Chapter 37: The Saintess and the Thug: A Chance Meeting, Part 3

“…Make sure you take your medicine.”

Revan’s large coat, the one he favored, enveloped the Saintess, obscuring her elaborate attire and most of her form.

However, the alluring curves beneath were still subtly evident, and Revan, feeling a mixture of protectiveness (and a selfish desire to keep that beauty all to himself), spoke with a voice laced with concern.

[I know]

she signed, her expression weary.

For the past thirty minutes, he’d been fussing over her, repeating instructions any child would know.

If it were anyone else, even the kind Saintess would have excused herself.

His concern was bordering on obsessive.

Smothering, even.

Even the oblivious Saintess couldn’t help but notice.

“And if anyone suspicious approaches, call Simon,” Revan said, glancing at the fisherman, who was still gingerly touching his head where she’d healed him.

He seemed fascinated by the instantaneous healing, the complete absence of wounds or scars.

…I lost, Simon thought ruefully.

The spar itself had been a near draw, but it shouldn’t have ended that way.

Revan was far more technically skilled. Decades of training had honed his technique, transforming his ordinary, power-sealed body into that of a Transcendent.

But Simon’s raw power, his intuitive control of force, and his beast-like instincts were Revan’s undoing.

If he hadn’t stopped when he drew blood, he wouldn’t have lost so pathetically in front of the Saintess.

Driven by that regret, he asked her to leave the scar on his chest—a reminder, a promise to never lower his guard again.

[Lenas, I can take care of myself],

the Saintess signed, her cheeks puffing out slightly at Revan’s fussing.

A cute, but futile, protest.

“Yes, but please stay close to Si— I mean, please travel with Simon,” Revan corrected himself.

“Right, stick close to him.”

Simon patted his chest reassuringly. The massive harpoon had been folded (no one questioned the mechanics of it) to the size of an ordinary spear.

[Heehee, yes. I’ll use my best judgment]

the Saintess signed with a gentle laugh, pushing a stray strand of silver hair behind her ear.

A simple gesture, yet it hit Revan with the force of a thousand falling stars.

Already smitten, he cataloged another detail to obsess over.

Simon, still oblivious to her charms, simply stared, captivated.

She was beautiful.

Radiant, almost blinding.

Her flowing silver hair resembled the frothy crest of a wave.

Gazing into her eyes, Simon was reminded of his first failed hunt.

Pulled beneath the waves by a primordial beast.

The shimmering sunlight dancing on the water’s surface as his consciousness faded.

The mesmerizing light.

An ethereal beauty that held him captive.

Her eyes flickered, her gaze meeting his.

A small tremor, a ripple disturbing the surface of a placid lake.

“…Wow, what the actual f…”

Simon cursed softly,

a vulgar expletive unbefitting his rough upbringing.

He typically avoided such language, but the words slipped out unbidden.

Fortunately, no one seemed to notice.

Simon, mortified, berated himself internally.

[Simon, are you ready? We should be going. It’s getting late],

the Saintess signed, approaching Simon, who still had his face buried in his hands.

A question flickered through Simon’s mind, but he decided to ask it later: Why does that man call you ‘Mr.’ Lenas, but I’m just Simon?

 

***

 

“Yes, let’s go!”

The clatter of hooves filled the air as the waiting coachman urged the horses forward.

“…This is quite plush.”

[Yes, the Headmaster always gives me the best.]

She doesn’t seem to like it, Simon noted, observing the subtle displeasure clouding her eyes.

He decided against commenting on the carriage’s luxurious interior.

The Saintess seemed uncomfortable, idly tracing patterns on the stone tablet resting in her lap.

“There’s no railway to Baiton. Do you really intend to travel by carriage the entire way?”

[If there’s no railway, then that’s what we have to do. Once I set my mind to something, I see it through, even if others think it’s unreasonable.]

The Saintess smiled at him, but something seemed hidden behind her words, though devoid of malice.

Simon, sensing a secret, probed further.

“I see. But you said you hadn’t made any travel plans. Do you have anything prepared? Beach clothes, or anything like that?”

[Well, these robes are enchanted for temperature regulation. I didn’t pack much, just the essentials that fit in this bag.]

She gestured towards a sleek, black trunk beside her. An expensive-looking piece, clearly of high quality.

Did she only pack a purse?

The bag seemed out of place with her radiant persona. It lacked any femininity, its design more suited to a man.

“…That’s a rather drab bag.”

[Haha. Someone else will be using it soon enough. I’m just holding onto it for them.]

She ran a long, delicate finger along the bag’s smooth surface.

But Simon wasn’t looking at the bag.

Her eyes.

The eyes he’d so admired—something was amiss.

The color was the same, yet they seemed darker.

She was smiling, but her gaze was cold.

She was alive, but he sensed death.

It wasn’t a mistake.

His instincts, honed by a lifetime of hunting, screamed at him.

The Saintess was planning to die.

The same look he’d seen in his father’s eyes before his passing.

Lowering his voice, not with any threat, but with the quiet understanding shared between confidants, he asked,

“…What are you planning?”

The Saintess blinked, the shadow of death momentarily receding from her eyes. Then, with her usual radiant smile, she signed,

[You have good instincts, Simon. Well, since telling you won’t change the future, I suppose I can tell you.]

She didn’t seem concerned about sharing her secret.

Simon knew it would be revealed through the stone tablet, more subtly than any whispered confession, yet he remained silent, his body tensing in anticipation.

The words appeared on the tablet, etched with a weight far heavier than her usual light strokes.

[This nation is steeped in sin. Their accumulated karma, including their original sin, is immeasurable. So many have lived lives filled with more sins than there are people on this continent.]

“Isn’t that… normal? People sin. Very few truly atone.”

[But it’s not right! What becomes of them after death? They’re cast into the shadows, beyond the protection of the constellations, doomed to an eternity of unconscious slumber, or if they’re lucky, eternal torment.]

“Then they should pray for the constellations’ intervention. Isn’t that the basis of most religions in this country?”

The Saintess shook her head.

As if anticipating his response, she wrote quickly,

[The constellations are mere observers. The Saintess is the bridge between them and humanity. Mages barter for their power. I am a Saintess born with constellation magic, the closest to the stars there ever was, or ever will be.]

Simon struggled to breathe.

Before him sat a Constellation Mage, a once-in-a-millennium prodigy.

A Constellation Mage capable of leveling mountains and parting seas with a wave of her hand.

But she hadn’t revealed her greatest secret.

A plan so blasphemous, it bordered on divine.

[The constellations aren’t the omnipotent beings people believe them to be. They are simply incomprehensible beings of immense power, capable of granting immortality. And if you’re lucky, you can even kill them.]

“Kill… a constellation?”

Simon was speechless.

To him, a constellation’s immortality was an immutable truth, as fundamental as the law of cause and effect, the existence of time and space. Yet, with every word, his understanding of the world crumbled around him.

[Arina, the one I serve… to be honest, she’s a figment of imagination. The ‘Saint’ in Saintess doesn’t refer to ‘holy,’ but to ‘star.’ I wasn’t granted the power of a god, but chosen by the stars themselves.]

Her eyes shone with the fervor of a child finally confiding a long-held secret.

Her already radiant eyes sparkled like celestial bodies.

[I will not become a star. A constellation is a miracle among humans, a god is a miracle among constellations. I will become a god. Humanity’s hope, their dream, their true guiding star.]

[An omnipotent, immortal god who hears their worries and grants them hope. I’m not some arrogant fool from a fairy tale who merely dreams of godhood. I will achieve it.]

[I will gather all the filth and death of this world in my right hand and die. Because it is right. And in my left, I will hold the beauty and hope of this world. Then, I will be resurrected and eradicate the remaining enemies of all life…]

[…and become a god.]

The one most capable of performing miracles,

was embarking on a quest deemed impossible by all.

Simon finally caught his breath and asked,

“Why are you telling me this? This is… something no one should ever know.”

As if to lighten the heavy atmosphere, the Saintess smiled and rose from her seat.

The carriage moved smoothly along the paved road, undisturbed.

[Because you will be the cornerstone of my plan. You are the first person I’ve chosen to tell.]

“Cornerstone?”

[You are the unwavering rock. Not just a fisherman, but a fisher of men. That is why I wish to bestow upon you the title of First Apostle, Simon.]

Simon swallowed hard.

Had such a thing ever happened in the history of this continent?

Such an audacious, unbelievable plan?

A grin slowly spread across his face.

He was a hunter, a man, a warrior.

Reaching for the unattainable stars.

“Alright, sounds interesting.”

[I knew you’d say that. I have a name for you. Others may call you what they will, but you will remember this name.]

“What is it? I’m warning you, if I don’t like it, I’m out.”

The Saintess slowly raised her hand and placed it on Simon’s head.

Simon, unsure what she intended, knelt, preparing to close his eyes, then thought better of it.

He had to see what name she bestowed upon him.

[You are the bedrock upon which I will build my church. And I will give you the key. What you do on earth will be done in heaven. As a symbol of your unwavering resolve, like an immovable stone…]

[…I name you Cephas.]