public was shaken by the accident.
Whatever the case, it was the imperial family that had to clean up the mess.
Now, here’s the unfortunate truth.
The Emperor of that time was the second prince.
The worst in the Empire’s history.
No, in the history of the concept of a nation itself, he was considered the most notorious tyrant—a wretch of a man, the second prince.
That man didn’t try to handle the incident himself.
Instead, he chose an easier, more cowardly path.
―The Saintess stood trial.
The Saintess, who had been in the closest position to observe and restrain the Holy One, was pointed out as the criminal and held responsible.
The second prince pinned the blame on her using methods that were borderline absurd.
And yet she, too, had not escaped the effects of the experiments unscathed—her body was… twisted beyond recognition.
―I didn’t see her myself, but… they say she hardly resembled a human. Even so, the Saintess stood in court in that state, bearing all the sins of the Holy See, and was imprisoned.
That day, my sister showed rare signs of sorrow.
―I don’t know if it was right to treat someone that way, someone who stayed to the end of the incident to stop the spread of contamination. It’s all very confusing.
Though she spoke mildly, my sister harbored deep anger at the second prince’s decision.
I didn’t say much.
After all, I was locked up, swinging a sword in prison—why would I care what happened to someone out there?
All I said about the Saintess at the time was this:
―What a fucked-up person. If it were me, I’d have run to the palace that instant and ripped the emperor’s head off.
…It was a bitter judgment, made during a very twisted phase of my life.
Anyway, that’s as much as I know about the Holy See’s accident.
And as I said, I only grew close to the Saintess later.
She was imprisoned in that twisted form.
And even in that state, she survived until the end of the Empire’s war.
What does that tell you?
―The Saintess? That grotesque thing?
―You fucking bastard, try watching your mouth for once.
―Hm? And why should I?
―I’m putting up with your ratty hobo face, aren’t I? Show some respect.
―Heh… it’s fine. Just like the Commander says, I’m no longer the Saint. The Holy See that so revered me is gone now. Just call me Historia.
That woman also served as a penal soldier during the war.
The Saintess, Historia, was the medic in my direct unit.
* * *
I’d been lost in thought for a while.
Then Emma came in with a message.
“Lord Pharos! Someone from the Holy See is coming!”
I opened my eyes slowly.
I saw my room, and beyond the window, the gardens of Pharos.
A white carriage was making its way across the grounds.
Surrounding it were paladins clad in gleaming white full plate armor.
I stood up and adjusted my clothing.
“I’ll go down.”
“Ah, yes. Um, the Lady is…”
“She’s not home. It’s better not to leave her here in such an unsettling atmosphere.”
My sister had an external appointment today anyway, so I asked her to head out early.
It would be awkward if she misunderstood how I was treating that woman.
Emma looked worried.
“Y-you won’t get caught in anything weird, will you? I heard the Holy See’s inquisitors are terrifying…”
“I am Pharos, idiot. If they want to come for me, they’ll have to be insane and ready to die.”
The fact that the crown prince had tried just that made me sigh anew.
Shaking off my thoughts, I left the room and went down the stairs.
I passed through the hall and out the front entrance.
And there, the carriage approached.
It drew nearer at a brisk pace.
Eventually, the paladins and the carriage came to a halt.
A brief silence.
One of the paladins, standing with perfect posture, opened the door.
And I couldn’t help but stare at the woman who stepped out.
Hair white as the first snow of winter, skin just as pale, golden eyes shimmering beneath long lashes.
That serene, radiant presence felt so unfamiliar.
‘Was this really her face?’
The Historia I knew had distorted facial muscles and eyes on her cheekbones.
Her arms had four joints, her back was hunched like a cripple, and she had three legs with featherless wings stuck to her back.
And her skin was a deep, dark purple.
And yet, this woman was apparently what she used to look like.
Suddenly, I remembered something Liam said once during a drinking session with the squad.
―Did you know our Saint was drop-dead gorgeous back in the day? I saw her once! From afar…
―I still think I’m pretty now!
―Ugh.
―Ugh? What’s that supposed to mean?
―Uh… Lieutenant?
―You dumbass, then why’d you bring it up?
―Lieutenant, what do you think of me?
―Get your face out of here. You’re ruining my appetite.
―Pfft! So cruel!
They said the Saintess was the most beautiful woman in the Empire.
That the goddess of hope must’ve bestowed her looks in place of her blessing.
‘And then what happened…?’
Right—after hearing all that, the crown prince just had to say something more and pissed off Historia.
She went to Hanna and confiscated all the prince’s cheeseburgers.
He ended up kneeling and begging her for forgiveness.
That day had been one of the rare funny ones amidst the horrors of war.
Some part of those times had become a memory to me.
Which is why a bitter smile slipped out.
“I greet the Lord of Pharos.”
It’s strange how memories feel like they belong to you alone.
I suppose that’s how it has to be.
We were strangers now.
We had become people who knew nothing of each other.
And so, I had become nothing more than a witness.
Time has never been merciful enough to take only my sorrowful moments.
Only after fully accepting that could I return her greeting.
“I greet the Saintess of Hope.”
My gut still churned.
Of course it did.
―Lieutenant, once you sleep on it, everything will be okay again.
Because this girl was the one who died miserably while trying to save me.
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