Chapter 120 | The Vampire Princess Later Drew the Holy Sword

Eladia's life after becoming Pope could be summed up in a single word: boring.

The evening bells of the City of Holy Radiance chimed on time every day, the believers prayed on time every day, and she opened and closed the holy scriptures on time every day.

Sitting in her excessively large Pope's chair, she reviewed one official document after another.

They contained annual budgets for the dioceses, personnel transfers for the knights, repair applications for border temples, and investigation reports regarding heretical activities in some remote village...

She read every single one of them, and she signed every single one of them.

There were no thoughts, no expectations, and no weariness.

At the age of six, she had been chosen as the pupil of the previous Pope.

She remembered that the old man was universally recognized as strict and harsh, completely devoid of sentimentality. Once, simply because she had misrecited a short passage of a prayer, he had punished her by making her kneel in the cathedral for an entire night.

When daylight came, the old man stood before her, looked down at her, and said only a single sentence: “Come back and continue your lessons.”

At the age of twelve, the old man died.

His death was very quiet. While sitting in his study reviewing documents, his head simply tilted to the side, and he was gone.

When Eladia pushed the door open the next morning, she saw him still holding the pen. The ink on the nib had long since dried.

She stood in that study for about a quarter of an hour. Then she turned around, walked out, and found a guard to notify the College of Cardinals.

And so, she became the Pope.

From then on, no one ever made her kneel again.

She simply continued to review documents, preside over ceremonies, and receive worship. Day after day, year after year.

What little passion she had possessed had long since burned out; it was only a sense of duty that sustained her in this seat.

She thought she would go on living like this forever, until one day she too would quietly close her eyes in her study, just like the old man.

Then a new Pope would succeed her, keeping the old cycle spinning.

But then, Beatrice appeared.

The first time she saw the girl, the quill in her hand froze in midair.

That girl looked exactly like the founder of the Church of Radiance.

Ariel, the first Saintess and Pope of the Church of Radiance. During the Era of Strife, she had died from an assassination by a Transmigrator. Later, she was chosen as one of the six heroes of humanity.

Her deeds were recorded in every single holy scripture of the Church of Radiance, and her portrait hung in the main hall of the Great Cathedral, revered by believers as the existence closest to the gods.

And the girl before her was her reincarnation. Or so the cardinals concluded.

Yet Eladia always felt that there was something mischievous in her eyes.

Not that she disliked the girl.

Beatrice handled matters flawlessly and was extremely socially adept. In recent years, the church's popularity had skyrocketed under her management.

Her charity events were wildly successful, and every week, believers would travel from outer cities just to catch a distant glimpse of her. The church's donations had multiplied several times over, leaving the Cardinal of Liturgy and her close associates grinning from ear to ear.

As for the strange attitude Beatrice occasionally showed her in private, Eladia chose to ignore it.

For in her eyes, no matter who became the Saintess, they were nothing more than the face of the church.

The previous Pope had left her a massive and flawless system. This system needed to run, and she only needed to keep it running.

Until one night, Eladia had a dream.

In the dream, she stood in a windowless stone room.

Her body was different; her skin was covered in fine, dense stitches, as if she had been repeatedly sliced open and sewn back together countless times.

Someone walked in holding a knife, and then her blood splattered onto her bare instep, scalding hot.

She wanted to scream, but the moment she opened her mouth, she could make no sound.

She wanted to run, but her feet were nailed to the spot. She could only watch her own blood flow out time and time again, only to heal time and time again.

It repeated like this, constantly looping, as if it would never end.

Then, she saw the figure of a black-haired girl.

She appeared at the entrance of the stone room without any warning and pulled her into a tight embrace.

Supporting her weight with slender shoulders, she held her close, gripping her tightly as if holding onto something precious that had been lost and found again.

With a strength Eladia had never experienced before, she pulled her out of that windowless stone room.

Eladia opened her eyes in the darkness.

The domed ceiling of her bedchamber was faintly visible in the dark; the candles had long since gone out. Touching her face with her fingers, her fingertips came away with a trace of warm moisture.

She held that hand up before her eyes, staring at the faint reflection on her fingertip for a very long time.

She had no memory of crying.

At the age of six, when her Sister was burned to death, she had not cried.

At the age of twelve, standing beside the old man's corpse, she had not cried either.

Thus, she did not know why she was crying now.

But that physical sensation had not faded.

The lingering pressure on her arms, the warmth of the black-haired girl's breath against her ear, and those eyes—though blurry—that brought her immense peace.

She tried to recall that face, but the edges of the dream were already beginning to dissolve.

Then, in silence, she rose from her bed, washed, changed her clothes, and put on the Pope's crown.

Today was the day to ordain the Hero.

Everything regarding the Hero was being handled by the Saintess. Eladia had only signed a few confirmation documents at the final stage, without even looking closely at the Hero's name.

It wasn't that she didn't value the Hero; it was just that as the Pope, she did not need to do everything herself.

Moreover, compared to the Saintess, the Pope was not a role that held much of a presence for the Hero to begin with.

The Pope would grant an audience to the Hero once during her term, preside over the ordination ceremony, and then the rest of the tale would belong to the Saintess and the Hero.

The next step would be to wait until this generation's Hero completed her mission, or died in battle.

Whichever outcome it was, it had nothing to do with the Pope herself. Thus, she chose to remain indifferent.

Do not care too much about anything; that way, one would not be hurt by loss again.

The ordination ceremony was held in the plaza of Avalon, the choir's songs echoing since before dawn.

The cardinals lined up on both sides, and the knights of the Holy Spirit Knights stood in two straight rows, clad in silver-white armor.

Eladia stood before the Holy Seat, her hands clasped in front of her, her expression impeccably dignified.

This was a skill she had perfected after presiding over countless ceremonies.

Standing there, no one could tell that she actually wished for all of this to end as quickly as possible.

Then, Beatrice led a black-haired girl inside.

Eladia froze at that exact moment.

The face from her dream, the one she had been unable to see clearly, was standing just over a dozen paces away from her. Illuminated by the cathedral's candlelight, she shone so brightly she seemed to belong to another world entirely.

The only difference was that while she had crimson eyes in the dream, here her eyes were brown.

For the first time, Eladia felt curiosity toward someone in reality.

As if a switch had been flipped, her long-dormant body suddenly transformed into a vessel that allowed her to clearly feel the beating of her own heart.

She stood frozen on the spot, and it was only when she realized her lapse in composure that she shifted her gaze back to the codex before her, continuing to recite the ordination vows she had long since memorized by heart.

“...I ordain you—the girl named Esper, as the Hero from this day forth. Hold the Holy Sword. Walk the continent. Defeat the Demon King, and fight for all of humanity.”

The girl knelt on one knee before her, quietly listening to her words.

Then, Eladia raised her head.

“The ordination is complete.”

Those brown eyes met her blue ones, conveying nothing but complete unfamiliarity.

There was no warmth to speak of, nor did they reflect any shadow of the dream.

Eladia's hand tightened slightly within the sleeve of her holy robes, then slowly relaxed.

“May the holy light guide your path.”

Her voice was as dignified and steady as always.

The ordination ceremony concluded step-by-step. The Holy Spirit Knights marched out in formation, and the elders of the College of Cardinals crowded around to offer their congratulations to the new Hero.

She was about to leave.

No, she couldn't just let her leave like this.

Say something, quickly, I must say something...

Then Eladia spoke.

“...Excuse me, have we met somewhere before?”

Esper turned her head, her brown eyes reflecting Eladia's figure.

Her face was filled with confusion and bewilderment, as if she had just asked a completely baffling question.

Eladia suddenly realized what she had just done.

In her capacity as the Pope, she had called out to a Hero she had never met before and asked a question to which even she did not know the answer.

“...It is nothing.”

She watched Esper leave with Beatrice.

As they walked, Beatrice tilted her head to say something to Esper, her face wearing her usual sweet smile. Esper occasionally nodded in response, seemingly still wondering what that strange Pope had meant by calling out to her.

Eladia stood where she was, her hand instinctively reaching forward a little, her fingertips parting slightly toward the receding figure. Then she slowly withdrew her hand and clasped it in front of her.

She stood there as the figure drifted further and further away into the sunlight.

By the time she snapped out of it, she had already returned to the cathedral.

And she was the only one left in the cathedral.

The weight of the crown pressed down on her head once more, and her heavy holy robes wrapped around her shoulders like layer upon layer of shackles.

Yet that question had still not been answered.

Have we met somewhere before?

She had not spoken the second half of the question.

Why is it that when I dream of you, I seem to be someone else?

A girl locked in a windowless stone room, called a Saintess, who would cry, who would be afraid, and who would long for someone to come and save her.

She did not know the origin of that dream, nor did she know who this girl named Esper truly was.

The only thing she knew was that her normally tranquil heart had, for the very first time, found something she desperately wanted to understand, no matter what.

She wanted to find out who she was. She wanted to understand why those tears had fallen.

She wanted to know if the black-haired girl who had held her in that dream was merely a salvation born of her own imagination, or a real love that some version of herself in another world had once possessed.