Chapter 13: The Martyrdom of the Priest(1)

“That insolent girl dares to climb beyond her station.”

Revencio had placed Abigail in the position of the Saint solely because her pretty face pleased him.

“A brat without any real holy power, and yet she dares.”

His wrinkled lips quivered with rage. The sight of her walking around with her head held high just because she saved a few people trapped under a collapsed bridge was utterly laughable. The desire to wring that arrogant neck of hers surged within him several times a day. He should have crushed her spirit when she was brought to the central temple for her Saintly education.

“No, no, that’s not right. I need to be more patient.”

No matter how wise a Saint may be, without the favor of the Empire’s people, he was nothing more than an old man. His aged face, lined with wrinkles and spotted with liver spots, was overlooked by everyone.

Until his goal was achieved, he needed that girl’s polished, glossy shell. He needed the soft, white, and beautiful skin of the Saint.

“Before long, that pure Saint will make me the Pope…”

To recreate a world that had rotted to its core, Revencio needed power strong enough to grasp the Empire in his hands.

In the past, the Pope wielded authority rivaling that of the Emperor of the Empire. However, to prevent the division of royal power, a Pope could only be appointed if he could prove his necessity under the blessing of the Saint, the divine representative.

“Three hundred years.”

For three hundred long years, the position of Pope had remained vacant. Now that the long-awaited Saint had descended to rule the earth, Revencio believed it was only a matter of time before he claimed the papal seat for himself.

“Father Revencio, what do you plan to do about the outbreak of Andrea’s fire at the outskirts of the Empire?”

“Tsk, tsk, the Imperial Court lacks proper scholars, so they always come begging for help. It’s not the first time there’s been an epidemic. Just bury it as we’ve always done.”

There was no clear solution to the plague. How could a disease that had plagued the Empire for over a thousand years be cured?

“The Imperial scholars seem to be hoping for another martyrdom of a clergyman, like the last time.”

“They’ll be dead soon enough, so what’s the point? Wait, hold on… I’ve just thought of something amusing.”

Martyrdom—such a noble sacrifice. Revencio’s mind conjured up the perfect candidate.

A priest so foolishly devout and unwavering in his faith that he would willingly lay down his life for his beliefs.

“It pains me deeply, but if the Imperial Palace insists, a powerless bishop of the Central Temple has no choice but to comply. Inform them that a martyr will be sent.”

Now was the time to crush the arrogance of that insolent upstart who dared to defy him.

“Such a pity, such a pity.”

Despite the sorrowful words, Revencio’s cheeks twitched with glee, barely able to contain his satisfaction.

“If he returns as a decrepit corpse riddled with sores, I’ll gladly arrange the funeral.”

* * *

Early in the morning, Father Edwin was summoned to the Central Temple and left the monastery. He departed at dawn and returned as the sun was setting. Every time he was called to the temple, he would return cursing Revencio under his breath, but today, he seemed unusually calm.

“Father Edwin, was everything alright today?”

I asked him with a light-hearted tone. He stared at me silently for a long moment.

Does he have something to say? I smiled at him, trying to encourage him to speak.

“Is there something you want to talk about?”

His usually sharp and irritable golden eyes were calm today, as serene as the gentle waves of the night sea.

“Sister Alicia, I have a favor to ask. Could you gather the clergy in the chapel?”

His voice was low, almost trembling as he struggled to finish his sentence.

“Yes, of course.”

There was no reason for it, but an ominous feeling crept into my heart.

The clergy gathered in the chapel seemed just as curious as I was about what Father Edwin was going to say. He stood at the pulpit, hesitating, unable to find his words, before finally forcing out a few.

“I have something to tell you all. I apologize for gathering you with bad news once again.”

His expression was somber, his face clouded with worry.

“The Andrea’s Fire has spread to the western outskirts of the Empire.”

Andrea’s Fire. It was a plague that resurfaced every few decades. The disease was named after a priest named Andrea who had sacrificed his life trying to stop it. The reason it was called “Fire” was because those infected suffered from an unbearable burning sensation throughout their bodies.

As he continued speaking, my mind went blank, unable to process anything further.

“A priest from our monastery will be sent to the affected area to assess the situation and report the findings to the Imperial Palace.”

“Father!” 

As soon as Father Edwin finished speaking, Father Daniel shot up from his seat, unable to contain his emotions. But Father Edwin, despite the turmoil, continued to speak, though his voice was strained.

“The Central Church has decided on a martyr through what they believe to be a fair process. Therefore, this time, it is I who will…”

His voice caught in his throat, and he couldn’t finish the sentence. He lowered his head, unable to go on. It was a look I had never seen on his face before. The confidence that usually filled his gaze was now replaced with fear.

“No! This is ridiculous! How can this be fair? What is this so-called fair process? And what about the Bridge of Salvation? We were the ones who went to aid, so why does it have to be you, Father?”

Father Daniel, looking as if he had lost his mind, rushed to the pulpit and tried to pull him down. The sound of the nuns quietly sobbing filled the room.

Father Edwin is going to be martyred? He’s going to die?

I couldn’t process it. It felt unreal, as if I were in a dream, a haze clouding my mind as I looked up at him. His head, which had been hanging low as if in shame, slowly lifted, and then his gaze met mine.

“Aah…”

The moment my reflection appeared in his fear-filled golden eyes, it felt as if my heart had been pierced right through. Clutching my chest, trying to contain the agony spreading from my heart, I looked back at him, but he quickly averted his gaze.

“I’ll go instead, Father. Please? I can go in your place!”

Father Daniel shook Father Edwin’s body with desperation. Father Edwin, who had been slumped like a broken doll, finally spoke with difficulty.

“Everything will proceed according to the path that God has laid out. If I can die serving the suffering and the weak, then it will be the most righteous death a priest can have.”

I couldn’t bear to listen any longer. Clutching my shredded heart, I fled the church.

“A-ah…”

My legs gave out, and I collapsed onto the dirt ground. It was too much to believe, too overwhelming to process. No tears came; the disbelief was too strong.

“Ah, ah, aaugh…”

All I could do was clutch my chest, writhing in agony as if my heart had been torn apart.

* * *

Father Edwin’s martyrdom had been scheduled. He had only three days left.

Unsorted boxes of documents were piled outside his door. As Father Daniel passed by in the hallway, he bit his lip and bowed his head. I stood there, staring at the tightly closed door before finally, without thinking, I stepped inside.

“…The paperwork isn’t finished yet, so please leave.”

Father Edwin spoke in a calm voice without turning around. He sat at his desk, silently sorting through the towering stack of documents.

“Father, please, don’t do this.”

I fell to my knees on the bare wooden floor, not even a carpet to cushion the blow. Crawling towards him, I clung to the pristine white of his cassock with trembling fingers.

“There’s no need for a priest to go. There are so many epidemiologists in the palace—why do you have to go and check? Please?”

“…Alicia, do you know why the plague is called ‘Andrea’s Fire’?”

“Because it’s named after the priest who sacrificed his life to try and cure it…”

“The palace considers Andrea’s Fire not just a disease but a religious phenomenon. The reason no proper cure has emerged throughout the empire’s long history is because it was categorized as a religious phenomenon.”

Andrea’s Fire, just a religious phenomenon? It made no sense.

“But even so, why does it have to be you? Out of all the priests, why you?”

“That’s what Father Revencio said. He suggested a priest from Archelio Monastery should go. I couldn’t send Father Marco, who struggles to move, nor could I send Father Daniel, who still knows so little of the world.”

“Father… please, I beg you, don’t do this.”

The pure white cassock I clung to trembled violently as if afraid to let go.

“You could resign. Return to civilian life, and then you wouldn’t have to go off to die. Please, just do as I ask.”

I shook my head, trying to reject the reality before me. Father Edwin rose from his chair and met my gaze as I sat on the floor.

“Alicia, listen to me carefully. If I resign from the priesthood, Daniel will be sent as the martyr in my place. If Father Daniel leaves, there will be no one left to protect the monastery. If that happens, all the prayers, all the preparations we’ve made for the masses, everything we’ve worked for will collapse.”

So, you’re telling me that you’re willing to sacrifice your life to protect the monastery and to ensure the success of my revenge.

“If you have to go, then take me with you.”

“Alicia. There are plenty of priests who can take my place. Soon, the seminarians will be ordained, and they will fill the gap I leave behind. That’s all. But what about you? If you die, what will happen to the Saintess, left alone in the palace?”

His words brought back the conversation I’d had with Abigail at the masquerade ball.

‘No one has ever sworn to live for me alone, you know.’

So she had smiled brightly, saying it was fine to be used by me. How could I possibly leave her alone and die?

“Alicia, you just need to keep moving forward, as you always have. Even if I’m not here, I’ll find people who can help you in my place before I leave. I promise you that much…”

“No! I don’t want that!” 

I clawed at the wooden floor in desperation, splinters embedding into the tender flesh beneath my nails. Soon, even my last desperate resistance was stilled by his large hand.

His face twisted painfully as he looked down at my reddened fingertips, the nails bent back.

“…I’m sorry.”

As always, he offered an apology. For what? What did he have to apologize for? Why would he kneel even in the face of his approaching death?