Chapter 17
Parman, one of those in charge of managing the basement of the Grand Temple of Portplum, was a deeply devout believer in the Sun God Raspalara.
It was as though he had been born to be a follower of the Sun. His faith was profound, and he was so sincere and upright that everyone in the Grand Temple acknowledged it.
Because of this, he had earned trust early on. Despite not holding a particularly high position, he had been entrusted with the duty of managing the basement where the holy relics were stored.
Rather than growing arrogant over it, Parman offered prayers of gratitude to the Sun God Raspalara and devoted himself wholeheartedly to the role given to him.
Parman lived frugally, and his days usually followed the same pattern.
Before dawn had fully broken, he would rise, finish his prayers, and greet the worshippers who came for the morning service.
After completing his duties as a priest, he would descend underground and thoroughly sweep and polish the vast storage chamber where the holy relics were kept.
That was essentially the entirety of his major responsibilities, and as a result, Parman’s weeks passed in a very simple, repetitive manner.
However, that day was different.
A member of House Reschenhardt, a bloodline blessed by a great ancient dragon, had come to the Grand Temple of Portplum seeking the aid of the Right Hand of the Halo—a relic that was not publicly disclosed—having knowledge of its existence.
Parman had been greatly startled, but upon hearing that Ianpel himself would receive them, he felt reassured.
Ianpel was the true saint of this era, a wise and virtuous man.
His devotion to Raspalara was known to be genuine, so much so that among all priests aside from the Pope, he was said to possess the greatest healing power.
Moreover, not long after Bishop Martio had begun openly flaunting himself, Ianpel had arrived in Portplum, as though to put a stop to it.
After that, how quiet the temple had become.
For these reasons, Parman had gradually come to hold boundless reverence for Saint Ianpel.
Thus, when the bloodline of Reschenhardt arrived, he volunteered to descend into the basement alongside them, hoping to be of assistance to the saint.
And to keep watch, in case they harbored any ulterior motives.
‘If they show even the slightest suspicious sign…!’
Parman was scrutinizing Aquila Reschenhardt—and especially Yujelia—with eyes ablaze when it happened.
“Water…!”
The surface of the Right Hand of the Halo shimmered, and then water suddenly began to well up and spill forth.
It was a sight that even Parman, who had managed the holy relics in the basement for many years, had never seen before.
It was the scene described in the recorded anecdotes.
Like the primordial moment when the Sun God Raspalara had extended the chalice received from the Goddess of Springs to save those he favored.
Standing alone at the center of it all, Aquila Reschenhardt did not appear flustered at the sight of the gushing water, as though he had expected it.
As he lifted the relic, his hood slid down at an unhurried pace, revealing his hair.
It was then that Parman saw it for the first time.
Hair as red as blazing fire.
“Ah…!”
Someone let out a sigh that sounded like a cry torn from their chest.
Everyone must have felt the same.
Until Aquila Reschenhardt, drenched from receiving the spring water, finally lowered the holy relic, everyone present watched the scene in breathless silence.
The first to move was none other than Ianpel.
As if snapping back to himself, the saint tightly grasped Aquila’s hands that held the Right Hand of the Halo and asked urgently,
“The curse! What happened to the curse…!”
His frantic voice trailed off.
Then, all of a sudden, he cried out, “Raspalara, heavens above!”
“This cannot be! I can feel the dark shadow that had been cast over your body retreating! Ah, the benevolence of Raspalara…!”
Tears welled in the saint’s mysterious pale lavender eyes and streamed down his face.
Watching them, Parman felt a thunderous shiver run through his entire body.
The sight of Ianpel and Aquila in that moment seemed so sacred that it deserved to be passed from mouth to mouth as legend.
At least, to Parman, it did.
A lingering sensation gently swept over his whole being.
“A miracle… A miracle…!”
The water that had spilled from the chalice flowed all the way to his feet, soaking the tips of his shoes.
Parman clasped his hands together as if in prayer and muttered unconsciously.
His eyes were filled with awe.
Before Parman’s eyes stood a miracle.
***
Aquila collapsed onto the bed as though throwing himself onto it.
After being drenched and finally managing to wash up, the place felt like paradise itself.
“Do not lie down with your hair still wet, Young Master.”
Seeing this, Shen immediately began to scold him.
Regardless, the bedding was so soft that Aquila had no desire to get up.
When he went completely limp, as though becoming one with the bed, Shen let out a deep sigh.
After the events at the temple, Aquila’s group decided to stay the night in Portplum.
They had not planned to leave immediately to begin with, and there had also been a strong request from Ianpel.
Although things had ended well, the water gushing from the Right Hand of the Halo had not been part of Ianpel’s planned scenario.
His pale lavender eyes had burned with fierce curiosity.
Seeing that look, Aquila had expected Ianpel to grab him immediately and demand an explanation.
But Ianpel did not do so.
That was because even after Aquila obtained the skill, the water flowing from the Right Hand of the Halo did not stop.
“Is there any record of when the water flowing from the holy relic stops?”
“…I will check immediately and return!”
Startled by the saint’s question, Parman rushed out of the basement.
It did not seem like something that would be resolved quickly.
And it was clear that the saint had intended to keep Aquila there until the water stopped flowing.
That would have been the case, if not for Shen’s vehement protest.
“Yujelia. Can Divine Power cure a cold?”
“What? No… I can make someone feel more comfortable for a while, but I cannot cure it completely. Just like motion sickness.”
After hearing Yujelia’s explanation, Shen protested fiercely.
No matter that the Curse of Deadly Poison had been lifted, Aquila’s body was publicly known to be frail.
More importantly, it had not been long since he had coughed up blood, and before arriving in Portplum, he had suffered severe headaches from teleportation sickness.
From Shen’s perspective, having witnessed all of this firsthand, leaving Aquila as he was made no sense at all.
This attendant carefully phrased what was essentially, “Surely a great saint like you does not intend to keep someone who is ill detained,” stretching it into several polite sentences.
In the end, Ianpel had no choice but to postpone questioning Aquila until the next day.
After all, the deal had gone well.
No, not merely well—it could be called the best possible start.
One reason Ianpel had let Aquila go so readily was likely because his attention had already turned to how best to make use of what had happened today for maximum effect.
And so, Aquila’s group came to stay at a lodging in Portplum that the saint himself had recommended.
Aquila lay sprawled across the bed, pulling a pillow toward him.
‘Still, seeing that look of shock on his face was worth it. You really do live long enough to see everything.’
Thinking leisurely, he rolled around on the bed.
“Is it really all right for me to stay at this lodging as well? I do have a room at the temple…”
“What if the bishop comes barging in and causes a scene?”
“That is right, Yujelia! There are three rooms anyway!”
Shen nodded vigorously in agreement with Aquila’s indifferent remark.
This lodging was among the finest in Portplum.
It was expensive, but the service was impeccable, and as such, it was famous as a place where visiting nobles stayed.
“But…”
“Rumors will spread quickly. Other priests may come looking for you. Would it not be better to stay here?”
Before leaving the temple, Aquila had seen the face of one priest watching him, filled with the awe of someone who had witnessed a miracle.
So no matter how much Ianpel enforced silence, rumors were sure to spread rapidly.
Even if it was not Martio, another priest might seek out Yujelia.
After hesitating, she finally nodded at Aquila’s words.
‘Once the rumors spread, everyone in the Grand Temple of Portplum will know of the basement’s existence. That will be one more mess Ianpel has to clean up.’
The Grand Temple of Portplum—or rather, the Temple of the Sun itself—might soon face an unexpected turn of events.
They would have to explain why they possessed a holy relic of the Sun God yet kept it hidden from the outside world.
Still, it did not seem like it would work to the temple’s detriment.
Not after Ianpel had gained the card of lifting the Curse of Deadly Poison.
‘If only the matter of pursuing the Temple of the Night and the Guild of Darkness goes smoothly.’
Now that it was known they were connected to the curse, the Temple of the Sun would pursue them regardless, if only to restore its damaged prestige.
After finishing that line of thought, Aquila’s attention quickly shifted elsewhere.
To curiosity about the skill he had gained today.
“Then… would it be all right if I went to the Temple of the Sun for a short while?”
Aquila was about to call up the System window when he looked up at Yujelia’s words.
“For what reason?”
“If I am to travel with you, I need to gather my belongings. And… I would also like to visit the orphanage.”
Once again, Yujelia clasped her hands together as if weighing her thoughts.
But her hesitation did not last long.
“You heard earlier that I was raised under Bishop Martio, like a daughter, did you not?”
“As I said before, I do not see what that has to do with—”
“No, no. I feel this is something that must be addressed clearly. Regardless of whether you trust me or not.”
A sense of resolve settled over Yujelia’s face, as though she was determined to say this no matter what.
So Aquila sat up from where he had been lying and looked at her.
It was an attitude that said he would listen properly.
Shen also nodded and fixed his gaze on her.
Seeing their reactions, Yujelia smiled faintly, as if relieved.
“There is an orphanage run by the Grand Temple of Portplum. I grew up there. Perhaps because it is run by the temple, many of the children had Divine Power. Bishop Martio took several of them in and had them study to become priests, acting as a guardian and providing various forms of support.”
“From that alone, he does not sound like a bad person.”
“Yes. That is true. Saying he raised us like his children… is not entirely wrong.”
An indescribable emotion passed over Yujelia’s face.
Deep anguish and sorrow, contempt, or perhaps anger.
Aquila wondered what words of comfort he should offer.
‘That I know she is more earnest and kind than a man like that? What should I even say?’
Shen seemed to be thinking the same thing, his face darkening.
But before either of them could speak, Yujelia wiped her expression clean and spoke simply.
“He was a bastard.”
“Ah… yes?”
“You heard him today, did you not? A completely careless, foolish piece of trash. What does it matter if he raised us like children? No one thinks of that trash as a father.”
“Yu, Yujelia…”
“Who would ever go mad enough to think of someone like that as family? Raised like a daughter? Hah! Ridiculous! You spoke so well today, Young Master. Even I felt refreshed listening to it!”
The anger Yujelia had been suppressing burst forth, instantly turning her into a foul-mouthed critic.
She launched into a tirade about how much she despised Bishop Martio.
Shen, who had been listening seriously despite his unease, added one remark.
“You suffered a great deal under a lunatic like that.”
“Yes! Truly! I should pluck every last hair from his head, honestly!”
Aquila relaxed again, letting his raised body sink comfortably back onto the bed.