The Price of Faith

The Church of Light was the most widespread religious organization across the continent.

The Church’s primary power base lay in the Theocracy of Light, located in the continent’s southeastern region. Over a millennium of development, its followers had spread far and wide, establishing a presence in the Kingdom of Englund, the Kingdom of Scania, the Frankish Kingdom, the Holy Roman Empire, and even in the remote corners of the Ottoman Empire.

According to the Church’s scriptures, the God of Light was the supreme being in all existence.

“On the first day, God created day and night; on the second, the heavens and earth; on the third, the seas, mountains, plains, flowers, grasses, and trees; on the fourth, the stars; on the fifth, countless forms of life; on the sixth, magic itself…” A priest in the Paimon district read aloud from the scriptures of Light to the congregation within the cathedral. “And on the seventh day… God rested.”

Priests served as the foundational strength of the Church of Light. The Church’s hierarchy resembled a pyramid, with the Pope, who governed the Theocracy of Light, at its apex. Beneath him were the Archbishops, overseeing the dioceses of each kingdom, followed by District Bishops, who managed earldom territories, and then Priests, responsible for baronial lands. Below the Priests were ordinary administrators and nuns who had sworn vows to serve the God of Light.

“God will see us through these trying times,” the young priest declared, gesturing with an open palm towards the congregation below, his face etched with devout piety. “Simply surrender your body and soul to Him.”

“Your Grace…” A merchant stepped forward, presenting a pouch filled with gold coins. “I offer all that I possess, hoping only that this illness does not infect my family or me.”

The priest gently accepted the pouch, a benevolent smile gracing his lips. “God will protect you.”

“Your Grace… this is a family heirloom.”

“Your Grace, this is all I have saved.”

“Your Grace…”

The priest moved from one supplicant to another, his kind smile seemingly fixed upon his face. “God does not abandon His loyal followers.”

Then, he paused before a young boy.

“Child, are you also a believer in God?” the priest inquired, bending down to look at the boy. “Is there anything you wish to say to Him?”

The boy knelt, pressing his forehead deeply against the ground. “Your Grace… I come from a nearby village. My only sister has contracted that illness. Please, I beg you, save her!”

Helpless tears streamed down his face, forming small puddles on the ground.

“I understand your suffering,” the priest said, resting a hand on the boy’s left shoulder. “But this is God’s trial for your sister. So long as she holds unwavering faith in Him, she will ultimately overcome this hardship.”

“But… I heard others say that illness…”

The priest’s benevolent smile abruptly stiffened, his eyes narrowing to slits that betrayed a chilling coldness. “Are you questioning me?”

“No, no, I’m not…” The boy’s face was etched with panic as he stared helplessly at the priest.

“I am a priest, a listener to the divine oracle,” the priest declared, signaling for the guards to remove the boy. “To question me is to question God Himself.”

The guards on either side seized the boy, ignoring his struggles, and unceremoniously threw him out of the cathedral.

“Your Grace! Your Grace! I was wrong, please save my sister! Save her…”

The heavy cathedral doors slammed shut, sealing off the clamor from outside.

‘What a pauper. Not an ounce of genuine devotion to God.’

The priest ascended the reading platform, plunged his hands into an adjacent basin to wash them, then retrieved a clean towel to dry them.

Having completed these actions, he continued to smile at the congregation below. “Disregard those whose faith falters. You need only hold firm to your belief in God.”

“We,” the priest declared, his smile now unsettling, “will surely overcome these hardships.”

****

The boy stumbled home, his spirit shattered, his eyes vacant and unfocused. Lost in a daze, he tripped and fell countless times along the way, arriving back at his dilapidated stone house covered in bruises.

“Sister…” Gazing at his own worn stone house from a distance, he spotted his sister, struggling to stand at the doorway, awaiting his return. “Why are you standing out here? Go back inside and rest!”

He rushed forward, eager to help her back inside.

“Don’t fuss so much,” his sister said, forcing a smile onto her face. “I’m usually perfectly healthy. This illness is just a slight fever; I don’t have any of those other symptoms people talk about.”

“I don’t care!” the boy insisted stubbornly, pulling her onto the bed and tucking her in. “You have to rest!”

‘You’re all I have left. My only family. I cannot lose you too…’

His sister took a few shaky breaths, lying in bed, and spoke with a resigned tone, “Well then, I suppose I’ll enjoy my little brother’s care today…”

“What do you want to eat today?” The boy clasped her hand, finding it terribly hot, almost burning.

“Anything…”

“Not anything!”

“Then…” His sister bit her lip, considering for a moment. “The croissant from the village corner, I’ve wanted to try it for so long.”

“I’ll go buy it,” the boy nodded firmly. As he turned to leave, he felt his hand being held back.

“I was just joking. Where would you get money?”

“I have it!” The boy pulled his hand free from his sister’s grasp and bolted out the door without a backward glance.

Watching his retreating figure, his sister gave a faint, wistful smile, which quickly contorted into a pained expression. She covered her mouth with the blanket and began to cough softly.

The boy, holding his breath, sprinted to the bakery at the village corner. This well-known shop specialized in high-quality croissants and usually bustled with customers. However, a desolate atmosphere now hung over the entire village, and the bakery too had closed its doors.

“Owner! Is the owner there!” The boy hammered on the wooden door, his eyes filled with urgency. “I want to buy bread! I want to buy bread!”

“What’s all that knocking for?!” a voice demanded from within. “We’re not open for business right now, go away!”

“Just sell me one, I only need one!” The boy’s arm throbbed from striking the wooden door, yet he did not cease his frantic knocking.

“Ugh! What bad luck!” The wooden door creaked open, revealing a bald-headed owner who glared down at the boy with fierce eyes. “It’s you?”

“A croissant, I want one!” The boy fumbled in his pocket for a long time before finally producing a single copper coin, holding it out eagerly. “I want one!”

“Hmph…” The bald owner sneered. “Just this much? It’s not even enough for my ingredients.”

The boy clenched his fists, pleading, “Then… then half a one would be fine…”

“Idiot!” The wooden door slammed shut with a resounding thud, and the bald owner’s impatient voice drifted from within. “Get lost!”

“Hey!” The boy knelt outside, knocking on the door again and again, his fists turning purple and growing numb.

“Half… just half…” His voice grew faint, his trembling face pressed against the door, whether from sobbing or not, it was hard to tell. “Even a tiny bit…”

The door opened again, and the bald owner pulled out something hard, then forcefully threw it at the boy’s face.

“Ugh…” The boy cried out in pain, clutching his head, and instinctively murmured, “Bread, I just want a little bread…”

“Look on the floor yourself,” the door slammed shut once more. “Now go back where you came from!”

The boy felt the ground, picking up the object that had struck his head. It was warm, firm, and fragrant…

It was a croissant.

He suppressed the urge to take a bite, solemnly bowed in the direction of the door as a gesture of thanks, then slipped the copper coin from his pocket into the crack of the wooden door.

Returning home, the boy proudly presented his acquisition to his sister.

“Look! I bought it.” The boy broke the bread into small pieces, slowly feeding them to his sister. “It’s still warm, too.”

“Hehehe, my little brother is the best,” his sister said, a warm smile gracing her beautiful face. “That bakery owner, he’s actually a good person. Even though he looks fierce, the last time it rained when I was passing by, he let me shelter at his doorway and even gave me a bag of fresh croissants. Back then, I thought that bread was so delicious…”

“Don’t talk so much. Finish eating and rest,” the boy said, bringing a basin of hot water, wringing out a towel, and placing it on his sister’s forehead. “You have a fever…”

“That means I’m getting better…” His sister offered a confident smile, her eyes, clear as water, gazing at him tenderly. “Just wait, I’ll definitely be all better by tomorrow, you’ll see.”

“What if you’re not better?” the boy pouted, questioning her. “You’re definitely lying to me.”

“If I’m lying, I’m a little puppy,” his sister said, stroking the boy’s head. He felt her hand, searingly hot, so hot it felt as though his heart would break.

****

Deep in the night, two drunken men suddenly burst into the boy’s home.

“Who are you?!” the boy shouted, brandishing a cleaver, his legs trembling as he confronted the two unwelcome intruders.

“Kid…” A dark-skinned drunkard eyed the dilapidated stone house with utter disdain. “Your home is truly pathetic~”

“Ah, what a wasted trip…” A taller, leaner drunkard, upon spotting the woman on the bed, suddenly brightened. “Ah~ not a wasted trip after all. There’s a rather attractive woman here…”

“Get out!” The boy brandished the cleaver forward in a defiant gesture.

Seeing the frail figure wielding a weapon, the two drunkards scoffed with contempt. The taller, leaner drunkard pulled an iron rod from behind his waist and swung it fiercely at the boy.

An adult’s strength was beyond what a mere boy could withstand. The iron rod whistled through the air, striking the boy’s wrist with brutal force. His hand immediately went numb, the cleaver clattering to the floor, followed by an excruciating, burning pain that flared up his arm. He clutched his wrist, groaning in agony.

“Hmph… hmph…” The boy’s sister struggled to sit upright, drenched in sweat as if caught in a downpour. “I have that contagious illness. If you… lay a hand on me… it won’t end well for you…”

“Heh…” The dark-skinned drunkard scoffed indifferently. “Who in this entire village hasn’t caught that strange illness? My whole family is dead.”

“Indeed…” The tall, lean drunkard delivered another blow to the boy’s back with his rod. “Everyone’s going to die anyway, so let’s enjoy ourselves before we do… The wine we just drank was sold by that widow next door; her wine is truly excellent…”

“Don’t hurt my brother…” The boy’s sister reached out in anguish, but could only weakly clutch the edge of the bed. “Cough, cough… cough, cough… Let him go, and I’ll do whatever you want…”

“Sister—” The boy gritted his teeth, his gaze at the two men as fierce as a wild wolf’s. “Ah—”

Finding the boy bothersome, the two drunkards delivered another punch and a kick. The boy collapsed to the ground, and the tall, lean drunkard stepped on his head, pinning him firmly to the floor.

“Don’t…” His sister crawled repeatedly, falling off the bed, yet struggled to move towards the boy. “Don’t hit him…”

The dark-skinned drunkard spat on the boy’s head, then seized his sister’s clothes and dragged her onto the bed.

The boy’s eyes were bloodshot, and hatred pierced his young heart like needles. Just as the two men prepared to commit their atrocity, no one could have predicted that the seemingly frail woman would suddenly produce a small knife from behind her waist and plunge it savagely into the dark-skinned drunkard’s stomach.

The stab elicited a painful groan from the man. He staggered back two steps, clutching the gash in his stomach, but the blood refused to stop flowing. His bloated belly resembled a punctured balloon, blood gushing out. Before long, he collapsed limply to the ground.

“Damn you!” The tall, lean drunkard gripped the iron rod tightly and brought it down on the girl’s sister’s hand. He knocked the small knife from her grasp, then struck her delicate back repeatedly, as if intending to shatter her fragile body.

“Sister…” The boy endured immense pain, crawling forward inch by agonizing inch. In that moment, the few meters separating them felt like an insurmountable chasm.

“Cough, cough—” The tall, lean drunkard suddenly erupted into a violent fit of coughing, each hack exaggerated as if his lungs were exploding, each one spitting fresh blood. As more and more blood spewed from his mouth, he slowly collapsed to the ground, writhing like a worm.

“Sister…” The boy finally reached his sister’s side, gazing at her pale face. “Sister, you promised me, you promised me…”

His sister’s eyes blinked weakly twice, her lips barely moving.

The boy pressed his ear to her mouth, listening intently.

“Woof woof…”

****

The boy remained in that dazed, lifeless state for the entire night, until the spear-like rays of dawn pierced the stone house, illuminating a scene of filth and shadow.

Outside the door, urgent, thundering hoofbeats echoed.

The boy turned his head, his vacant gaze falling upon the dashing and handsome Templar Knight.

“By the Holy Decree of the Pope, I have come specifically to greet you!”

The tall, imposing Templar Knight dismounted, momentarily stunned by the horrific scene within the house, yet he still knelt respectfully before the boy.

“Congratulations, Your Highness Kayar,” the Templar Knight said, his head bowed, his voice humble yet firm. “You are the new Hero.”

The boy froze for a moment, then suddenly burst into hysterical laughter. He laughed wildly, lost to all reason, utterly deranged.

As he laughed, tears streamed down his face, unbroken.

“Amusing… truly amusing…”

The boy’s expression was distorted and mad, so twisted it instilled terror, so crazed it brought shivers.

“This damned world—”