The Priest Wants to Retire

EP.91 The Unblessed Wedding (7)

I was foolish.

I shouldn’t have tried to guess the feelings she had for me.

I should never have rushed to conclude the depth of those thoughts.

I needed to clearly understand how her mind, still not fully matured, was perceiving and distinguishing her surroundings.

The result of neglecting that simple duty was this.

“Sister!”

The Saintess rushed toward the Sister standing blankly at the vacant church entrance, her demeanor so bright it was hard to believe she had just been in a life-and-death struggle moments ago.

With her eyes gazing longingly up at the Sister, clinging to her skirt, she resembled an innocent child returning home after playing in the yard.

“W-Welna… what on earth is…!”

“Look over there!”

The Saintess cheerfully interrupted the Sister’s frail voice, pointing toward our direction.

A half-destroyed church.

Guests, each holding a tool, wore eerily bright smiles.

The Hero was stuck, hesitating to draw his sword due to a child blocking his way.

I was helplessly slumped on the ground, my clothes in disarray.

As the Sister’s complexion darkened, alternating between the horrific spectacle and the Saintess’s blissfully innocent expression, she seemed to lose her original composure.

“Welna did this!”

The Sister’s dignified stance crumbled at the bold proclamation of the Saintess.

“Khuhk!”

“Pr-Priest!”

The weight of the chains that had bound me tightly lightened right after that.

I gestured to the Hero, who was about to rush toward me, to stop while struggling to catch my breath, fingers pressed to the ground.

Though my restraints had somewhat loosened, I needed to avoid contact with the Hero, as the guests were still in a bizarre state.

“Look at this too! She gave it to me! It’s mine!”

“W-Wel… I…”

The ring on her ring finger. The same one adorning my left hand, which she declared as a treasure, made her jump in excitement and exalt its worth.

How loud that voice echoed!

“…”

I walked quietly toward them, leaving the glaring Hero behind, who looked ready to obliterate her confident demeanor.

“Pr-Priest! Are you okay…?!”

As I approached the Saintess, looking as if I would collapse any moment, the Hero, who had retracted the blade he had once held, tried to urgently block me.

“The gods smile upon you!”

“Khuh!”

In front of the human wall of guests shielding the child, even the Hero could do nothing rash.

“If you don’t wish to be hurt! You must move away from there immediately!”

But perhaps sensing something ominous from my slow approach toward the Saintess, the Hero raised his voice, solemnly drawing his sword from its sheath.

“This is your final warning! If you do not step back! Even I, the Hero! Can no longer guarantee your safety!”

Just seeing his trembling hand on the hilt made it clear he was overreaching.

He had never once raised his sword against civilians, especially not against a child just learning to walk.

I fully understood the Hero’s dire feelings.

“It’s okay… Hero…”

Even if we left the Hero alone for half a day, there was absolutely no way he would draw his sword against them.

Yet, to prevent any unforeseen circumstances, I subtly urged him not to move by spreading one hand.

“Pr-Priest!?”

If I had the strength, I would have wanted to convey my intentions with that gesture.

But with my physical state reaching its limits just by walking, talking, and breathing, it was difficult.

As I retracted the hand I had stretched out, the ring on my finger came into my line of sight.

Only then did the memory of impulsively purchasing that trinket flood back to me.

On a gloomy day, I happened to meet some old man atop a bell tower who gave me advice.

If troubled by women persistently pursuing you, why not “hit the wall” and mention you have someone you wish to marry?

I certainly wasn’t genuinely enamored by that absurd suggestion.

I simply needed a moment’s respite.

As someone once said, buying a lottery ticket is merely purchasing the dream of winning it; the unlikely scheme stemming from that ring had miraculously turned into a fantasy of a future.

A future where the Saintess wouldn’t cling to me, and the Hero would tidy away his feelings for me, where I could bask in blissful domesticity.

And so, I never intended to act on that plan and couldn’t imagine that such a fleeting dream would come back to hit me like this.

“Welna! This isn’t right! You’re dragging innocent people into this! Stop it right now!”

Just then.

The Sister roughly grabbed the Saintess by both shoulders and pressed her voice toward her, filled with urgency.

But the Saintess only tilted her head in confusion at the Sister’s desperate tone.

It was clear she had no idea why the Sister was reacting like that.

“Why…?”

“Why, you ask! It’s absolutely unjust to pursue your own goals at the expense of someone else’s freedom!”

At the Saintess’s pure inquiry, the Sister momentarily froze, as if she had realized something crucial too late.

“To unjustly take someone else’s freedom…”

The Sister’s gaze, enveloped in doubt, suddenly turned toward me.

In that instant, the heavy silence flowing between the Sister and me naturally reflected the beginning point of our connection.

‘If you wish to retire from the protectorate priesthood, I will report your position to the Hero. So don’t even dream of retiring.’

Where had that bold response gone, which had continuously rejected my retirement intent? The Sister now trembled, her lips and body shaking like a person suffering from hypothermia, making her look truly pitiable.

“Why can’t I?”

“Th-That’s…”

Unable to bear the silence, the Saintess’s probing question rendered the Sister speechless for a while.

While I could roughly guess what thoughts prompted the Sister’s behavior, there was now a matter even more important, so I set it aside for the moment.

“Saintess…”

Amidst a heavy sigh, my bewildered voice made the Saintess’s gaze, fixed on the Sister, abruptly twist toward me.

“Yes?”

Leaving behind the Sister, who had become a mute in surprise, the Saintess approached me and looked straight into my eyes.

Though this might not be the time for such words, she was still beautiful.

Mystical white hair, as if staring at a snow-covered field untouched by footprints.

Her rubellite eyes sparkled with dignity, shining even without the waves of emotion.

Snow-white skin that far surpassed the whiteness of pure alabaster.

The beauty that seemed like it would shatter if touched could only refer to her.

Perhaps that was why.

I had been excessively cautious around her body, perhaps overly so.

As her dedicated protector, I couldn’t allow any wounds to mar her, but that was merely an excuse. A cowardly pretext.

I simply didn’t want to see her in pain before my eyes.

Among the myriad of ways, having to resort to the shabby method of self-harm to intimidate her felt infinitely better for me than witnessing her suffer.

My fragile escapism inevitably brought about this tragedy.

Thus, the responsibility for this outcome lay solely on my shoulders.

My hand quietly reached toward the sky.

The Saintess, watching the trajectory of my hand with curious eyes, could not capture the scene in those gracious irises.

Crack!

“Eh?”

With a chilling resonance suddenly echoing in the quiet church, the Saintess’s head twisted dramatically.

“Pr-Priest…?”

“Regis, Priest…?”

Initial shock transformed into disbelief on the faces of the Hero and the Sister in succession.

“U-uhh…?”

The Saintess gingerly caressed her swollen cheek, standing frozen before the shocking scene. She was confronted with an inescapable reality.

Then, confusion washed over her as her trembling gaze slowly turned back toward me.

She wouldn’t want to believe it. She would want to deny it.

I could roughly guess the despair she was feeling.

The first experience of betrayal from someone she had always assumed would be on her side is a rite of passage for anyone with a proper guardian.

“Sniff! Sniff!”

The pain from her cheek wasn’t the only reason; perhaps sensing something amiss from the suddenly tense atmosphere around, she stretched her arms toward me.

A silent plea for comfort. A desperate gesture asking me to calm her racing heart.

However, that heartfelt appeal held no power over me.

I cruelly brushed aside her hands, which sought to hold onto my collar.

A fleeting hope grasped at by the Saintess.

Just moments later, her plump lips began to whisper words of blame.

“Don’t cry. Why are you crying for something you did right?”

That miserable final resistance was forced to retreat under the weight of my firm words.