Chapter 73: We Have No Choice

Pereti’s boot heels tapped against the polished marble floor of the church, their echoes rippling softly through the vast, empty hall.

She had walked this path dozens of times before. In the past, she had always followed behind Josuna, their footsteps overlapping—warm and reassuring.

She used to tilt her head up toward the towering dome, believing that within this magnificent structure lay an endless sense of solemnity. Every carved column, every piece of stained glass filled her with pure admiration.

Above, dozens of crystal chandeliers blazed with light. Perfectly cut crystals refracted countless beams of holy radiance, cascading like a galaxy and illuminating the entire hall as bright as day.

Light streamed through the massive stained-glass windows on both sides. The depictions of creation myths and saints’ deeds, once serene and dignified, now seemed almost alive under the brilliance.

A faint mist lingered deep within the church, blurring the interplay of light and shadow. Only the holy light pierced through, scattering mottled patterns across the ground—like divine miracles descending, so sacred that one dared not even breathe too loudly.

The air carried a delicate blend of lily fragrance, cedar incense, and the expensive perfumes worn by nobles.

“Miss Pereti?!”

She turned at the voice. A noblewoman in a wine-red velvet gown stood there, clutching her chest, her eyes reddened with emotion. Pearl earrings swayed gently under the holy light as her voice trembled:

“It really is you! You’re the hero who saved my life at the banquet!”

Her exclamation was like a stone thrown into still water, instantly shattering the church’s silence.

The surrounding nobles, who had been praying or whispering, all turned to look. The once-loose crowd gradually gathered around her.

Dressed in luxurious garments, velvet shimmering softly, collars and cuffs adorned with pearls, gemstones, and silver embroidery—they moved without sound, yet every step exuded nobility.

“Miss Pereti, I sincerely thank you. If you hadn’t discovered that batch of cursed food in time, my child would likely have met with disaster.”

“Miss Pereti is truly remarkable. At such a young age, to possess such keen insight and courage—seeing through conspiracies and calming hearts with holy light—you are destined to become a renowned saint.”

Voices of praise rose one after another.

“Miss Pereti, thank you for everything. If you have time in the coming days, I would like to host a banquet at my residence to personally repay your life-saving kindness.”

Standing in the center of the crowd, Pereti looked at the respectful faces before her, felt the undisguised admiration in their gazes—

—and only felt a biting sense of irony.

They thanked her for stopping the Gluttony Church’s scheme, yet turned a blind eye to the blood on their own hands.

They praised her holy heart, yet silently allowed Count Joleidi to pile the bones of innocents into a mountain.

They revered her identity as a priest, yet forgot the missing records deliberately erased from the Church’s archives.

These very people—colluding with the Church, trampling lives with power—now bowed in worship before her, a witch.

Holy light streamed through the stained glass, casting a warm golden hue over her clothes. Yet that light could not illuminate the greed in the nobles’ hearts, nor wash away the grievances clinging to those bones.

The mist drifted softly. The figures of myth behind her seemed to sway, as if silently mocking:

What they called holiness was merely a mask for power to decorate its sins.

What they called faith was merely a tool to pursue advantage and avoid harm.

No one questioned her nominal priest status anymore. Those who once opposed her now revered her more than ever.

They praised the hero who saved the “innocent,” yet forgot that they themselves were the true executioners.

They bathed in holy light, praying for divine protection, yet showed no regard for the lives of those beside them.

Pereti lowered her gaze slightly, looking at her pale fingertips.

These same hands had touched cold bones not long ago—yet now were revered by these murderers as sacred.

At this moment, the church’s sanctity reached its peak—

—and so did its irony.

It enveloped every hypocritical soul.

It enveloped this young priest as well, suffocating her within this false holy light.

Every word, every sentence, weighed on her like a thousand-pound burden.

The Pope’s chamber was on the third floor.

She didn’t know how she got there—only that when she arrived before the door, it opened first.

“You’ve come.”

As the voice fell, the door behind her shut heavily, cutting off all sound from outside.

“So… you’re the Pope?”

She had expected a lofty, imposing authority figure—

—but instead saw an old man so plain he was almost shabby.

A faint glow emanated from Pereti’s hand, barely illuminating his figure.

An elderly man with graying beard, dressed in what looked like worn cloth—so ordinary that he would vanish instantly if thrown into a crowd.

“It is I.”

The old man sat down slowly, gesturing for them to take a seat. His gaze lingered briefly on her face.

“You look angry.”

“Angry?”

Pereti had thought what she felt was more hatred.

Yes—she was angry.

Angry that right and wrong were reversed.

Angry that sin was cloaked in holiness.

Angry that the innocent died unjustly, with no one to care.

“Yes. Anger. I am very familiar with that expression.”

Pereti did not sit. She stood still, her fingers curling slightly—touching a small hand beside her.

“You are the highest authority of the Holy Light Church… a living legend in human history. I have a question.”

“Go ahead.”

The Pope narrowed his eyes slightly, as if seeing straight through her thoughts.

Silence fell.

“Does humanity… still have any possibility of continuing to exist?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Pereti looked at him, confusion and a faint tremor in her voice.

“They harm their own kind. They pursue profit without restraint. They slaughter other races for meaningless pleasure. They divide themselves by race, region, ideology—breeding prejudice, conflict, and violence. They exploit others for resources, enforce class oppression, widen inequality, abuse power. They ignore suffering… even mock and trample it.”

Her voice grew more intense, pouring out all her anger and despair:

“A race filled with greed, selfishness, and cruelty like this—does it really still deserve to exist? All I see is sin and hypocrisy. I see no reason for its continuation.”

The Pope listened quietly, not interrupting.

Only when she finished, and her emotions settled slightly, did he speak.

His voice remained calm—but carried a weight that pierced the heart.

“Because I am human.”

Pereti froze.

She stared at him, completely unprepared for such an answer.

Five simple words.

No grand justification. No profound reasoning.

Yet they struck her deeply.

“Even if… you are treated as a tool to be exploited?”

Kaierdimozi nodded.

“You have many questions—about the Gluttony Church, the Holy Light Church, nobles, families, witches, beastfolk, elves, vampires… even the gods.”

“All of these are tangled together in your mind. You can no longer distinguish them clearly.”

“But I know what I am doing. That is enough.”

He paused, then continued:

“That is good. You wish to know the meaning of humanity’s existence. Child—nothing exists without meaning. Humanity is no exception.”

“You believe humanity is wrong. But you do not understand—these ‘wrongs’ are precisely the foundation that allowed humanity to survive until now. Without them, humanity would never have endured.”

“Many people are aware of these ‘flaws.’ But on this land…”

“We have no choice.”

Pereti stood there, silent for a long time.

Looking at the plain old man before her, she suddenly understood— perhaps true holiness was never about perfection.

It was about seeing all of humanity’s sins and ugliness— …and still choosing to stand firm.

Still choosing to believe in hope.

And yet, in this world— humans were so small.

So fragile.