"Mr. Moen, please follow me."

Moen didn't have to wait long before a nun in a solemn black robe led him deeper into the grand hall.

On both sides of the spacious corridor, wide enough for carriages to pass side by side, small white flowers bloomed with a captivating fragrance. Above them, the stained glass ceiling depicted divine scenes of the goddess redeeming mankind.

Moen rubbed his sore backside, which had been mercilessly assaulted earlier by Pink Bear, his eyes darting left and right, unable to take in everything at once.

As his gaze skimmed over the well-covered robes and swaying hems of nuns greeting him along the way, he couldn't help but click his tongue in amazement.

Damn it, it's too big—oh wait, no—it's too magnificent.

It truly lives up to its name as Life Church, a testament to wealth and grandeur.

Even though he, as the son of a duke, considered himself part of the sinful noble class, here he couldn't shake the feeling of being a country bumpkin visiting the city for the first time.

"This is Emil Cathedral."

Noticing Moen's wandering gaze, the nun walking ahead—whose attire discreetly differentiated her from the others—spoke calmly without turning her head:

"It is the world's only sanctuary named after the goddess herself, the most exalted miracle site dedicated to serving her."

"I see," Moen replied, keeping his gaze straight ahead and smiling politely. "I’ve learned a lot."

"Remember this always, and do NOT desecrate the sanctity of this place."

The nun nodded slightly and led Moen down the corridor and into a room shrouded in incense and warmth.

Finally stopping, she pointed to the center of the room—a pool scattered with flower petals.

"Please bathe."

"Oh, alright."

It wasn’t uncommon for bathing rituals to precede meetings with emperors or popes, so Moen wasn't particularly surprised and instinctively reached for the buttons of his clothing.

But—

"Um... Miss Nun?"

"Yes?"

"I'm about to bathe now."

Moen glanced at the nun, who showed no intention of leaving, and cautiously reminded her.

"I know."

"Then..."

"My body and soul are wholly devoted to Saintess and the Goddess herself. A man's naked body is of no concern to me whatsoever."

The nun remained expressionless, as though wearing an iron mask.

"So, Mr. Moen, just pretend I don’t exist."

"..."

But I care!

Bathing under the unwavering gaze of this stoic, sacred nun—is this some novel form of punishment?

Can't we switch positions or something? Damn it!

Despite his internal complaints, Moen understood her vigilance towards an outsider like him, about to enter the very core of the church. Grimacing inwardly, he resigned himself to the situation and began undressing.

His physique, sculpted like marble, with muscle lines worthy of any maiden's blush, was effortlessly perfect. From his back radiated magical runes, like the rays of a rising sun. For the first time, the nun's unperturbed gaze flickered slightly, her eyes scanning Moen as if scrutinizing.

After neatly folding his garments—even removing the spatial magic ring he had recently purchased from Adolf at a 'friendly price'—and placing them onto a prepared tray nearby, Moen submerged himself completely into the pool.

The warm, sacred water enveloped him, almost drawing a moan of comfort from his lips.

Yet, the persistent gaze beside him ruined any chance of indulgence.

"Um..."

"Yes?"

"May I ask your name?"

Moen grasped at conversation to defuse his awkwardness.

"Call me Lynn. High Nun Lynn."

High Nun... so, different from ordinary nuns?

"Miss Lynn, I’d like to inquire—what kind of person is His Holiness, the Pope?"

"His Holiness..."

Lynn pondered for a moment before replying seriously:

"When Mr. Moen meets him, you'll know."

"…"

How could he keep talking after that?

As the atmosphere sank further into awkwardness, Moen gave up on speaking entirely, quickly washing himself before donning the white robe that had been prepared for him.

Adjusting his attire, Moen suddenly remembered something and asked:

"Miss Lynn, do you know Father Elsie?"

"Elsie? Are you referring to the heretic?"

"Yes."

"I know him. I worked alongside him in the same church once."

"What kind of person was he back then?"

"Why do you ask?"

High Nun Lynn frowned slightly. "He’s on the trial temple’s wanted list—"

"I killed him."

As though recounting something trivial, Moen smiled shyly:

"Just no long ago, so I’m curious. You know, it's only right to at least figure out what kind of demon or monster someone is after they've died by my hand."

"…"

Lynn froze briefly, then gave Moen a deep look. After a moment’s silence, she said:

"He was a genius."

"Hmm? I thought you wouldn’t believe me, and I’d have to pull out proof, showing off and leaving you dumbfounded."

Moen rubbed his chin in regret. "But—just a genius?"

"Yes. If he hadn’t betrayed the goddess, with his talent, he’d likely have been promoted to bishop in charge of a church within a few years."

"But to me, he seemed like a fanatic lunatic."

"Genius and lunatic—they are, in their own way, synonymous, aren’t they?"

Lynn lowered her gaze and spoke softly.

"Fair enough."

Moen nodded, saying no more.

Just as he turned away, he heard the nun suddenly ask:

"Tell me... did he die in pain?"

"Pain?"

Moen thought for a moment. "You could say he died in the way most painful for him."

"I see..."

For the first time, the stoic nun smiled faintly, as though seeing the blood that had once stained the church finally purified.

"That’s good."

…

…

"His Holiness awaits inside."

The nun, her demeanor much softer now, pulled open an ordinary-looking door.

"Please."

"Alright."

Moen took a deep breath and stepped through the door.

As his eyes adjusted to the light inside, he found himself in a modestly decorated room resembling a living space. And there he finally saw the most revered figure on the continent—the Pope, Hezekiah.

But the man whose every action could sway the currents of the entire continent appeared, in Moen's gaze, like a common elderly gentleman.

Dressed simply in plain clothes, he was stooped over, using an unadorned wooden bucket and ladle to water a row of thriving green potted plants before him.

He worked with immense care, his motions gentle and meticulous, as though tending to his most cherished treasures. He seemed entirely unaware of Moen's arrival. Water droplets landed on the plants' leaves, reflecting only a kind, weathered face.

Yet Moen didn't dare show the slightest rudeness. Bowing respectfully, he said:

"Of the Leopard Empire, youngest of the Campbell family, Moen Campbell. By His Holiness's summons, I have come to pay my respects."

"…"

The old man said nothing.

He continued his work in silence.

Moen had no choice but to wait patiently.

Only when the final plant had been watered did the old man set the bucket and ladle aside, rolling up his sleeves to wash his hands in a nearby pond, where small black fish swam serenely.

"Is that the boy sent from the Mela Dormir?"

"Yes…"

Startled, Moen quickly retrieved the letter Teacher Mela had entrusted him to deliver, presenting it respectfully with both hands.

"This is a letter Teacher Mela asked me to deliver to you."

"Oh?"

For the first time, the Pope lifted his head, though he didn’t take the envelope right away. Instead, he gazed intently at Moen with eyes filled with countless years of experience and divine light.

Moen’s breathing faltered.

Once again, as he had felt when facing Teacher Mela, the sensation of being seen through entirely welled up deep within him.