God's Misjudgment
What he held was a white handkerchief. When he peeled back the single layer of cloth, the stiffly rigid carcass of a bird lay inside.
“It had fallen right beneath the prayer room window. It seems it failed to notice the glass mid-flight and collided with it.”
Just as he said, the area around the dead bird’s head was a bloody mess. The half-crushed skull was thoroughly grotesque.
The Pope let out a short sigh and accepted the dead bird. He covered it with the handkerchief once more and offered a brief prayer for the life that had so regrettably faded away.
“Born of the sky, return to the sky; under God’s call, may you be free for eternity.”
“The bird is so small… It’s too pitiful.”
Even faced with that horrific sight, compassion outweighed fear; fresh tears welled once more in Sena’s still-damp eyes.
“All life and death are by God’s will,” the Pope replied, stroking the child’s head.
God’s will, huh.
So the bird smashing its head into the window and dying, and her nearly getting her own head pierced because of it—all of that was supposedly God’s will?
In that case, it sounded far closer to a devil than a god.
She really should have flipped him off with both middle fingers and thrown in some proper curses instead of just one.
She was glaring discontentedly at the small goddess statue on the table, entertaining such thoroughly disloyal thoughts, when a calm voice suddenly cut in.
“It seems God has misjudged this time, however.”
What, did I say that out loud again?
She hurriedly shut her mouth, but everyone’s shocked gazes were directed not at her, but at the Pope.
“…Your Holiness?”
It was a blasphemous remark that one could hardly believe had come from God’s representative. Yet the man in question merely shrugged his shoulders with complete nonchalance.
“They say that hot fire and hundreds of hammer blows forge a sharp weapon, but can we really consider it a meaningful hardship and trial when an innocent life has been extinguished?”
“….”
“Above all, the Saintess nearly came to harm.”
His voice directed at her was endlessly soft and kind.
Just like back then.
“As it happens, walking is also my hobby. May I accompany you? It’s a bit worn, but please accept this as a bribe of sorts.”
After she had woken in the temple, wandering in a strange body and unfamiliar surroundings, the Pope had readily knelt before her when she fled barefoot from her room, willingly removing his own shoes to slip them onto her feet.
She stared blankly at the gentle smile that so vividly recalled that moment.
Was that consideration because he was a man who served God? Or was it simply because he was Cecilia’s godfather?
The man’s warm hand was now carefully stroking the back of hers.
Ah.
A heartwarming atmosphere formed, heavy enough to weigh on one corner of her heart for no particular reason.
“I will take proper measures so that an accident like this never happens again.”
No—formed, then vanished.
Don’t tell me ‘next time’ means during the Alms Festival ritual.
“So that the Saintess may participate in the ritual with peace of mind.”
Yep. That’s it.
She had thought that after an accident like this, talk of the ritual would quietly fade into nothing…
So all that concern was just buildup to force me into the ritual or whatever.
The emotion that had blossomed so tenderly in her chest like a sprout was ripped out by the roots in an instant.
Cecilia clicked her tongue inwardly and glanced down at her hand still held by the Pope.
Maybe a future of living with self-illuminating hands would have been better than being pointed at as a Saintess who can’t even use Divine Power.
Unfortunately, though, her hands had long since stopped glowing even a little.
Escaping the one-on-one audience with the Pope that had masqueraded as a recovery room only happened as the sun was beginning to set.
Having fled the Pope’s questions about her next temple visit, Cecilia only prepared to return to the mansion after she and Sena had buried the bird in a sunny spot.
I want to flop onto a bed already. I want to do absolutely nothing with extreme intensity.
Whether before or after possession, for a human who spent twenty-three of every twenty-four hours holed up indoors, today’s schedule had been far too harsh.
Utterly drained, Cecilia was trudging along when she suddenly noticed the emptiness at her left side.
“Why aren’t you coming?”
Nox, who had been clinging to her so annoyingly, had stopped several steps behind.
“Cici, go home first. I’ll check on the situation a bit more and then follow.”
“What situation?”
Just moments ago, hadn’t they personally buried the cause of today’s accident in the ground?
Is he just using that as an excuse to slack off?
Cecilia narrowed her eyes, heavy with fatigue. She had heard that Nox had been quite busy helping the marquis with work right after returning from the capital. It made sense he wouldn’t want to go home easily.
Unable to hide her distrust at the plausible hypothesis, she pressed him, and Nox answered with rare firmness.
“Because it might not have been an accident.”
What was that loaded line supposed to mean?
Is he just putting on airs because he wants to change the subject?
That, too, was a reasonable suspicion. But she was far too exhausted to dig any deeper. Cecilia gave a rough nod.
“Whatever.”
“So don’t get distracted—go straight home, got it?”
“I’ll handle myself.”
“Miguel, look after our kid for me!”
Apparently serious about investigating himself, he turned away without reacting much to her snippy reply.
In the end, the only one left was Miguel, who had followed to escort her to the main gate.
“Well then, shall we go?”
“Yes.”
When she had first been guided to the prayer room, Nox’s constant chatter had made it bearable. But walking side by side with a taciturn man she barely knew was so awkward she could hardly breathe.
“Ahem!”
Unable to endure the continuing silence, she forced out a pointless cough.
Yet the steadfast Holy Knight seemed to take it as an early symptom of illness, his expression instantly turning grave.
“Are you unwell?”
“No, this is just…”
“Of course—after experiencing something so major, my consideration was lacking.”
“Pardon?”
“I shall carry you.”
Did every single person in the temple have the habit of charging ahead without listening to others?
At the absurd proposal, Cecilia burst out.
“I’m fine!”
Ah, did I sound too disgusted?
Of course, the experience of being held in those broad, solid arms would be quite valuable in its own right, but the other party was none other than the deputy commander of the Holy Knights.
He wasn’t someone she could mess around with like Rien, and more than anything, her conscience still had at least an ant’s eye-crust worth of existence left—she couldn’t just shamelessly throw herself into his arms.
“…You disliked it that much.”
Her voice really had been too loud, it seemed.
His half-raised arms dropped back into place with a soft thud. Was it just her imagination that his slumped shoulders looked bitter?
Cecilia hurriedly added an excuse.
“It’s not that I dislike it—I just feel bad.”
“You need not console me. I am accustomed to rejection.”
“Pardon? You are?”
Momentarily losing her grip on reality, Cecilia looked up at the man with a crooked gaze.
Silver hair glittering as it scattered in the wind. Blue eyes rippling in the sunset. Broad shoulders that made the plain white ceremonial robes look almost uncomfortable, and a solid physique to match.
“Yes. Especially the ladies I have escorted all blush and tremble so unpleasantly that…”
That’s because they’re so excited and nervous they can’t help it.
It was a familiar world-building trope. Introverted, taciturn, good at fighting, and on top of that handsome enough to be wildly popular—yet he himself has no idea. The protagonist, even random side characters, all send him looks of admiration, but he alone remains oblivious!
And the protagonist of that ridiculous world-building was standing right here.
“It wouldn’t be because they find you unpleasant. I swear it on the Weberdin name.”
The man tilted his head slightly, looking curious about the reason.
Isn’t it because they get butterflies every time you do that?
Swallowing a line far too inappropriate to offer a clergyman, Cecilia hurriedly turned her head away. She and Rien weren’t even anything yet, but her inner Confucian measuring stick would never permit her heart to flutter over some unrelated man.
Just then, a group of priests caught at the edge of her vision. They happened to be near the site of the accident and were cleaning up beneath the familiar building.
“Looks like the cleanup isn’t finished yet.”
“Yes. Of all places, for the accident to occur in the Second Prayer Room…”
Miguel trailed off awkwardly.
Unlike the main prayer room where the Pope and the faithful had emerged, the Second Prayer Room was smaller in scale, but one entire side of its ceiling was made of stained glass.
Of all places for a bird to fly into.
Talk about rotten luck.
“I see.”
Cecilia stared blankly at the gaping hole in the ceiling and the multicolored debris scattered thickly outside the building.
The glass fragments reflecting the sunlight looked just like broken soju bottles…
Wait. Outside the building?
She stopped dead in her tracks.
At the time of the accident she had been too out of it to notice, but…
If the bird had flown in from outside, shouldn’t most of the shards have poured inward?