In Your Vulgar Paradise - Chapter 6
Once again, Azniel earnestly healed around a hundred pilgrims before leaving the sanctuary. The faces of those watching as the doors of the sanctuary closed kept lingering in her mind, but there was nothing she could do since her divine power was completely depleted.
‘I wonder how many will see their conditions worsen with the evening air….’
The sky had the same color as when she entered the sanctuary earlier.
Now, she should return to her quarters, fill her growling stomach, and lie down on the mat….she knew morning would come again. Before it got colder, she had to care for as many people as possible…..
Thinking about waking up earlier tomorrow, Azniel was about to head toward the monastery.
“You’ve worked hard, Saint. You must be very tired.”
Despite her weakened state, two novice girls rushed towards Azniel.
“It’s not hard. I just…”
“You’re probably feeling regret for not being able to care for one more person, right?”
“Please have some. You’re probably hungry.”
The girls handed Azniel a basket of jelly candies. In the midst of their hardship, this small gesture was their modest expression of concern for the saint. The jelly candies doubled the guilt for those who had to wait eagerly for their turn for another night.
“Saint, there’s something. His Holiness has summoned you.”
“His Holiness?”
“Yes, as soon as you finish the blessings, please come.”
As Azniel slowly chewed on the jelly, wrinkles formed on her forehead.
What could it be? Since the visits from dignitaries seeking blessings had stopped, the Pope had not summoned her for any reason until now.
* * *
“Your Holiness, Sister Azniel is here.”
The innermost office in the Papal Palace.
With the announcement from a Holy Knight, the door opened, revealing the most luxurious space in the Papal Palace. In the dimly lit office enveloped by the night, the chandeliers served as the sole source of light, creating an illusion that the interior was adorned with golden decorations due to the yellow reflections on the edges of the furniture.
In front of this splendor, the saint Azniel, who had served until near exhaustion, bowed deeply, her rounded shoulders gracefully curved as she bent at the waist.
“I greet His Holiness. Blessed by the Staff of Dara.”
“So, you’ve come.”
The Pope was seated at a heavy-duty desk. Leaning heavily against the high backrest, he pressed his temples with his fingers as if expressing that there was a very troublesome matter at hand.
In response to his discomfort, Azniel’s shoulders hunched even more.
As an orphan from the streets, her utility as the saint had become the only context in which she could receive humane treatment in the Holy Empire, Azniel, with a remorseful heart felt that she seemed to be in a place where she didn’t belong. Performing daily blessings and healing ceremonies, almost resembling whipping herself, was her way of trying to show that she was contributing to the temple in some way.
“I have something to discuss with Sister Azniel.”
Although the Pope’s annoyance was not directed at her, Azniel pointed the arrow at herself repeatedly. The dry fingertips she held in front of her were naturally crossed.
“There’s been an unusual request from the apostates…..”
The long, slender fingers of the middle-aged man tapped on the envelope placed in front of Azniel. When Azniel confirmed the inscription on the outer surface, her pupils froze.
[Sender: Secretary’s Office, Antagon Consortium Headquarters]
Antagon? The place that developed that potion…
The Pope, noticing her reaction, spoke as if in pain.
“The Director of the Antagon Consortium has requested an audience. It’s scheduled for tomorrow, and he specifically asked for your presence.”
“Me…?”
It had been a long time since the Pope was called to receive a guest. The visits from those seeking blessings had ceased long ago.
Moreover, if the leader of that group of heretics was requesting an audience…
‘If he developed the potion, there’s no reason for him to seek blessings.’
Was it mockery or an attempt to confirm the sanctuary he had invaded?
Frustrated by the hostility, Azniel bit her lip.
“First, their purpose is… to express some form of repentance for daring to oppose the authority of Dara, and they want to offer some sincerity with money.”
Azniel’s brow furrowed involuntarily as she listened to the Pope’s words. The attitude of trying to resolve the violation of God’s domain with mere pieces of gold was humiliating.
“The problem lies in their conditions…”
Tap, tap, tap. His fingers tapped on the surface of the letter again. Soon, the Pope’s golden-brown eyes turned towards Azniel.
When she met that sharp gaze, Azniel felt as if she were a fish caught on a hook, being evaluated for her worth. The fear and remorse of the seven-year-old girl thrown into the Holy Empire for the first time seemed to envelop her, as if she had regressed in time.
Especially in a situation where her usefulness had diminished like these days, she felt lost and helpless…..
“He wants to propose …. a political marriage.”
“…”
“The Director himself is asking for you, Sister.”
“…What?”
Azniel, who had lost her usual composure, widened her eyes in disbelief.
As someone who had dedicated her life to the Holy Empire since she was thrown into it at the tender age of seven, Azniel had never imagined that the word ‘marriage’ would exist in a sentence with her.
