Chapter 37: Saint Charlotte (1)

The underground prison beneath the Grand Cathedral—rarely used—now held Cardinal Demian and Priest Philip.

“You dared to touch my orphanage and kill my children while I was gone,” Theodore growled, gripping the iron bars and glaring down at Demian.

“Thanks to me, a Saint was born. Isn’t that so?”

“Shut up!”

Theodore slammed his fist against the bars hard enough to make them rattle, blood dripping from his hand.

“What a joke… Do you think you’re any different?”

Demian scoffed and looked up at Theodore.

“You tried to manifest Holy Power through moral and ethical means, didn’t you? You spent decades on your research… and what did it accomplish?”

“In the end, the result would’ve been the same. Whether you did it or I did.”

Demian sneered at him.

“With no Pope or Saint left, I simply did my duty. I made a Saint—thanks to me.”

“Are you being serious right now?”

“A Saint was born who probably can’t even think straight anymore… Who’s going to take responsibility? You? Will you take care of her?”

So this was why he was so confident? Because he thought Charlotte was broken?

Even though everyone witnessed her terrifying screams…

How did it come to this, Demian?

Where was that man who once believed in God during our seminary days?

“In this entire operation, the most important piece is the Saint. I prioritized her. Was I wrong to do so?”

“Don’t call this a business.”

Demian looked at Theodore with genuine surprise.

“Unbelievable. Don’t tell me you still believe in God, like back in seminary?”

“That’s not something a Cardinal should say, Demian.”

Demian’s mocking laughter echoed in the prison, as if ridiculing a child who still believed in fairy tales.

“You’re even crazier for saying that after becoming a Cardinal.”

“Demian!!”

“Should I call you pure? Or just plain stupid? Spouting nonsense about faith in this corrupt enterprise… No, wait, you know the truth, don’t you? You just can’t admit it. You’re escaping reality.”

Demian grinned as if enjoying the moment—a sick, twisted smile.

“Why do you think it’s called Holy Power? Our Aria Church claims the Saint is the physical vessel of Lady Aria herself!”

I know that.

“If it’s truly God’s power, shouldn’t it be called Divine Power? Why simply ‘Holy Power’?”

I know that too. Isn’t it strange how such inhumane experiments are used to draw down the so-called power of God? Shouldn’t divine power bring peace and comfort?

“It’s the guilt passed down from the higher-ups in the Cathedral. They know there’s no God. They just feel a tiny bit guilty for deceiving the believers!”

“Enough!”

Theodore yelled, but Demian didn’t stop. He delighted in provoking him.

“You’re still as naive and pathetic as ever. You should be thanking me.”

“What..?”

“I took on the burden of tormenting the Saint—something you all were too scared to do! Now that we have a new Saint, the Church can flourish again. The Emperor will bow his head and offer congratulations!”

The desire to open the cell and strangle Demian surged in Theodore.

“Don’t be too grateful. Even the dead Pope in heaven will prefer this outcome. Hahaha!!”

Unable to stomach Demian’s vile laughter, Theodore turned his back and walked toward Philip, who was sitting curled up in a corner.

Looking at the broken man, Theodore sighed.

“I don’t know what to do with you.”

Philip didn’t raise his head.

“Was sending us that letter your attempt to cling to a shred of conscience? Then how could you…”

That message was the only reason they were able to arrive in time to reach Charlotte.

But that didn’t erase his crimes. After sending the letter, he still chose to bring a child to her death.

Theodore couldn’t understand Philip. He sighed again and left the underground prison.

“Charlotte…?”

There was no reply from the room.

They had brought her to a room in the cathedral for protection, but her condition was terrible.

She hid in the corner by the bed, refused to eat, and grew increasingly haggard.

Theodore turned to the nun responsible for her care.

“How is Charlotte?”

“…She’s refusing treatment. There are no major cognitive impairments like Saint Aurora, but…”

The report Philip sent on Saint Aurora.

Even as a Cardinal, Theodore had never imagined such a method could be used to draw out Holy Power. That it had been used within the Church was horrifying.

“It’s rotten…”

The Church had decayed. No, perhaps it had always been rotten.

True faith, once passed down from ancient times, was now gone.

Now they saw Saints and Holy Power only as tools for profit.

They ran the Church using money from the high-ranking nobles the Saints healed.

The so-called continent’s sole religion had become a hollow shell, corrupted inside and out.

“Lady Hyeri…”

He had known that emotional trauma accompanied the awakening of Holy Power in Saint candidates.

That’s why Theodore had spent his life researching more humane alternatives. It was a promise he made to the previous Saint, Hyeri.

Opening the door, he saw Charlotte curled up in the dark corner of the room.

“Charl…”

When he approached, she glared at him with a cold, piercing gaze. He froze.

“…I’m sorry.”

There was nothing else he could say.

He had rushed back as soon as he received Philip’s letter and summoned the holy knights, but it had been too late.

The look in Charlotte’s eyes when she cradled Ray’s lifeless body had become Theodore’s recurring nightmare.

“Why me…?”

Charlotte asked in a hoarse voice, tired from crying. As if asking why all this had to happen to her.

How could he explain?

That she was the only real candidate? That the others were just there to create emotional bonds and then inflict trauma?

“Where do I even begin…”

He sat on the floor, keeping a slight distance, and began explaining everything.

He didn’t want to deceive her anymore.

Not because of guilt.

But because she deserved to know. She needed to understand why her family had to die.

She had been lied to enough.

He told her how Philip had entered the orphanage the day Theodore left for the cathedral.

Philip had immediately pressured the nuns and priests into silence. Charlotte had been there—a magic maladaptation subject with potential for Holy Power.

Philip had confirmed this using healing magic. Then, when Charlotte collapsed from internal damage, he abducted her.

He even took Ray—because he was close to her, the perfect tool to cause emotional suffering.

When Seresia went missing, Demian grew impatient and rushed his plans.

Theodore told her everything.

Charlotte listened in silence.

“…Leave.”

“At least let me see your hands. I need to treat—”

“Get out!!!”

She threw her pillow at him.

He considered forcing treatment. Her hands were bloody and oozing.

But when he saw her tears, he couldn’t approach.

“I’ll come back later…”

He had to find another way to help her heal.

Outside, he summoned the nun again.

“Please find a way to treat her…”

“I’ll do my best…”

She wiped her eyes and bowed to him.

After Theodore left,

Charlotte began crying again.

After hearing the reasons, it only became clearer.

It was her fault.

Ray died because of her. So did her friends. Even Ariana was left alone.

If she had never existed, Ray wouldn’t have had to die.

“Ray…

She repeated his name endlessly.

Picturing him, clinging to memories from their days in the alley.

“What am I supposed to do…”

She looked at her hands—the ones that clawed the floor while screaming his name.

They weren’t in pain, but they were infected and leaking. She knew they needed treatment.

But if the wounds healed, it felt like her emotions would fade with them.

She bowed her head and closed her eyes.

Ray.

She kept calling his name—because it felt like maybe, just maybe, he would answer.

In silence and darkness, she slowly exhaled.

Thinking of only him.