In Your Vulgar Paradise - Chapter 5
Two years ago, at the Great Temple of the Holy Empire, on the outskirts of the premises, a sanctuary with a simple ceremonial hall.
As the saint withdrew her hand, the radiant light that surrounded her diminished, and wonder and joy appeared on the faces of the elderly couple.
“Unbelievable…! All the pain I had here is completely gone!”
“Mom, are you okay now?”
The mother-daughter pair embraced each other. Watching the tears glistening in their eyes, the saint smiled gently.
Wearing the priestly attire in the color of ivory, neatly combed brown hair, and beneath it, the shining symbol of the saint, golden eyes. Her face, with eyes of a color unseen by anyone in this world, gave off a mysterious and peculiar impression.
“Saint, I really, truly… will never forget this grace for my entire life.”
“Thank you, thank you… It was such a surprise to see how many carts we had to take to get here… and the line in front of the gate was so long when we arrived.”
Despite the mother-daughter pair’s heartfelt words and rambling, a smile did not leave the face of the saint, Azniel.
Yes. The reason she became the representative of Dara’s blessing was to witness such smiles from people.
Even though her body was exhausted from performing countless ceremonies every day, even if there were mocking words calling her a saint of beggars, Azniel was content. In the world, there was still a place where she was needed.
“Um, can you hurry and finish now that you’ve received everything?”
“Can’t you see the people waiting behind?”
“Oh, yes, sorry. Thank you so much, Saint…”
The mother and daughter hastily wiped away their tears as the people who waited for their turn called on them and they left. The sound of coins being dropped into the donation box near the exit echoed.
As the next person, a man, knelt before Azniel, the procession of people waiting for blessings came into view. The line extended from the front courtyard of the Great Temple to beyond the castle gates.
‘I wonder if I can handle it until today… that person looks quite critical.’
A hint of sadness crossed Azniel’s face as she glimpsed the faces of those waiting in line. They were pilgrims who had come from various parts of the continent seeking the healing blessing of the only saint.
“I’ve been in excruciating pain every day for the past few months.”
“My vision in this eye started getting blurry a while ago.”
“Saint, please save me… I injured my leg while working, but instead of healing, the wound seems to be getting worse.”
The service continued until the saint’s energy was depleted.
It wasn’t challenging to draw out the last drop of divine power every day. It was even gratifying to be able to convey Dara’s blessing after seeing the smiles of the pilgrims.
However, what wore Azniel out was…
“To think they ran all the way here with just a few coins to receive blessings.”
“Did you see them earlier? 5 copper coins.”
“Is this a beggar’s den or a temple?”
Casual remarks from the priests who guarded the saint’s duties. Although the arrows were not aimed directly at Azniel, they were enough to drain the energy of the one making an effort.
“If only those damn magic potions didn’t exist, the temple wouldn’t have to scrape by on these measly coins.”
“Antagon, those damn heretics.”
Magic potions…
The resentful voices of the priests fueled Azniel’s grim expression.
Azniel came to the Holy Empire nearly 20 years ago. Orphaned and wandering through alleyways, she was discovered as the symbol of a saint in the workhouse.
The supernatural ability manifested by her as a saint was the all-encompassing healing power. The temple gained prominence by bestowing this healing blessing only on the upper echelons of the international alliance, as directed by the temple.
For the young saint, the shelter provided by the temple was the only option. Azniel complied with the temple’s instructions, blessing only those who came to the Holy Empire with exorbitant donations.
The tranquility of her life in the Holy Empire was shaken to its roots three years ago.
The upheaval came from a newly emerged consortium named ‘Antagon,’ which had invented a cure called ‘magic potion.’ It cures diseases by ingestion and heals trauma by application in the affected area…. Its effects ranged, but it was a substance that directly challenged the saint’s supernatural abilities, offering a comparable alternative.
Powerful figures from the international alliance seeking healing for severe injuries and ailments opted for the convenience and technological advancement of magic potions, shunning the privilege that came from the Pope’s generosity and saint’s blessing associated with the latter.
As those who contributed donations no longer sought the Holy Empire, the temple’s finances quickly deteriorated. The saint’s position naturally became precarious.
Fortunately, the potions were expensive. For the common people who still relied on traditional remedies, the blessing of healing was precious. The temple’s financial situation improved somewhat with the donations from the nobles seeking treatment for minor ailments, even though compared to the wealth gained from treating severe conditions, it was meager.
Nonetheless, it was enough to sustain the temple, especially considering that only the saint had the ability to use divine power.
“Thank you, Saint!”
“As expected, Dara has not abandoned us….”
If potions could substitute for her abilities, Azniel wondered how it would be. She silently expressed gratitude in her heart to the temple that had taken her in and dedicated herself to serving.
