The priest was an elderly man with hair gone entirely silver, his face weathered by decades of devotion into something resembling ancient parchment—worn but resilient.
He untied the bandages from Asella's hands with careful, practiced movements, and as the final strip of cloth fell away, his expression brightened with genuine surprise.
"This is much better than I expected." His voice carried the gentle warmth of someone accustomed to delivering comfort. "Wounds inflicted by demonic beasts can be extraordinarily dangerous. The corruption in their claws tends to spread, resisting treatment, scarring the flesh permanently." He turned her hands over, examining them from multiple angles. "I don't know who treated these wounds, but they did so with remarkable skill. I believe a single session will suffice—there won't be a single scar left."
Asella's mind drifted back to that terrible night.
The monsters crashing through the carriage walls. Mariel's terrified screams. The certainty of death closing around them like a fist.
And then—*him*.
Calix Benvito had appeared at the most critical moment, saving them both when all hope had fled. Only his timely intervention had kept them alive.
*But why?*
*What does he gain from preserving us?*
Moreover, he had treated her wounds personally. It was his skill—not any physician's—that had allowed them to heal so well without priestly intervention.
"I wonder who performed this treatment," the priest continued, his curiosity evident. "Few people understand how to properly address injuries from such creatures. It would require a very skilled healer indeed—someone with extensive battlefield experience."
"It was His Highness."
"Truly?" For a moment, surprise flickered across the old man's features.
But he had lived long in this world, weathered many storms and witnessed countless unexpected turns. Very soon, his characteristic soft smile returned to settle comfortably on his face.
"Well then." He straightened, folding his hands before him. "Let us fill your body with divine power. If the sensation becomes too warm, please inform me immediately."
He began to chant in a low, melodious voice—words in a language Asella didn't recognize but somehow understood. Sacred syllables that resonated in her bones.
A pleasant warmth flowed into her arms.
It started at her fingertips and spread inward, like sunlight slowly filling a darkened room. The angry red scars on her hands—remnants of splinters and torn flesh—began to fade before her eyes. The marks softened, paled, and finally melted away entirely, leaving not a single trace of damage.
The skin on her hands became smooth again, as though the injuries had never existed.
And the warmth didn't stop there. It spread throughout her entire body, dissolving the deep exhaustion that had accumulated during the long journey. Tension she hadn't even realized she was carrying melted from her muscles. Her mind cleared. Her spirit lifted.
When the priest finally lowered his hands, Asella felt refreshed. *Renewed*. As though she had been gently cleansed from the inside out.
"There we are," the old man beamed, his smile reaching the corners of his eyes. "The treatment was very successful. However, the new skin on your hands remains thin and delicate. Please be careful with them for the next few days."
"Thank you."
Asella found herself genuinely pleased by this man's presence. She had never encountered anyone quite like him—this gentle authority, this unassuming warmth. There was something in the way he looked at her...
*Perhaps,* she thought with sudden, unexpected emotion, *this is how a grandfather looks at his granddaughter.*
She had never known her grandparents. The thought created a strange ache in her chest.
"Allow me to offer you a small gift," the priest said.
"A gift?"
"Yes." His eyes crinkled with something that looked almost like mischief. "You are a very unusual young woman, and I wish you good fortune in everything you undertake. I hope you will permit an old priest this small indulgence."
Asella didn't immediately understand his meaning.
But when comprehension dawned, her eyes widened with shock.
Behind her, Fabian drew a sharp breath. Even Margot—the unflappable Margot—looked momentarily stunned.
"But—but—" Asella began to stammer. "That's far too valuable—"
"Until now, I haven't had the opportunity," the priest continued serenely, as though she hadn't spoken. "But since His Highness has raised no objection, I would be honored to bestow my blessing upon you. If you will accept it."
*A blessing.*
*A divine blessing.*
Such gifts were so precious that their value defied description. Priests capable of bestowing them were extraordinarily rare—only those who had devoted entire lifetimes to monastic service could acquire the necessary spiritual depth.
And even then, the cost was immense. By giving a blessing, a priest depleted his divine power entirely. It would take a full year of constant prayer to replenish what was lost.
A year of his life, given freely to a stranger he had only just met.
"I would be very glad if you would accept my gift," the priest said gently.
Asella felt tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. She didn't understand *why* he would offer something so precious. She didn't understand what he saw in her that warranted such generosity.
But she recognized sincerity when she saw it.
"I will gratefully accept your gift," she said, and carefully lowered herself to her knees, bowing her head.
The old priest straightened before her, his posture suddenly solemn, his presence expanding to fill the room with invisible weight. He placed one weathered hand gently upon the crown of her head.
"By the sacred power of Gernia," he intoned, his voice resonating with power that seemed to come from somewhere far beyond this room, "the source of life upon this earth, the mother of all creation from the beginning unto the end..."
Light blazed forth from the monk's body—brilliant, blinding, pure.
Then the light transformed. A cluster of bright, multicolored radiance descended upon Asella, enveloping her from head to toe in swirling luminescence. The colors danced and spiraled with mind-bending speed—and then plunged directly into her body.
Unknown energy coursed through her veins.
Asella trembled as the power awakened every cell, every fiber, every forgotten corner of her being. It wasn't rough or overwhelming. It wasn't painful or frightening.
It felt like *protection*.
As though an invisible force were wrapping itself around her, shielding her from all harm. A warmth that settled into her bones and promised to remain.
And beneath the protection, there was something else. Something older. Something that felt almost like... *recognition*.
As though she had regained something important. Something she had lost long, long ago.
"May the blessing of Gernia be with you forever!"
The final words of the prayer rang through the chamber like bells.
When Asella opened her eyes again, she found the priest gazing down at her. His eyes were shining with undisguised happiness—but there was something else there too. Something deeper, something he wasn't saying.
*Joy concealing something more.*
But what? Asella couldn't determine the answer.
---
## — The Forest Road —
In addition to its high and powerful walls, Benvito fortress was protected by dense, seemingly impenetrable forests that stretched for miles in every direction.
"Are you certain everything will be alright?" The guard's concern was evident in his voice. "Please, I must insist—at least consider using the carriage."
"Thank you, but I must decline." Roshan smiled gently but firmly. "As the years pass, I find I enjoy walking more and more. Admiring the surroundings. Feeling the earth beneath my feet."
He set off down the road with surprisingly light steps for a man of his advanced years, his gray robes swishing softly against the packed dirt.
However, the moment the monk was certain he had moved beyond the reach of the guards' watchful eyes, he turned sharply from the road and vanished into the forest's embrace.
Hidden within a dense thicket, Roshan turned in a slow circle, carefully scanning his surroundings to confirm he was truly alone. Satisfied, he spoke in a clear, steady voice:
"Unlock movement magic. Gevium. Sacred Autonomous Prefecture. Daesijeon Central Hall."
A brilliant beam of light erupted from the ground directly beneath his feet. A cylindrical column of radiance surrounded the priest—
And he vanished.
The silent trees swayed their branches in a gentle rhythm, as though nothing had occurred at all.
---
## — The Hall of Prophecies —
"Welcome back safely, Father Roshan. The Great Holiness awaits you in the Hall of Prophecies."
"Thank you." Roshan inclined his head and set off immediately in the indicated direction.
Despite his advanced age, his movements were light and confident. His eyes sparkled with an energy that seemed almost youthful—the expression of a man carrying wonderful news.
*Perhaps he was in an exceptional mood. Thanks to someone he had met today.*
He moved toward the Hall of Prophecies so quickly that everyone who knew him turned to stare after his passing form in amazement. High Priest Roshan was known for his measured dignity, his unhurried grace. They had never seen him move like this—practically *running* by the time he reached the corridor's end.
Before he even arrived at the door, he snapped his fingers, using magic to swing the massive portal wide.
His eyes were met with a graceful back, covered by a cascade of rose-tinted hair that fell in waves all the way to the floor.
"Your Holiness!"
The figure standing in the center of the vast hall turned slowly to face him.
The divine power that saturated the space around her followed the movement, responding to every subtle shift of her nearly weightless body as though she and it were one continuous being.
Roshan felt the very air vibrate with sacred energy. Despite having encountered divine power countless times throughout his long life, each encounter still filled him with profound awe and admiration.
"May the great goddess Gernia bless you, Your Holiness." He bowed formally. "As you commanded, I am the High Priest Roshan. My mission has been fulfilled."
"High Priest Roshan—you have returned!"
Golden eyes sparkled, illuminating her perfect face with barely contained anticipation.
Whenever the viceroy of the great goddess Gernia—ruler of the Sacred Autonomous Prefecture of Gevium—experienced strong emotion, her eyes changed color. Now they glowed with the warm, captivating luminescence of precious amber.
The being known as the Supreme Holiness had inherited extraordinary divine power—so vast, so profound, that even ordinary people could sense its presence. But Roshan possessed the ability to *see* it: waves of golden light rippling outward from her form, filling the entire chamber with warmth.
"Did you return with good fortune this time?"
"Judith." A slight smile curved the priest's weathered lips at this informal address.
Judith had originally been Roshan's apprentice. From the moment the young woman—revealed to possess divine powers—had arrived in Gevium, he had raised her as his own daughter. One year ago, Judith had awakened as the new Saint, assuming her role when her predecessor entered eternal rest.
"Do you believe it's truly her?" A shadow of worry flickered across Judith's perfect features.
From the moment Roshan had departed for Benvito Castle, she had not dared leave the Hall of Prophecies. She had waited here, suspended in anxious hope, unable to eat or rest or think of anything else.
"Well? Why are you silent, Master?" She bit her lower lip nervously. Her hands clasped together so tightly that her knuckles turned white.
Noticing her agitation, the high priest released a long breath—a sigh of profound relief and joy.
*What should I say?*
He had prepared something grand and solemn for this moment. Words befitting the occasion's magnitude.
But in the end, he could only manage: "Everything is as we hoped."
"...!" Judith froze.
Despite having waited so long for exactly this answer, she found herself at a loss for how to respond. Her lips parted, but no words emerged.
Then clear streams of tears began to flow from the corners of her eyes, tracing silver paths down her cheeks. Soon her face was wet with them, her composure entirely dissolved.
But her expression was radiant—*blazing* with joyful emotion.
"We found her!" Her voice cracked with feeling. "We *finally* found her! I never would have believed such a thing possible." She laughed through her tears, wiping her face with the back of her hand. "Two people, both endowed with divine powers! And more than that—one of them has already received Gernia's blessing directly!"
She paused, her expression shifting to something more complex.
"I feel somewhat betrayed, you know. That Adele kept this secret even from *us*."
"To completely deceive the enemy, sometimes one must mislead even one's allies." Roshan's voice carried the weight of hard experience. "Besides—our enemy is no ordinary adversary."
"However..." Judith's golden eyes dimmed slightly. "While we were biding our time, Adele's two daughters were forced to endure horrific violence. I learned this from a priest who visited the Chartreuse household a month ago."
Her hands clenched at her sides.
"If only I had known sooner how those children were suffering, I would have done *everything* possible to rescue them."
"And bring them *here*?" Roshan's voice was gentle but pointed. "To this dangerous place?"
Judith couldn't find words to respond.
The High Priest continued, his tone heavy with reluctant wisdom:
"As you well know, the Temple is not safe. There are spies among the workers and even among the priests. Top-secret information leaks beyond our walls with disturbing regularity—only to return in the form of blades aimed at our faithful servants."
He shook his head slowly.
"The enemy's eyes and ears are everywhere. Only this Hall of Prophecies remains secure, protected by the power of Gernia herself. Were we to bring those children into the Temple, they would immediately become targets. Even if this Hall is safe, danger lurks everywhere beyond these walls. How long could we truly keep them protected?"
"I understand that." Judith's voice was barely above a whisper. "But I still regret—deeply regret—that I realized nothing. That I could do nothing to help."
She sighed, the sound weighted with bitter acceptance.
Unfortunately, the Temple wasn't merely a hive of spies. Well-trained assassins lurked everywhere, capable of infiltrating the sacred walls disguised as ordinary parishioners. Just recently, one of the priests had died under the most mysterious circumstances, and the already suspicious atmosphere in the Gevium Prefecture had reached a breaking point.
Yet the Temple lacked the power to reverse the situation.
Since Adele had died without revealing her plans to anyone, her two children had been forced to endure immense suffering and disappointment—sometimes bordering on utter despair. However, perhaps *only* because of this—only because they had remained hidden, unrecognized, unprotected—had they survived until today.
*Chosen by the Goddess.*
*The Chartreuse clan's inheritors of divine power.*
*They survived.*
And that was what mattered most.
However, Judith still struggled to accept the circumstances.
"And yet—to become the wife of the *terrible* Calix Benvito!" Fury sparked in her amber eyes. "I should have killed that bastard Philip with my own hands."
In response to this uncharacteristically harsh statement, Roshan merely shook his head.
"These are not words befitting the Great Holiness. You are supposed to be *above* human passions."
"To spare someone who deserves death—is that not itself a sin?"
"Can my precious Judith truly speak this way?"
"Are you certain it's *me* speaking?" Judith folded her hands in an exaggerated prayer gesture, then narrowed one eye and smiled meaningfully at her former master. "Perhaps Gernia herself speaks through my voice right now."
The priest could only shake his head, caught between exasperation and affection.
"Perhaps this was also part of Adele's plans," he offered.
"For what possible reason?"
"We're not meant to know." Roshan rubbed his temples, his expression tense as he attempted to make sense of the complex web of schemes and counter-schemes. "Ah, that Adele. Her gift was foresight—divine power meant to protect the future. She saw paths and possibilities that remain invisible to the rest of us."
But no matter how he tried, he couldn't unravel the intentions of the woman who had died so many years ago.
"In any case," he concluded with a sigh, "let everything proceed as fate wills."
"But *why* this particular person?" Judith pressed, her frustration evident. "Why Calix Benvito, of all people?"