Chapter 119

Chapter 119
Chapter 119: Never Mind The Heir, I’ll Focus On Healing

“Then I’ll choose this date.”

“…Understood. Please treat us well.”

“Have no fear! Divine grace will forever be by your side.”

Concluding their superficial pleasantries, the clergyman politely guided the couple alongside Peter toward the temple’s exit.

“Peter, where do you intend to rest for the night?”

Mrs. Violetta crouched down to meet Peter’s eye level and inquired.

“…I will sleep at the orphanage once more today.”

“Ahaha! You are always welcome to stay at our home if you so desire… Ouch!”

*Stab!*

Violetta’s finger sharply jabbed Ferguson in the ribs.

Ferguson forced himself to stifle an outcry.

“Indeed. Auntie will accompany you there.”

This time, Violetta refrained from pressuring Peter after he expressed his wish to remain at the orphanage.

She was well aware of how deeply her words would weigh upon the boy.

Ferguson, perhaps perceiving her underlying thoughts, hastily adjusted his stance.

“R-right. Companions make things much more enjoyable! Haha, my love, let us depart.”

“Indeed.”

“…”

Peter, too, grasped their sentiments clearly.

They bore little resemblance to the self-styled guardians he had encountered previously.

Perhaps on account of that, or perhaps owing to what he had overheard regarding the temple ritual, a strange unease stirred within Peter.

Up until now, he had convinced himself that remaining unadopted was of no consequence.

He had even firmly believed that should he ever be cast out, he could simply return to how things were before.

Yet now…

‘Could I become bound to the temple?’

If such a thing came to pass, where would his true sanctuary lie?

Confusion clouded his thoughts.

As they walked, Peter hesitantly and slowly reached out to take Violetta’s hand.

“…!”

Violetta’s eyes widened in surprise at Peter’s gesture.

For an instant, tears threatened to spill, but she reined them in and gently enveloped Peter’s tiny hand within her own.

Then, as though seeking to comfort him, she squeezed his hand firmly and guided him toward the orphanage.

“Here we are.”

Upon reaching the orphanage threshold, Peter, seemingly overcome by sudden shyness, quickly released her grasp.

Violetta, seemingly content with even that small gesture, beamed radiantly and bid Peter good evening.

Only after watching Peter vanish into the weathered structure of the orphanage did Violetta exhale a heavy sigh.

In truth, despite her composed exterior, anxiety gnawed at her.

“My love… what if? What if such a circumstance actually comes to pass?”

“Are you referring to him possessing divine power?”

“Yes.”

“Rest easy, my love. It is by no means an everyday occurrence.”

Violetta was well aware of this.

Moreover, she reasoned that for a Saintess and an Archbishop Candidate, a modest trace of divine power might easily be overlooked.

Even so, disquiet lingered in her heart.

“What if our own desires lead us to rob the child of his sense of belonging…?”

Violetta glanced back along the path they had just traversed.

At its terminus stood the temple.

“My love, it will not come to that. Dismiss your worries.”

Ferguson wrapped a comforting arm around Violetta’s slender shoulders.

“Do you take the Divine to be so indifferent? Did He not witness how deeply we yearned for that child?”

And then…

Her husband pressed a gentle kiss to her lips and whispered tenderly.

“Should the situation arise, just as the clergyman suggested… we shall have no choice but to consult Peter’s wishes. He might lead a far more affluent and cherished life in such a place.”

“…”

“Yet, if Peter rejects that path, we shall shield him by any means necessary.”

Ferguson offered a good-natured chuckle and gave a playful wink.

“That is precisely why I have amassed such a fortune, is it not?”

“My love…”

“A solution will present itself somehow. If all else fails, we can resort to seeking asylum!”

It was an absurd declaration.

Yet Violetta understood Ferguson’s intent entirely.

He meant to secure the boy’s safety at all costs.

Even if the opposing force were the temple itself… nay, even if it were the Divine.

The couple interlaced their fingers tightly.

Indeed.

If they were consumed by such apprehension, how much more overwhelming must Peter’s inner turmoil be?

The pair resolved to direct their focus entirely upon Peter.

That was a vow they had made from the very first moment they set eyes on him.

To them, Peter was already a child born within their souls.

—

‘Ah, it returns once more.’

Priest Rikschel was occasionally visited by vivid slumber.

Precognitive visions, otherwise known as divine revelations.

Rikschel murmured softly to himself within the confines of the unfulfilled dreamscape.

Though his consciousness remained alert and articulate, his formless, mouthless spirit felt serene and sheltered.

Though infrequent, Rikschel had experienced these prophetic visions enough times to endure the stillness without terror, simply awaiting the outcome.

Awaiting the divine message.

Awaiting the vision he was destined to witness.

‘Yet… ‘

Today, curiously, was different.

Ordinarily, the divine revelation commenced without delay.

A brief moment of profound darkness, followed immediately by the unfolding of the prophetic dream.

Yet now, despite what felt like an extended duration, the absolute blackness persisted.

An empty void devoid of distinct shapes or sounds.

How, then, was he to discern its meaning?

It was precisely as these thoughts crossed his mind that Rikschel’s surroundings suddenly grew luminous.

‘…Hoo.’

Rikschel momentarily eased his taut muscles.

He must have felt anxious simply due to his own impatience.

Now, shall we see what requires my attention?

Rikschel cast his gaze slowly about.

His most recent vision had depicted the children of the orphanage resting in peaceful slumber.

And this current scene…

‘Is it identical?’

It was the very same orphanage.

Yet the atmosphere was utterly transformed.

Unlike the lively ambiance of the previous vision, this place was draped in gloom and shadow.

The children wept. Nearby, a couple stood bowed with profound sorrow.

And beside them…

The younger sibling from the pair of brothers he had encountered previously wandered aimlessly, calling out for someone.

‘Despair, grief, searching for another. Hmm…’

Taken as a whole, it boded ill.

‘I must pay another visit to the orphanage.’

Having assessed the situation, Rikschel gently closed his eyes.

It was nearly time to awaken from the slumber.

Or so he believed…

The scenery before him flared with an intense, unnatural brilliance.

Could this be yet another prophetic vision?

‘This is highly irregular.’

Precognitive dreams were akin to catching fleeting glimpses of destiny governed by the Divine.

Because such visions exacted a heavy toll on mental fortitude—the very foundation of divine power—the Divine seldom bestowed multiple visions in succession…

Stifling his astonishment, Rikschel opened his eyes once more.

Astonishingly, the vision directed his attention to a nearby location.

‘Could this be… the temple?’

The prayer hall of the sanctuary where Rikschel was currently lodging came into view.

At the center of the hall, the magnificent statue of the deity Anyatras stood tall, cradling an eternal flame.

The emerald fire cast a continuous, dazzling, sacred radiance.

‘…No.’

It was not merely the flame emitting light.

Rikschel abruptly lowered his gaze toward the base of the statue.

There stood a figure, radiating an incandescent brilliance.

A slender silhouette, a man whose long platinum blonde hair was loosely gathered.

Clad in attire that exuded nobility at a glance, he bore a fleeting resemblance to someone Rikschel had encountered in the past, though certainty eluded him.

The crucial point was the sheer magnitude of divine radiance—rivaling that of a god—pouring from the man’s frame.

‘How could a mortal wield such overwhelming power…!’

Even Rikschel, believed to have been blessed with divine favor since birth, nearly collapsed before that mighty presence.

It was an intensity surpassing anything he had ever witnessed, even from an Archbishop.

Rikschel took an involuntary step backward and addressed the stranger.

“Pardon me, who are you? How did you gain entry to this sanctuary?”

At Rikschel’s words, the figure slowly turned his head.

Yet.

*FWOOSH!*

A ferocious blaze erupted instantly, expanding the silhouette to an astonishing degree…

And proceeded to engulf Rikschel as though seeking to consume him whole.

“Huk!”

With that, Rikschel jolted awake.

Shaken by the lingering terror of the dream, his entire body was drenched in cold sweat.

Rikschel’s divine energy flickered unsteadily before fading away entirely.

“Haa… Haa.”

Drawing ragged breaths, Rikschel slowly surveyed his surroundings.

Thankfully, this was reality.

‘What was the meaning of that dream?’

One ominous premonition.

Followed by another, an entity too monumental to comprehend.

“…I must investigate.”

Rikschel rose deliberately from his cot, adjusted his attire, donned white gloves to conceal his injured hands, and stepped out of his quarters.

—

Lion was meticulously arranging the ‘Asteri Block Set’ within his room.

He fashioned a sturdy paper container and neatly packed the miniature, multicolored blocks inside.

He even took the trouble to sketch illustrative examples designed to spark their imagination…!

The resulting gift package turned out remarkably well.

‘Mm. This is satisfactory.’

Filled with quiet pride, Lion packed the block set alongside a batch of Sikhye for the orphanage youngsters into his traveling bag.

“Brother, hand over the rest.”

Rikschel, who had been observing quietly, proceeded to stow a generous supply of Sikhye and refreshments into his own oversized pack.

With Rikschel’s assistance, Lion found it far easier to bear the burden of his bag.

It possessed a noticeable heft, no doubt owing to the liquid contents.

“Whew! Very well. Are you prepared?”

“Naturally, Brother.”

“Then let us be off!”

Lion and Rikschel set out without delay.

‘Such a nostalgic journey.’

Rikschel reflected upon the first occasion he had ventured out in the company of his elder brother.

Back then, a crushing anxiety had consumed him, the constant fear that his brother might slip away at any moment.

Driven by that desperation, he had sought out a clergyman to secure treatment, even if it meant resorting to extreme measures.

Though that initial scheme bore fruit, the ultimate objective had slipped through their fingers.

‘I merely believed him to be an ordinary priest. That individual named Rikschel…’

The intelligence gathered by the magic lineage, which managed to pierce the temple’s ironclad information network, had proven staggering.

The priest known as Rikschel possessed such formidable proficiency that he was being weighed as a candidate for the rank of Archbishop.

If that was the case, the divine power he displayed must have been genuine.

Yet, Rikschel had proved powerless to cure Lion’s affliction, nor had he managed to improve his state.

‘Because Brother failed to recover.’

A heavy sense of guilt and remorse lingered within him, knowing his brother had strained himself to such lengths.

Shame washed over him.

In truth, it was a burden he could well have shouldered alone.

His brother possessed a sharp intellect. It was entirely possible he had guessed the purpose behind visiting a secluded mill far from the estate.

Nevertheless, his kind-hearted sibling uttered not a single word of reproach.

Instead…

“The clergyman’s abilities are truly remarkable. My constitution feels sounder than ever.”

Had he not spoken those very words?

‘…Were it not for that labyrinth.’

Perhaps his brother would still be confined to his sickbed, staring longingly past the windowpanes, rather than accompanying him to the orphanage today.

‘It borders on the miraculous.’

Rikschel calmly weighed the events of the labyrinth incident.

While his brother had managed to pull through thanks to immense natural talent and sheer will to survive, reclaiming his mana and physical vitality was nothing short of a miracle.

“Is the bag proving too cumbersome?”

Lion paused briefly in his tracks, noting how his younger brother’s stride had grown heavier.

“Not at all. I am glad to assist. Besides, the pack is not overly heavy.”

“…Are you certain?”

Surely it carried considerable weight, however?

Could the restorative waters of the hot spring truly possess such remarkable properties?