Chapter 9: The Candle Wax and Resolve (3)

Due to the urgent scheduling of the prayer mass, I had to drag Father Daniel to the central temple instead of Father Edwin, who was shuttling back and forth every other day.

“What are you doing standing there? Come in quickly.”

“…Can’t we just not go in? It looks like a ghost might jump out.”

Father Daniel, terrified, was trembling as he looked up at the Gerard Hospice. Iron bars were installed on the windows like a prison due to the frequent incidents of patients throwing themselves out in agony.

“There might be corpses, but I don’t think there are any ghosts.”

“Eek!”

At the mention of corpses, he hid his large frame behind me, cowering. It was hard to understand how such a scared man became a priest.

“Come on, let’s go in.”

I practically dragged the hulking Father Daniel inside the Gerard Hospice like a piece of luggage.

The building was used as a hospice during the war but now operated as a civilian medical facility. It was primarily where sick paupers spent their final days.

Perhaps due to its gloomy atmosphere, there was a severe shortage of medical volunteers, and the medical equipment was inadequate. Surgical tools were reused without proper sterilization.

“Hello. We are here from the Archelio Monastery.”

When I spoke to a middle-aged man who looked like a doctor, he responded with a fatigued expression.

“Hello. What brings you here today?”

“…You’ve come at the right time. As you can see, further treatment for these patients is essentially futile. Perhaps reciting a passage from the scripture would be more beneficial.”

“AAAAAH! Save me!”

The moment the doctor finished speaking, a scream of agony echoed through the hospice. It was a familiar scene. During my time as a saint, I often visited civilian hospices with the priests of the central temple for show.

However, Father Daniel wasn’t as accustomed to this. He was clutching the scripture tightly, his arms trembling violently as if an earthquake had struck.

“Oh, oh, oh my God, dear Lord…”

“Calm down, Father Daniel.”

“Sister Alicia, are you really alright? This place is where Sister Sarah…”

I had been trying desperately to suppress the memories, but he had dredged up painful recollections. Yes, the Gerard Hospice was where Sarah had met her tragic end, hit by a carriage.

“…Everything I do is to ensure her death wasn’t in vain.”

If I hadn’t come to the Archelio Monastery, Sarah wouldn’t have died so senselessly.

But I couldn’t let myself be paralyzed by guilt. Doing so would only make Sarah’s death meaningless.

“So today, I need your help, Father Daniel.”

Father Daniel nodded, tears welling up in his eyes.

The isolated room, separated by a single old partition, was severely run-down. The walls were cracked in various places, and the peeling paint added to the gloomy atmosphere.

As we inspected the room, a patient lying on an old bed slowly opened his eyes.

“…Are you the saint?”

He was searching for the saint with a voice that came out in intermittent gasps. His face was already shadowed by death, devoid of life.

“Father Daniel.”

The priest, who was supposed to anoint the patient and recite scripture, remained motionless. When I glanced back, I saw him trembling in fear, his face pale. It seemed he was shocked by the sight of the patient’s horribly amputated leg. The clean, smooth cut suggested it had been severed to prevent the spread of infection.

“Give it to me, I’ll do it.”

I took the holy water from Father Daniel’s trembling hands, dipped my fingers in it, and placed my hand on the patient’s forehead.

“God has chosen the most righteous and courageous to face trials, bestowing suffering upon a hero to bear the pain for the weak.”

The patient’s eyes, which had been lifeless, glowed red with fervor.

“…Saint, is it truly my destiny to suffer in place of the weak?” he asked, his voice trembling with a mixture of hope and despair.

I couldn’t be certain of my answer to his question, but I could at least offer him a small measure of comfort before his final breath.

“God has declared, ‘Indeed, my choice was not wrong.'”

I clasped the man’s outstretched hand. Amid countless questions, the answer I could give was a solitary one.

[Saint, please tell me that my suffering was not in vain.]

“…In the name of the saint, God’s representative, I swear that your suffering was not in vain.”

My lips moved on their own. These were words I had repeated hundreds of times, so deeply ingrained that they flowed effortlessly. I belatedly clapped my hand over my mouth, but it was already too late.

“Thank you, thank you, Saint…” he said, tears welling up in his eyes.

I looked at the tearful, grateful patient and finally realized that the salvation they sought was not far away. It didn’t matter if I was not the real saint. All they longed for was a word of comfort to bring peace to their hearts.

With a bittersweet expression, I rose to tend to the next patient, but Father Daniel grabbed my arm.

“Alicia, what you did just now… It was incredible. How do you find the strength to offer such solace?”

I met his gaze and sighed softly.

“Father Daniel, it’s not about strength. It’s about understanding their need for comfort, for a sense of peace, even if it’s just for a moment. They need to believe that their suffering has meaning, that it’s recognized.”

Father Daniel nodded, his expression a mix of awe and newfound determination.

“Then let’s continue. Together, we can bring them some comfort,” he said, steadying himself and readying his scripture.

We moved from patient to patient, offering words of comfort and anointing them with holy water. Despite the grim surroundings, there was a palpable sense of relief and gratitude in the air, a fleeting but significant respite from their suffering.

“Sister Alicia, if it becomes known that you impersonated the saint, you’ll face severe punishment!”

“…That patient will not survive beyond a few nights and will soon return to God’s side. Since you were paralyzed with fear and couldn’t move, I simply fulfilled the duty of a clergy member in your stead.”

“Sister, to be honest, I don’t understand why I have to be here. I came on Father Edwin’s orders, but to volunteer suddenly during such a busy time? And they say there’s no hope for the patients here.”

“If you truly see no need, then return to the monastery. I will stay and continue the service alone.”

It was precisely because the patients here had no hope that I needed to remain. To unravel the mystery of the emperor’s illness, I had to meet those who were closest to death.

***

Five days had passed since we started volunteering at the Gerard Hospice. Father Daniel, who had initially complained about not understanding why he was there, began tending to the patients without a single word of complaint from the second day onward. Whether he had been reprimanded by Father Edwin upon returning to the monastery or had experienced some other change of heart, I couldn’t tell.

“Sa-Saint, please, your hand…”