The Priest Wants to Retire

〈 Chapter 75 〉 The Tempting Four-Year-Old. The Seven-Year-Old You Want to Kill.

*

I’ve heard the saying that when a woman bears grudges, frost can fall even in June.

This phrase has always seemed like a cautionary tale—an idiomatic expression warning not to anger a woman.

At least, I thought so until this moment.

”Huh····.”

Boom!

The bizarre spectacle that unfolded beyond the slightly ajar door was enough to cool my mind.

The vast, stark white space was no different than usual, but the fierce blizzard that filled that space seemed to proudly showcase a malevolent presence capable of swallowing everything in the world.

With a chill fierce enough to cut through skin, it looked like it was rampaging about, reminding me of a house left neglected for about a month with the air conditioner cranked up high.

In old Japanese animations, they sometimes visually express a character’s discomfort by having snowstorms rage only around them.

But the emotions bottled in front of me were far beyond any cute representation.

It was only natural that my heart, which would soon have to step into that white storm, darkened like ink on paper.

Bang!

I quietly closed the door to the Meeting Room that I had cracked open.

”Can I come back when the mood has lifted, or when the Saintess feels better?”

”Don’t worry. I’ve got winter coats, lanterns to brighten the darkness, and all sorts of mountain gear prepared.”

Is it because I was flustered?

The sight of the Sister presenting the coats and lanterns one after another felt particularly grating today.

”This is the first time I’ve seen the Saintess this angry since that day the Nobel Priest flirted with her····. You want me to go in there now····?”

”What are you so worried about? The Saintess has never harmed the Priest before, right?”

”But today could be that historic first moment. I have a bad feeling about this····.”

”No. I can guarantee that the Saintess will never harm the Regis Priest.”

Easy for you to say, not being involved.

I fully understood the Sister’s desire to encourage me, and I also knew that her logic had some convincing points, but…

Fear is fear.

Does the Sister truly understand my feelings about having to coax a being capable of causing that level of natural disaster inside a completely windless room?

No, more importantly, when did she acquire such mystical skills?

If the Saintess has developed more talents aside from crafting human mannequins and doodling on others’ bodies, it might be a testament to her ability to handle her Divine Power deftly, so perhaps I should congratulate her growth.

But from my perspective, having to bear the consequences alone just made my stomach churn.

”Alright····. I’ll just have to go····.”

”Wise decision.”

After making that almost resigned choice, I took hold of the doorknob I had left ajar.

Just as the Sister said, the Saintess had never purposely harmed me.

In fact, she was so terrified of me getting hurt that it could be concluded she wouldn’t intentionally do anything to harm me.

”Whew.”

Click.

Using that sort of realization as motivation, I nervously pushed open the door and, as I stepped into the Meeting Room, I tried to muster the heavy steps.

Thud.

In an instant.

With the serious mindset of an astronaut landing on the moon for the first time, I placed my hesitant foot onto the blizzard-tossed floor of the Meeting Room.

Whoosh!

As if a light had suddenly flicked on in the dark room, the blizzard immediately ceased, and vibrant petals blossomed all over the floor, where not a single living thing could be found.

That surreal scene reminded me of a nature documentary I liked to watch in my past life, where flowers bloom in ultra-slow motion.

”See?”

In a calm yet slightly smug tone, the Sister spoke to me.

And then…

”Why are you just now arriving?”

The Saintess appeared in front of me, pouting like an exceedingly cranky squirrel.

◈◈◈

The Tempting Four-Year-Old. The Seven-Year-Old You Want to Kill.

When I first heard it, I often thought that it was a bit of an excessive expression for a budding sprout.

There’s no way to help it; children at that age, who just begin to come into their own, become more stubborn as their heads grow bigger, don’t they?

When a child cries and throws a tantrum, it’s a natural order of things—a sort of natural disaster.

So why can’t parents around the world realize that pouring emotions into every tantrum is a really foolish act?

Back in my oblivious days, I genuinely thought that way.

‘Not even married yet, and here I am, feeling all wise and stuff.’

That sharp statement from a senior once jabbed at my brain but I decided to set it aside for now.

To make a feeble excuse, at that time, I had no grasp of the weight of parenting.

Watching my senior, surrounded by kids growing like weeds and constantly demanding attention…

Ah, it must be tough. What a shame.

I could only guess the fatigue from afar, without really wanting to comprehend it fully.

‘Kids are getting more articulate and their wills are becoming clearer. And yet, there’s no logic—can you imagine what kind of hell that is?’

Thus, while my senior was sharing guidance laden with regret, looking half-dead as if their life was burning away, I took it all in with one ear and let it pass through the other without taking it to heart.

But now I understand.

The weight of those words.

No, it’s not an exaggeration to say that I have fully realized how noble and great the act of parenting truly is.

”Where have you been? Why are you just now arriving? I waited a long time. I waited a lot. Why didn’t you come? Bad! You’re in trouble! Really in trouble!”

”H-Halmohehuh····. Saintess····.”

With me kneeling quietly on the floor, the Saintess freely grabbed my face as if kneading dough.

At times, her hand would push through to my mouth, but she didn’t care, and there was an indescribable ominous feeling that lingered in that touch.

”If you’re sorry, you have to be punished! If you didn’t keep your promise, you should be punished! From now on, Welna can do anything, but you have to stay still. Don’t move until I say ‘deng’!”

”Saintess····. No matter how it is, that’s just····.”

”If you don’t listen to me, Welna won’t eat. Won’t sleep. Won’t do anything I tell you to do!”

”S-Saintess···!”

Recently, it was undeniable that the Saintess’s mental age had matured significantly, which was something to commend.

However, with that blossomed intelligence, she endlessly devised cunning plans, making it difficult for me, her caretaker, to be merely pleased.

In the past, if I didn’t comply with her requests, it would just end with a few tantrums.

But recently, she began quoting my past words or cleverly digging into the gaps in our conversations.

It has become quite tough to resist the Saintess’s stubbornness, especially when she resorts to threats over meal times.

I even felt a sense of camaraderie with mothers rushing around trying to feed their kids, realizing I was trailing behind kids bouncing all over the place.

”I-I’m sorry, Welna. I had urgent matters to attend to. Can you forgive me just this once?”

In dire straits, I tried to pull the ‘big brother card,’ but this too hasn’t worked recently.

And that’s only natural since, in most cases, I’ve claimed to be the ‘big brother’ to dodge doing what the Saintess wanted.

Not only that, there were times she seemed displeased when I called out for her big brother.

”No way! Not even a peep. Can’t sleep together. Can’t do anything! Everything Welna says is off-limits. I’ve kept my promises even when I felt like crying. I was patient even with the things I disliked. I listened well, yet it’s always a no! No! No!”

”W-Welna····.”

With a nonchalant expression, the Saintess stomped her foot angrily, revealing her frustrated mood.

The origin of her passionate actions is currently unclear, but I could vaguely guess that it would soon reach a boiling point.

”If you don’t listen to Welna, then Welna won’t listen to you either! I won’t do ‘that’ you asked for last time! Never!”

”T-That!”

It wasn’t hard to guess what the Saintess meant by ‘that.’

The Blessing Ceremony.

The holy ritual of granting divine favor from the Saintess to the Hero, a sacred process tied directly to the survival of humanity.

To defeat the Demon King and achieve peace in this world, it’s inherently connected to the foundations of world peace that must be fulfilled.

”Will you listen to Welna?”

”····”

The Saintess gently held my face with both hands, her lips twitching as she posed the questioning inquiry.

In my chaotic mind, two choices floated ambiguously.

To comply with the Saintess’s demands.

Or not····.

*