A Dark Fantasy Spy

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自己心爲師 不隨他爲師.

Only yourself can be your master, no one else can take that role.

자기심위사 불수타위사.

Only you can be your own master, who else could possibly be?

自己爲師者 獲眞智人法.

Those who take themselves as their own master will obtain true wisdom and law.

자기위사자 획진지인법.

Those who guide themselves can grasp the truth and the teachings.

人之心 不爲外而任外.

Trust in one’s own heart; do not rely on external conditions.

-법구경 中.

– From the Dhammapada.

Episode 14 – One Religion, One Faith, Two Saints

When a perplexing and difficult question opened the floor of the discussion, what arose in Lucia’s heart was doubt.

However, Lucia didn’t show it. Calmly catching her breath like a librarian tidying up scattered books, she steadied her mind and began to speak.

“The Pope… I do not know exactly what part you are asking about.”

“Saint.”

Lucia’s head shot up at the sudden call from the Pope.

Before her stood Cardinal John XVI, looking at her with deep-set eyes like a sage, his staff clasped in both hands.

“I believe a clever person like you knows what I am asking about.”

“…….”

“Please answer me without hiding anything.”

The Pope spoke.

“Can you swear here and now to speak the truth without telling a lie?”

Unlike the oath of a dark magician that binds the soul, the oath of a priest carries no such constraints or effects.

However, words are like keys that knock on the door of the heart.

“…Yes. I will speak without a shred of deceit or concealment.”

Lucia responded affirmatively.

*

“You asked me if our Church is on the right path? My answer is no.”

Lucia directly criticized the Church, yet the Church’s leader did not reprimand her. It was the answer he had expected.

Though none but the participant can truly know whether the oath bears any real consequence, the seasoned priest read the true intent reflected in her azure eyes, just like those of the sea of Israel, and the Pope silently nodded.

The Pope simply stared into the distance, his expression hinting at sorrow. The wrinkles etched into the back of his hand, caressing the staff, seemed deeper than usual today.

“…Thank you for your honest answer.”

“I promised to respond that way.”

Lucia answered as if it were the most natural thing in the world, causing a smile to suddenly appear on the Pope’s face.

As he shifted his gaze, which had been lost in thought, back to Lucia, he continued.

“The more I see of you, the more fascinating you seem.”

“Excuse me?”

“You didn’t tell the truth, did you? Normally when I pose such questions, people either evade the question or lie.”

The Pope’s lips curled into a faint smile, as though something amusing had come to mind. With his usual calm tone, John XVI recalled a previous encounter.

“By the way, do you remember our first meeting?”

“Yes. It was in the garden of the Cathedral of Tranquille, where the Holy See resides. It was a lovely flower garden.”

“At that time, I made a suggestion to you. Do you remember that, too?”

A suggestion.

Looking back, Lucia remembered receiving what felt like a proposal from the Pope during that moment.

“How about smelling the roses blooming in the garden?… Yes, I remember. You certainly made such a suggestion.”

“Correct.”

The Pope suddenly glanced down at his feet while gently stroking the staff. Still smiling, he bent down and extended his hand, allowing a single small petal to glide softly through his wrinkled fingers.

It was a bright yellow wildflower.

Given that the Cathedral of Tranquille is under the care of a gardener, it seemed clear that the wildflower had sprouted from a seed carried by the wind.

Though the chill of winter lingers, the wildflower had successfully pushed its way through the grass, defiantly blooming its petals despite the brisk weather.

Following the Pope’s hand, Lucia could not help but think that it seemed spring had finally arrived, with winter slipping away.

The Pope’s voice, gently caressing the little wildflower, broke Lucia’s reverie.

“Isn’t it remarkable? Such a small wildflower enduring harsh weather to bloom its leaves.”

“Yes, I think it is indeed quite remarkable.”

“If I were to suggest you smell this flower, would you do so?”

“Perhaps I would, Your Holiness. I’ve never seen a flower like this before in my life. I’m curious about its scent.”

At her slightly sentimental response, John XVI smiled softly. He carefully moved his shoes and staff out of the way to avoid damaging the delicate petals and gazed at Lucia.

“It seems you enjoy looking at flowers and smelling their fragrances.”

“I like flowers themselves. Observing their forms and smelling their scents is merely a way to get closer to the flowers.”

“Then, to smell the fragrance of this small flower, would you pick it?”

“Perhaps not.”

“Why would you not pick the flower?”

“Because it’s alive.”

Lucia answered briefly. Her tone radiated a certainty that suggested there was no need for elaborate reasoning or embellishment.

In response, John XVI, seated across from Lucia, gently pulled the corners of his mouth upward.

“So you didn’t pick the roses in the garden?”

“Yes.”

“You are the first.”

“Excuse me?”

What do you mean it’s the first?

Before Lucia could organize her burgeoning questions and voice them, the Pope’s answer came swiftly.

“Among all the clergy I’ve spoken with in the garden, you are the first to not pick a flower when I suggested you smell it. Everyone else rushed to pick the roses as soon as I recommended it.”

“Me?”

The Pope nodded silently.

“I’ve made this suggestion to bishops and cardinals. Even Raphael, elected as my successor, picked the flowers.”

“What about others?”

“The priests, monks, and guardsmen were no different. Though Saint Veronica was present at that time as well…”

At the sudden mention of Veronica’s name, Lucia, curious, urged him to continue.

“What happened?”

“She scowled at the idea of getting pollen on herself and took off in a huff. She had said she would go take care of something quickly but ended up disappearing for more than an hour, causing the priests quite a headache as they sought the missing saint.”

“…….”

Recalling when Veronica had stormed off from the tea party, John XVI could not hide his discomfort.

As Lucia blinked her blue eyes in surprise at the unexpected answer, the Pope cleared his throat, composed himself, and continued to speak.

“In that sense, I wish to thank you. You are the first person who has shared with me an honest answer and regarded even the smallest life as worthy. Congratulations, saint. You have earned my trust.”

“Um, thank you…?”

“You don’t need to thank me. I trust you as a priest, but as a pope, I do not trust you.”

“What do you mean…”

“You heard me right.”

The Pope said.

“As a priest, I trust you, but as a pope, I do not hold you in esteem.”

“…….”

“Moreover, as pope, I trust my successor Raphael, but as a priest, I do not fully trust him either. Do you understand the difference between the two?”

“…I may not grasp the exact distinctions, but I think I get one thing.”

“And what is that?”

Lucia replied.

“That there is no one the Pope can fully trust.”

*

“You have hit the nail on the head.”

From afar, the two seemed like clergy comfortably engaged in conversation. However, upon closer observation, the odd atmosphere between the Pope and the saint became apparent.

A strange aura of discomfort or tension enveloped the garden. In the awkward silence, the Pope asked a question with a calmly blank expression.

“Are you not curious as to why?”

“To be honest, I am a bit curious.”

“Then why do you not ask?”

“I thought there must be a valid reason for you not fully trusting someone, as well as for not revealing the reason.”

Lucia concluded in a steady voice.

“And the reason you are telling me this, as well.”

The Pope, sensing the assertiveness in Lucia’s answer, softly breathed out. Keeping his hand on the staff close to his lips, he resembled someone deep in contemplation.

Indeed, John XVI was half lost in thought. Lucia seemed to have recognized this, patiently waiting for him to gather his thoughts.

“…Because humans cannot escape their restraints.”

After a prolonged silence, the Pope finally spoke, gently rubbing his eyes. His white eyebrows trembled slightly as they shifted over the creases of his fingers.

“No matter how excellent a person may be, one cannot satisfy everyone. We sin, we falter, we fall… Saint, can you say you have not sinned even once in your life?”

“No, I cannot.”

“Neither can I.”

The Pope spoke of humanity.

“Humans are the only beings created in the image of the divine. However, unlike the omnipotent God, we are prone to errors.”

“So that is why you do not fully trust others?”

No response came.

The Pope simply nodded in silence, affirming Lucia’s understanding.

“Your Holiness.”

Lucia took a breath.

“Those who emphasize sin may claim that people are untrustworthy. However, we exist to rely on one another. Without trust, we cannot depend on or love each other, and a life without people cannot exist. Thus, we must invest time and effort to build our relationships. Because…”

“‘Trust is like a seed. It must be sown and nurtured to bear fruit and be harvested.’ I know this saying very well.”

It could not be more familiar. It had been voiced by the Pope during the New Year Mass last year, directed to the faithful across the globe.

Nevertheless, the Pope seemed rather unimpressed.

Despite hearing his own words quoted, he merely stared at Lucia with a nonchalant expression.

“The essence of what I am trying to convey is not about trust in others, Saint. Rather, it concerns a slightly more microscopic subject… um, yes. It is about the perspective of humanity in relation to objects.”

“The perspective, you mean?”

“Exactly. You have caught on precisely.”

The Pope began to expound on the human perspective.

“Humans can only see what is before their eyes. Their sight becomes the standard by which they define and judge objects.

From a high viewpoint, a hill might appear small, while from a low angle, it could look like a soaring mountain.

“When observing the same animal, a short person might see only its legs, while a person with poor eyesight might perceive only a vague shape. Humans determine and define objects based on the landscape that falls within their line of sight. I am no different.”

John XVI elaborated on his role as Pope.

“I am, on the one hand, an individual, and on the other, a clergy member and protector of the Holy See. Yet as I guard the Holy See, there are moments I must make decisions that are difficult to conceive as a human or clergy member.”

Just as beasts of land differ from those of the sky, the world viewed by different positions also differs greatly. Humans are no exception.

“For the past several decades, I have protected the Holy See and committed innumerable sins. I have abandoned those who sought help and turned away from the path of mercy when I could have chosen otherwise.”

As the Pope spoke, his expression was distinctly different than usual. Studying the somber, serious facade on his face, Lucia cautiously ventured to ask a question.

“Why did you do that?”

“Because I believed it so.”

The Pope replied.

“I believed that mercy is a life of cowardly compromise and submission, and that I could not save everyone who asked for help. I truly believed that way.”

To stave off wars between religions, the Pope, in compliance with the Holy See’s decree, turned a blind eye to the deaths of priests journeying to the East.

In hopes of mediating a dispute among great powers grappling for territory, he denied a cardinal’s paperwork requesting aid for a poor neighborhood engulfed in fierce civil strife.

In a bid to prevent a collision between the Tower of Magic and the Church, he had captured magicians as heretics while seeking a resolution through intermediaries from neutral countries.

The Pope considered all those actions to be necessary, inevitable. And a part of that was indeed true.

With a bitter smile, the Pope slowly lifted his head.

“At that time, I believed it was justice. I held firm conviction that I was realizing divine intentions on this earth and that the Lord was with me.”

“…….”

“Yet for some reason, these days, I suddenly feel that the Lord might not be watching over me.”

Lucia then asked.

“Why do you think that?”

At her soft question, Pope John XVI suddenly smiled.

“…There are many occasions to reflect upon.”

“I feel that as I age, I have become more contemplative. It seems that little things I once overlooked now catch my eye.”

Indeed.

“It feels like my faith no longer firmly resides deep in my heart. If I borrow your expression, it seems now I possess only religion, rather than true faith.”

The aged clergy began to speak in a calm tone.

“In the past, after finishing my prayers, I always felt a sense of fulfillment. It was as if something warm filled my interior. But these days… I feel nothing.”

“You mean that you feel emptiness.”

“…Indeed. Emptiness. Isolation. It feels as if I’ve been cast away on a desolate island of the vast ocean, my heart empty and barren. That seems the most fitting description.”

Even with daily prayers, there were no responses in return.

Whether feeling gratitude for a given day or wishing for blessings before significant events or praying for the demons who had climbed out from hell to be defeated.

As always, the Lord did not answer those prayers.

“Why am I feeling nothing? I pondered this for quite some time, especially after having discussed faith, religion, and confession with you. Despite all my contemplation, I have arrived at a single conclusion.”

John XVI explained the answer that had come to him.

“Perhaps the divine no longer walks alongside me.”

“…….”

“Is it because I turned a blind eye while observing the Church’s corruption? Or perhaps because I committed numerous sins that should never have been done as a human? Or maybe… the Lord may now be questioning the sins I committed when I turned away from my children and wife long ago.”

“…….”

“One thing is certain: I’ve walked down a wrong path, and thus the divine has grown angered. Therefore, I do not trust others.”

It is not that he cannot trust others, but rather he cannot trust himself.

He lived for God, for religion, yet since he no longer held confidence that God remains by his side.

Thus, the Pope does not trust people. He cannot.

Whether it be a late-found regret over past choices or the caprices of age, no one can say. Only the Pope and the divine know.

However.

Just as he understood, so too did Lucia. Within her deep-set eyes lay clear colors because she understood.

Lucia sat beside the Pope, quietly listening to his words.

At that moment, as he readjusted his grip on the staff, John XVI shared his reflections.

“Of course, I did not lie to you earlier. I trust you as a priestess, Saint Lucia.”

“While as a Pope, you don’t hold me in great esteem.”

“That is unavoidable. The perspectives of a priest and a pope must differ.”

“…I understand.”

“As a servant of the divine and a priest, my infinite trust in you is inevitable. Your character is upright, you possess compassion and mercy, you know to cherish the small things, and you have the courage to fight against demons.”

“There’s no need to exaggerate.”

Lucia attempted to say, however the Pope shook his head, insisting otherwise.

“No, I truly feel this way. You could easily ask any clergyman passing by, and they would surely echo a similar sentiment. Most importantly.”

The Pope’s gaze shifted downwards. Amongst the red shoes and bypassing staff lay a single small bright yellow wildflower.

“Considering how you treasure even a small flower, how could you claim to lack the qualities of a clergyman?”

“That seems… a bit overinterpreted on your part…”

“Remember that others plucked the flowers without a second thought just to smell the fragrance. Did the cardinals and bishops have any special reason for picking the roses? No. They merely sacrificed a small life without a hint of hesitation to fulfill their desires.”

“Isn’t ascribing excessive meaning to actions done unconsciously a bit worrisome?”

“Unconscious utterances are often reflective of one’s inherent human nature. Moreover, failing to recognize an action does not absolve one of guilt. Just as I did when I turned away from my children and wife.”

As the Pope murmured these words, a hint of remorse shadowed his voice.

Yet John XVI did not reveal it outwardly. Lucia too, chose not to bring it up.

“This is precisely why I trust you as a priest. But as the one who protects the Holy See, I find it difficult to readily entrust you with my faith as ‘Saint Lucia’ rather than ‘Priest Lucia.'”

Lucia quickly grasped the implications behind his words.

Trust as a priest refers to human trust. It involves evaluating whether one can believe in another based on their character, qualities, and personal traits.

Conversely, trust as a pope embodies authority and political reliance. It gauges whether one is qualified as a bishop, cardinal, or pope and whether they can successfully navigate the future of the Church as a high-ranking clergy.

After a lengthy silence, the Pope finally spoke.

A calm voice echoed forth.

“To be honest, I sometimes doubt whether you will withstand the hardships and adversities awaiting you as a saint.”

“Do you think I lack the qualifications of a saint?”

“Not at all. I believe you are sufficiently qualified. However, holding qualifications alone does not guarantee one can overcome challenges, especially in these turbulent times.”

He paused momentarily before continuing.

“I cannot specify, but I have a foreboding feeling that the coming years will be the most challenging for our Church. I genuinely express my regrets that you are ascending to the position of a saint in such times.”

“How can that be the Pope’s fault?”

“Had I known just a bit sooner, perhaps we could have created a situation slightly less dire than the current one.”

The dark magician revealed himself after decades, disasters and wars erupted across various locations, and even exorcist priests found it challenging to deal with demons.

The tension between the Tower of Magic and the Church intensified with each passing day, and the conflict between longstanding religions deepened. As the veil lifted on the mystical, the Church’s authority crumbled, becoming infected from within and rotting away.

And then came the birth of a new saint.

“I have never acknowledged or reflected upon this, but… I wholeheartedly resonate with your view that our Church is moving in the wrong direction. It has become clear that change is necessary.”

“…….”

“Convincing Raphael, the bishops, and the cardinals will not be easy; there will always be those resistant to change. I was once among them.”

“It will change.”

“How so?”

“Because I believe it will.”

With no certainty in the presence of God and an ambiguous sense of anxiety about the future, the once-mighty divine felt as desolate as a dry riverbed, and the blessed body grew ever frailer.

No longer able to trust oneself, he could likewise not trust others. However.

If this moment is the last chance granted by the divine, then perhaps one could gamble everything in a final attempt at the end of life.

Thus, the Pope inquired.

Leaning on his staff, the frail old John XVI stood atop the rock, gazing at Lucia.

“Do you believe the Church can walk the right path?”

The saint replied.

“Yes, I believe so.”

“Will you endure whatever tribulations await you in upholding faith and conviction?”

Lucia, who must have drawn the sign of the cross hundreds, thousands, or perhaps tens of thousands of times, clasped her hands together.

“If it is something I must do, then of course I would.”

The Pope asked.

“What about when executing justice?”

“If that justice serves others, then gladly.”

“I have long relinquished my fate to the divine, but I believe your destiny still lies within your own hands.”

The Pope nodded.

“I will place my trust in your conviction.”