In Your Vulgar Paradise - Chapter 12
Azniel’s eyes froze as she confirmed what was written on the label on the lid.
[“Antagon Potion – Blessing of Dara.”]
A magic potion, and it seemed to have already been produced in collaboration with the church. In other words, as if the saint herself had bestowed a blessing on this potion…
“Wouldn’t it be effective to distribute this potion to those visiting the Holy Empire, wishing for the blessing of healing?”
“Oh. Then even if Sister Azniel is not present.”
“Yes. Even if the saint does not suffer, it would be much more efficient to heal them.”
Claude Geshturn’s dark eyes briefly glanced at Azniel. The slight upward turn of his lips indicated that he was quite pleased.
‘But…’
As Azniel’s fingertips delicately touched the edge of her robe, wrinkles formed on the fabric.
‘The fact that they can be healed even without me…’
So, this was a kind of notification. The calculation was perfectly in place, replacing even Azniel’s duties as a saint. In the eyes of the church, Azniel’s usefulness as a saint seemed to end here.
The healing ritual, which she had carried on as if desperately trying to be of help, turned out to be nothing more than child’s play in the eyes of the church leadership. There was no consideration for the fact that the pilgrim’s small faith was gradually maintaining the church’s livelihood.
Her fingertips trembled with confusion and shame.
“Even if the news spreads to various parts of the continent, it will take some time. Until then, I will periodically provide potions for those who come to the Holy Empire without knowing about it.”
“Oh Romain. In that case…”
“Don’t worry. I won’t adjust the promised amount.”
Claude responded to the Pope’s sudden question with a smirk. However, beyond the rounded eyes and the smile, there were complex emotions flickering in his black pupils, making it clear that this was not just a simple friendly smile.
Azniel, lost in despair, didn’t notice that the Emperor had addressed him by another name, and she couldn’t discern Claude Geshturn’s subtle expression.
Soon, Claude’s gaze returned to Azniel.
“So, Saint.”
“…”
“It may be difficult to accept this sudden development. However, in my opinion, the union between you and me is a path that benefits everyone…”
“I thought Sister Azniel truly was a benefactor and blessing to the church.”
“I will visit again soon, so I hope to hear your answer to my proposal.”
He stared at Azniel without blinking, his relentless gaze seemed to firmly grip her, even though there was a distance between them.
Azniel took a deep breath.
* * *
Exiting the Pope’s chamber, Azniel headed towards the sanctuary as if collapsing.
The midday sun was so intense that her head felt dizzy. At that moment, she realized that the two authorities who had sent her out must still be making some calculations.
‘An answer to the proposal….. that has already been decided.’
Those who were unaware of the situation because the sanctuary door did not open without any prior notice, saw the saint who appeared late. They lined up, feeling moved at the sight of the saint.
The middle-aged man who had despaired yesterday as the door closed before him had recovered lost vision in one eye. Following this, ailments like the lung disease that began with a cold, the skin condition that had troubled someone for years, and the digestive disorder that had made it impossible to eat properly for months had all been healed.
Azniel didn’t rest for a moment, moving as if she were being chased.
“Saint, please have some water.”
“No, everyone has been waiting for a long time.”
“I’ll go get some sugar jelly for you.”
Despite the surprise of the trainee girls seeing the head of Antagon, they brought sugar jelly for the saint. Azniel’s healing ritual continued without any delay.
This was entirely due to Azniel’s impatience. If she stopped her hands or didn’t concentrate on anything, the words that haunted her mind and were repeatedly stabbing her heart, would resurface.
“Healing abilities were nothing more than inferior miracles that could be replaced by human power…”
“Ah, why did it have to be like this in our generation…”
“Wouldn’t it be effective to distribute this potion to those visiting the Holy Empire, wishing for the blessing of healing?”
Azniel didn’t exactly know the principle behind the potion. More accurately, she didn’t want to know. In fact, it seemed like no one in the church had a proper understanding of Antagon’s mysterious invention.
‘But now, they’ll supply potions to the pilgrims in place of me. If that’s the case…’
It seems like even her sole ability has been taken by them. If that gentleman whimsically spreads the new potion widely, her usefulness will no longer exist anywhere on the continent.
Whether by distributing potions explicitly blessed by Dara to various temples across the continent or by significantly lowering the price of the potion so that not only nobles and the wealthy can afford it.
Thinking this way, it felt like the man from yesterday was still holding her leash.
No, in reality, maybe that was the case.
“I need you to marry me.”
“In my opinion, the union between you and me is a path that benefits everyone…”
The man who had already stripped away a certain amount of her usefulness now denied the last remaining usefulness that she desperately clung to.
