At the moment Lea donned the crown that symbolized the identity of a saintess, countless believers knelt, a purifying rain of light fell, and the entire Holy City was shrouded in boundless holy radiance, putting the final period to this ceremony called Holy Ablution.

After that, countless transmission-stone frequencies and expedited letters radiated outward from this city, spreading across the whole continent.

In just a few days, this news would appear on the front page of every newspaper; everyone would know that the new saintess had ascended, and her name was Lea Angel.

However, from then on, fear that not many would dare to address the Saintess by her personal name directly.

Although it was still unknown what impact the new saintess would bring to this world, her accession ceremony would be held as scheduled five days later, and so the entire Holy City began to bustle with intense preparations.

The believers were still immersed in the excitement of having personally witnessed the new saintess’s accession; they did not even know that not long ago the entire Holy City had been struck by the dark god.

Even if they knew, no one would care, for in the believers’ eyes, this holy city was under the personal protection of the Goddess.

But of course there were some discordant voices; for example, there would always be those who asked why the saintess… or rather, the former saintess, had abdicated for no apparent reason.

The office of saintess is for life, with no term limit; when a saintess passes the mantle to the next, it is either by returning to the Goddess or due to special reasons.

Cases of special reasons are often rare.

After all, the previous saintess had served for nearly twenty years, her image deeply ingrained in people’s hearts; her sudden abdication indeed left many believers unable to accept it.

Some zealots even stormed several small churches because of it.

Of course, under the Holy City’s patient and gentle guidance and admonition, this small ripple quickly subsided.

The statue of the Goddess overlooked the world; wherever one looked, it was full of light.

...

However, everything happening outside had little to do with Moen at the moment.

As a yellow-haired pig who had just finished rooting the cabbage, he was about to undergo something extremely perilous for him.

That is... to face that farmer uncle.

Emil Cathedral.

Still under the guidance of High Abbess Lynn, Moen walked through the grand hall and came to that unremarkable wooden door.

"His Holiness is waiting for you inside."

Lynn bowed expressionlessly, then turned away without the slightest pause, leaving Moen, who had wanted to grab her and say a few words to bolster his courage, awkwardly staring at the hand he had already stuck out.

"Damn it, what am I afraid of."

Moen smacked himself and gritted out:

"I only brought happiness to a beautiful, enchanting girl. I didn’t do anything guilty, so there’s absolutely nothing to be afraid of!"

After yet another round of fierce inner struggle, holding to the idea that whether you stick out your neck or shrink it, it’s still the same blade, and that bringing happiness to a pretty girl is no sin at all, Moen finally slowly pushed the door open and walked inside.

Inside, it was no longer the ordinary room from last time.

It was a space so vast one could not see its end.

Overhead was a sky that seemed real, enormous celestial bodies suspended above it, gliding slowly along their tracks.

Underfoot was a platform of white jade, and further below, Moen saw an entire realm suspended there.

Through the barrier, Moen immediately recognized what it was.

Canterville. For the first time, Moen looked at this The Lost Land that had been through so much from this angle; now, after just a few short days, vitality there seemed to have recovered considerably. Even the core area could be seen from afar, carpeted with green grass.

"That place will become the Church’s experimental field."

A familiar voice sounded; Moen, who had been craning his neck to study Canterville, jolted.

He stiffly turned his head toward His Holiness the Pope, who stood above all, forced a kind smile, and waved a greeting from afar.

"Good evening, Your Holiness. Have you eaten?"

"What’s wrong? Weren’t you the one who requested to see me? Now that you’re here, you’re afraid? We’re this far apart—afraid I’ll eat you?"

The Pope, white of brow and hair, seemed again the kindly elder he usually was, his words and gestures exceedingly gentle.

But Moen, whose backside still throbbed faintly, did not dare relax his guard at all, and his smile was earnest:

"Not at all, not at all. I’m only expressing my respect for you."

"Heh. Respect? Last time we met, you weren’t like this."

The Pope swept his great sleeve and pointed at the low table before them:

"Sit."

Knowing that one can't defy a much stronger power, Moen obediently sat down.

"Drink."

Another cup of hot tea was handed to Moen. He anxiously examined the tea steeped by the Pope’s own hand, thinking to himself, would the dignified Pope really use such a roundabout method as poisoning to eliminate me?

Such an obvious trap—how could I possibly…

"Mm, fine tea."

Under the Pope’s gaze, Moen took a sip, face full of bliss.

"Your Holiness said Canterwell would become an experimental field. What does that mean?"

"Cultivation of vegetation, weapons trials, magic testing—things of that sort. And of course most important is… improving the Seed of Life."

The Seed of Life… he recalled that it was a seed blessed by the Goddess, its yield astounding, far surpassing former crops.

"Canterville can’t be inhabited anymore?"

Moen asked curiously.

"Inhabited? Good suggestion."

The Pope looked at him with a half-smile. "I can allot you a piece of land for free. Would you like to live there? For as long as you like."

Moen thought it through carefully, then immediately shook his head vigorously:

"Forget it, forget it. I was overthinking."

You must be joking—who knows what negative effects would be left in a place ploughed by the powers of several deities.

Staying there for a short while might be fine, but living there permanently… who knows, one morning you might wake up to find your dick chatting you up, discussing which girl’s taste is the more exquisite.

"Your Holiness’s actions truly benefit the people, a merit for the ages." Moen slipped in a flattery.

"Heh."

The Pope glanced at Moen and said nothing.

For a moment there was silence. Moen fidgeted for a while, then could only take the initiative to raise a topic.

"I had thought… that Lea truly couldn’t become saintess anymore."

"Why? Because that girl is no longer a pure virgin?"

The Pope glanced again, and gave a chilly laugh.

Moen’s forehead tingled, and he gave an awkward laugh. "Isn’t that how the stories always go? The Goddess loves pure maidens, so as the Goddess’s proxy on earth, the saintess should naturally also be…"

"The Goddess doesn’t care."

"Eh?"

"I said: the Goddess doesn’t care."

The Pope casually set down his teacup:

"Have you read the canon?"

"I have."

Moen nodded. Though he was not a follower of the Goddess of Life, the Church’s canon in this world was much like the Bible from his previous life, printed in vast quantities by all nations, so even non-believers often read it.

"Does it stipulate that a saintess must be such-and-such?"

"Uh…"

Moen froze for a moment and thought it over carefully:

"It seems not."

"See? In such matters, the Goddess doesn’t care, and the Church… actually doesn’t care either. Even if she’s been rooted by you, this pig, she can still bear holy light, can still become saintess, and guide the faithful."

"Then…"

Moen scratched his head awkwardly. "I looked up records of previous saintesses and found that during their tenure they seemed never to have had partners. Even many who abdicated mid-term for special reasons remained unmarried for life… Of course, a few special cases excepted."

"That’s because, though the Goddess doesn’t care and the Church doesn’t care, there are… those who do."

The Pope extended his withered fingers and tapped the tabletop.

"For example…"

"For example?"

The Pope looked into Moen’s eyes, his smile laden with meaning:

"The believers."

"Believers?"

Moen blanked for a moment, then suddenly understood.

Think of his previous life: if celebrities of any renown exposed some romance, it would cause no small stir; fans might even brazenly start tearing into each other online.

A saintess is nothing like some mere celebrity.

In the eyes of countless believers, the saintess is one who serves the Goddess, and the one closest to the Goddess.

They worship the Goddess, but the Goddess is ethereal, and so much of their faith lands upon the saintess, who truly exists.

Moen recalled the fanatical crowds when he first entered the city with the former saintess, and then remembered the countless believers kneeling on the ground a few days prior.

Like the sea, like a tide, enough to wash away everything.

"Hiss—"

Moen couldn’t help shivering.

Just imagine: the saintess to whom you sincerely devote yourself, to whom you pray every day—that noble, holy, immaculate lady saintess—was rooted by a yellow-haired pig…

Not only rooted, but groped up and down, savoring every inch of the saintess’s skin, every corner of her body—even those gently flowing holy springs—tasting them carefully, lingering over the memory…

If you were a believer, what would you choose?

A. Choose to forgive.

B. Start a fight.

Is there even a need to choose? Of course you’d choose to start a fight!

Besides, this world has no internet to let them vent. Their fighting would truly be… to tear that hateful yellow-haired swine into shreds.

"Do you understand now?"

The Pope continued to sip his tea leisurely and said:

"What binds a saintess is not the Goddess, nor the Church, but the things that lift her high—and… themselves."

"Their kindness, their compassion, their sense of responsibility, and the believers’ expectations and faith will all become cords that bind them fast. Only they themselves can break free—but they often do not wish to."

"Although it sounds a bit cruel, the so-called romance is truly too luxurious a thing for a saintess."

"Is that so? Then what will the Church… what will you do now?"

Moen asked, his tone serious:"

"For the Church, if my relationship with Lea were exposed, it would be no small blow to your reputation, right? So what will you do? After Lea becomes saintess, will you forcefully separate us?"

"Forcing you apart... does sound like a foolproof solution."

The Pope raised an eyebrow, and a terrifying aura suddenly surged up. In an instant, he once again went from a harmless, kindly old man to a supreme being standing above all humankind.

"What if I... truly did so?"

The Pope's expression did not change in the slightest, yet a horrible pressure fell upon Moen.

"..."

Moen kept silent.

Only for a moment.

He looked at the Pope, pressed both hands to his knees, and slowly straightened his chest.

The tremendous pressure made his bones creak.

Yet this man who had just been afraid of being given a hard time was now withstanding the Supreme One's pressure, meeting it with a calm, fearless gaze.

"I said it before."

Moen enunciated each word, forcing the resolute words out through his teeth:

"I am Lea's knight, so... I will stand by her side forever... forever!"

"..."

The Pope stared at Moen impassively.

His withered fingers lightly tapped the tabletop.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

With each tap, the pressure on Moen increased a notch.

He could clearly feel the cracking sounds rising from the floor beneath him and hear the groans of his own overburdened body.

He knew that it would take only a bit more force from the old man before him, and no matter how many cheats he had, he would, without exception, be crushed into paste.

At present, he had no capital with which to oppose the Church.

But he still stubbornly refused to bow his head.

"Heh, you've got guts."

Suddenly, the tremendous pressure vanished, and the Pope calmly picked up his teacup and gently blew away the steam, as if nothing had happened.

Moen immediately clutched his chest, gasping hard; though his whole body was soaked with sweat, he still gave the Pope a provocative grin.

"Ha, I thought you were really going to do it."

"I would very much like to do it for real, but unfortunately our new saintess does seem to have the courage to actively cast off her shackles."

The Pope's white brows drooped, revealing the helplessness of a man whose painstakingly grown cabbage had been taken away by a yellow-haired boar:

"In her eyes, you seem more important than the position of saintess. The saintess the Church finally managed to select—we do not have the energy or the time to go nurture another."

"Of course, I also think I'm more important than the position of saintess."

Moen grinned smugly.

The veins on the back of the Pope's hand twitched. Forcing down the urge to kick this guy out again, he snorted coldly:

"I don't want to meddle in young people's affairs, but the bigger picture comes first. I hope you two..."

The Pope lowered his voice and made a hushing gesture.

Moen's expression turned odd. His Holiness was telling him not to do it openly, so... sneak into the village and don't fire the gun?

Moen rubbed his chin, feeling that for now this was probably the only way.

He wasn't some iron-headed fool; with something that would subject both Lea and the Church to enormous pressure, he certainly wouldn't let lust cloud his head and go blaring it everywhere.

Being hoisted onto a pyre and burned to death by hundreds of millions of fanatical believers would not be fun.

Besides, thinking about it carefully... developing a romantic clandestine affair with a pure and noble saintess... sounds rather thrilling.

Her Highness the saintess receives the veneration of countless believers by day, and at night...

Heh heh.

"However, Your Holiness."

After indulging in a brief fantasy, Moen tucked away his silly grin and looked at the Pope with expectation:

"Since you've acknowledged my relationship with Lea, shouldn't you maybe offer a small token?"

"A token?"

"You see, when marrying off a daughter, you have to send along some gift money, so you..."

"..."

The veins twitched again, and the Pope stared wide-eyed at the shameless fellow before him in shock.

He’s already rooted away my prized cabbage, and now he wants perks from me?

Is that how you fleece someone?

At that moment, the Pope seemed to see another shameless old loli bouncing before him, and could only lament: worthy of being that one's disciple?

"Take this."

After the sigh, the Pope suddenly tossed Moen a gleaming golden badge.

Moen hurriedly caught it and found an image of a grand hall engraved on the badge—solemn, dignified, and lifelike.

"What's this?"

"A badge symbolizing an Honorary Hall Knight."

The Pope said, "Your previous Divine Attendant Knight was in fact only a nominal post that assists the saintess during the Rite of Holy Ablution, but the Honorary Hall Knight I am conferring on you now counts as an honorary knightly title attached to the Church, granting you a certain degree of authority to mobilize Church resources."

"This..."

Moen's eyes widened.

So generous?

An Honorary Hall Knight recognized by the Church is a prestigious title countless people can only dream of and never obtain; those so decorated are often renowned powerhouses or people who have made enormous contributions, and they receive great courtesies in every nation.

Not to mention being able to mobilize Church resources—this special honor made even Moen, a duke's son, feel the badge in his hand grow hot.

"You're really giving this to me?"

Moen still didn't quite dare believe it, afraid there was some trap waiting for him.

"I, the dignified Pope, am not about to string along a little brat like you."

The Pope said expressionlessly: "It can be considered a reward for the things you did in Canterville. Though I don't want to admit it, those matters are indeed hot potatoes the Church is ill-advised to touch."

"Oh."

Only then did Moen relax and begin admiring the badge with delight.

Whether he was a knight or not wasn't actually important.

What mattered was that he now finally counted as someone with some status in the Church, one of their own; he no longer needed, as before, to have someone lead or watch him just to go to some part of the cathedral.

So...

First thing I'll do is find out where Lea's room was!

No other intentions—he mainly just wanted to share this happy news with her!

Only, in that instant Moen failed to notice, the corners of the Pope's mouth also faintly curved up.

...

...

"All right, the tea is finished."

As the last of the tea, along with its fragrance, slid down his throat, Moen noticed that the celestial bodies above seemed to run up against a boundary, and the whole space dimmed considerably.

All noises had already vanished; in the utter quiet, the Pope looked at him calmly:

"This time you didn't come just to talk some inconsequential small talk with me, did you?"

"...Yes."

After a moment's silence, Moen set down his teacup:

"I do have a question I want to ask you."

"Ask."

"..."

Moen looked around to either side.

"Rest assured, I have already sealed the Seat of the Most High; no one can hear our conversation."

The Pope said directly.

"Thank you."

Moen put away the badge, his expression growing solemn.

"This is a question that began to trouble me back in Canterville; its root lay in a sentence Miss Freya said. I know how enormous the implications of that question are, and so I pondered it for a long time, but sometimes, relying only on thought and suspicion cannot yield an answer.

Although voicing it might be deemed profane and presumptuous, for the sake of peace of mind and to be on the safe side, I still want to risk asking an offensive question."

The Pope's face was expressionless, as if he had long expected this, waiting for Moen's next words.

"So..."

Moen took a deep breath, fixed his gaze on the Pope's eyes, and asked earnestly:

"Your Holiness, the Goddess of Life, Emil, whom the Church and countless believers across the continent worship—is she a... dark god?"