“Emily, what are you doing here now?”
A middle-aged man with neatly slicked-back brown hair stood dressed in a pristine white priest’s robe.
Saint Erman tilted his head in mild confusion at the sight of a young teenage girl with multiple parts of her body wrapped in bandages. The priestess’s uniform, which should always be immaculate, was instead marred by crimson stains, and the room was littered with various blades, large and small, scattered carelessly.
Erman glanced at the bl00d-streaked, sharp fragments emitting sacred energy, his expression showing a mix of concern. He sighed softly, retrieved a small jar of honey balm, and applied a dab to the bandaged head of the girl, who had one eye covered.
“Didn’t the sister always say that treating the body God gave us in such a way is disrespectful?”
“… It doesn’t matter,” the silver-haired girl replied bluntly. Her gaze flickered toward the faithful servant of God before she lowered her head again.
Kraaaa!
At that moment, the sound of a small child’s cry echoed faintly in the background.
This child, said to have received the grace of the Angel of Death, bore the name Cecil Lionelta.
“Oh my, Cecil, are you hungry?” Erman’s voice took on an uncharacteristically cheerful tone as he spoke to the infant in his arms.
Emily, barely suppressing a wave of nausea, kicked Erman’s leg lightly and scolded him in a hushed voice.
“… No one cares about me anyway. Everyone only pays attention to that kid who only does whatever it wants!”
The girl, loved by God but seemingly neglected by her guardians, cast her purple eyes, clouded with sadness, toward the saint. Those eyes, which should have sparkled brightly, now seemed dull and distant.
Erman crouched, meeting her gaze, and gently stroked her hair.
“…What the heck, don’t touch it.”
“Emily, do you feel like there’s no one who truly cares about you?”
“… That’s right… No one cares about me.”
They get worried if the other kids at the church fell while playing, but even if I get cut like this… no one cares.
“It’s not that no one cares about you. The world changes its appearance depending on how you choose to see it.”
Despite being a candidate for sainthood, Emily was still a child.
Realizing that he might have been too harsh to her, Erman softened his tone as he affectionately patted her head.
“Unlike others, we place our trust in you.”
“… Trust?”
“Yes. It’s not indifference; it’s trust that you’ll persevere no matter what.”
“You are different, a very special child deeply loved by Rom.”
“… Special.”
Hearing her soft whisper, the saint lowered his head with a faint smile.
“But even so, you are a child who needs love too. That’s my mistake. Will you forgive me this once?”
“Hmph, I’m not a child. I’m an adult,” Emily retorted, snorting as she turned away from the middle-aged man who continued to grin.
Av-blaha!
The baby in Erman’s arms stirred, the milky scent of her skin faintly tickling the air. She wiggled her tiny hands and clumsily began undoing the bl00d-soaked bandage wrapped around Emily’s arm. Beneath the bl00died wrapping, her forearm appeared shockingly pure and white.
“And what do you think you’re doing?”
Emily poked the baby’s chubby cheek with her finger, but the mischievous child simply grabbed her finger and began sucking on it.
“Hahaha! It seems Cecil really likes you. How about becoming her big sister?”
“I don’t want to. I’m not doing it,” Emily said, scrunching her face in disgust.
Erman chuckled warmly at her reaction.
Cecil, too, seemed delighted, letting out a giggle as she continued to gnaw on Emily’s finger.
For a moment, they resembled a close-knit family. It would have been wonderful if the two had grown up as sisters. But life had other plans.
The Holy Devil War, a conflict between heretics and religious denominations, claimed countless lives. In its chaos, Erman could no longer look after the young saintess, and Emily, immersed in her grueling training, forgot Cecil’s name.
Perhaps they could have become sisters.
Decades later, Emily met Cecil again in front of a small tavern in Kente Village.
The child once blessed by angels no longer shone as brightly. Her once-warm, milk-scented body now exuded the faint odor of death.
“Hehehe, hello there, mother-in-law,” Cecil greeted with cloudy eyes, now filled with malice.
“Hmph, I’m not old enough to be called your mother-in-law.”
As expected, Emily still didn’t like her.
***
Cecil Lionelta, a woman who had become one with a high-ranking devil.
After learning of her past, Emily simply exhaled a long breath, letting the cigarette in her mouth burn down.
“If I’d had more courage, maybe I could have saved her.” But no such confidence existed.
Even though she had been there, there was no way for a priestess to save that child.
“What’s the point of love, if you can’t express it? It’s meaningless.”
Uncle Erman.
Staring distantly at the black hut beside the campfire’s glow, Emily ran her fingers roughly through her hair.
She missed Erman quite a lot.
A bitter smile was all she could muster as she remembered the man she had secretly thought of as a father.
It was the story of a woman favored by God, unfolding in the dead of night.
***
Thud! Thud! Thud!
“Sorry for coming at such late hour! Is anyone there?”
Thud! Thud! Thud!
“My name is Rimily Lidina! Who is just an obsolete person now! Is there no one here, or am I just not worth acknowledging?”
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Check out my other projects: Rehabilitating the Villainess, Pushover Extra Trains the Villainesses, I Picked Up an Amnesiac Witch, Transmigrated as the Butler of a Defeated Heroine, My Summons Are Special