I’m an Immigration Officer!

Once more, she clasped her trembling hands.
“Our Father, who art in heaven… hear the cry of your daughter…”

Kneeling, voice barely holding steady, she prayed.
“Grant us the strength to drive out evil… let me be your voice so the world may hear…”
Cold water slowly soaked through her robes, chilling her knees and feet, but the Saintess kept praying.

On and on.
Until finally—after the twenty-seventh prayer—she slowly opened her tightly shut eyes.
She turned, hoping.

Desperate.
…
But there was only darkness.

Nothing behind her.
Only the damp, suffocating black of pre-dawn.
The twenty-seventh prayer had failed.

Again.
“…Why.”
A ragged whisper escaped her clenched teeth.

“WHY?!”
Thud!
Her fist slammed into the ground, trembling with fury and fear.

“Agh!”
A sharp pain immediately followed.
She looked down—blood trickled from her right hand where a broken shard of glass had pierced the skin.
Blood.

Quickly, she tried to focus. Tried to will the pain away.
This? This was nothing. She had healed three thousand pilgrims in one song. Driven soldiers into battle with a hymn.
But no matter how much Erzhena focused, the blood wouldn’t stop.

The pain only deepened—sharp and jabbing—forcing one horrible truth to rise to the surface.
“A… ah…”
She had no more—

No more divine power.
“No… no…”
No golden glow.

No holy warmth.
The ground beneath her feet was lifeless.
The reflection in the broken glass was no longer a woman of faith, but a shell of someone who used to be.

Shattered confidence.
Hollow despair.
Why? Why won’t He answer?

She stared at the wound. Still bleeding. Still open.
Four days.
It had been four days since the Lord took her power.

And still, silence.
She’d never experienced this before.
From the moment He chose her in the orphanage, His light had followed her.

In every breath.
Every step.
Every touch.

He had saved her.
Through her, He saved others.
That was how she became the Saintess.

That was how she carried His will.
But now… all she felt was one thing:
Loneliness.

As if the world had turned its back on her, cold fear wrapped around her like a noose.
No warmth. No golden radiance.
Only the winter wind of abandonment.

Why won’t He answer?
She hadn’t done anything wrong.
At least, she didn’t think so.

Every act—every word—every song had been for Him.
I gave You everything.
She sang until her voice broke, judged the wicked, blessed the Holy Knights in battle.

And in return, He gave her power overflowing—so much she could barely contain it.
Now… not even crumbs remained.
Where had it gone?

A thought crossed her mind like a razor blade.
What if… He wants more?
Maybe prayer wasn’t enough anymore.

Maybe faith wasn’t enough.
People were like that, weren’t they?
The more you give them, the more they want.

Why should a god be any different?
She had given Him her whole body, her whole life.
But maybe that wasn’t enough.

Not anymore.
“Yes… yes! That has to be it!”
Panicked, she scrambled to a drawer, pulling out scripture, holy relics, anything she could get her hands on.

She scattered them around the tent, ~Nоvеl𝕚ght~ grabbed a pen, and started scribbling verses onto her arms, her shoulders.
Like a fanatic.
If He wanted more, she would give more.

More of herself.
“Ah… ngh—!”
Her hands shook. The pen tore at her skin, leaving scratches and cuts, but she didn’t stop.

There was no time to care.
Desperation shoved her forward like a tidal wave.
Ink and blood mixed together, turning the holy words into a dark, grotesque crimson.

“Haa… haa…”
She forced her hands together again.
And prayed.

“Father in heaven… I long for your reply… please, answer your daughter’s call…”
…
“I understand now. I’ll gather more believers. I’ll bring more offerings. I’ll make our Church greater than ever. Just… please…”

…
“Please… just once… let me feel your warmth again… I’ll devote myself to the Church more than ever, so please, just once…!”
…

Nothing.
Only silence.
Crushing. Deafening. Cruel.

The gods weren’t listening.
Maybe they never had been.
“AAAAAAHHHH!!”

Her scream shattered the stillness as she hurled everything within reach.
“WHY!? WHY!? WHY!?”
Books tore. Furniture splintered. Her voice cracked from sobs and rage.

Without divine power… she was nothing.
Just a pitiful girl high on blind faith.
No different from some naive peasant singing in a village chapel.

All she’d done, all she’d built—denied.
These thoughts had been dragging her through hell for four days.
“ANSWER ME!! I GAVE YOU EVERYTHING!! WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME?!”

…
No answer.
Even her final plea was ignored.

Only her sobs echoed inside the tent, like a funeral dirge for her sanity.
“Without You… I’m nothing…”
The silence was brutal.

Only after she’d torn the tent apart did the panic start to subside.
“…Heh.”
The hollowness hit harder than fear ever could.

She collapsed in place, hugging her knees to her chest.
Her body ached, cut and bruised, foreign to pain.
She cried without realizing.

No golden light. No warmth. Just a tent soaked in cold shadows.
But maybe, just maybe, the breakdown helped her think clearly for a moment.
“…It started four days ago.”

She retraced the steps.
The first tremor—came after the Pope’s words.
“If you see the world in extremes, you’ll be left with nothing but enemies.”
“If we cast out those in ignorance and darkness, then what’s left of mercy? Should they all die just because they don’t believe?”

Those words had pierced her.
She remembered the divine power shaking within her.
He’d said it before. That she was too intense.

‘Your devotion burns too hot,’ he used to say.
This time was harsher. But the message was the same.
So even if her power had recoiled, it should have returned.

Should have.
Until that man appeared.
“I refuse entry to the crusaders. Please leave.”

A man who defied the will of the Lord.
“…Chief Inspector.”
She spoke his name aloud.

“Nathan Kael.”
A man cloaked in black she’d never seen before.
But it wasn’t cruel black—it was colder.

Emptier. Like the void of a starless sky.
He had… nothing.
No mana.

No divine power.
A Talent Manifestor? Lies.
And to top it off, he had the audacity to go against God’s decree.

“…Heretic.”
What else could he be?
When he stamped that denial, she felt it.

Her golden light… flickering away.
That horrifying silence… growing louder.
“It’s because of him.”

And there, in the ruins of the tent, something bloomed in her heart—
Hatred.
If only he had obeyed the will of the Pope. Of the Lord Himself.

“He should never have stamped that seal.”
The Chief Inspector stood in their way. And because of him, the entire grand campaign had been delayed.
“The Lord… He didn’t like that.”

That’s why she had been punished.
The Saintess clenched her jaw.
“All because of that damned heretic…!”

To think they were thrown off course by some low-tier puppet of the Cult of the Evil God.
To be blocked—they—by someone so worthless… it was shameful.
“Damnable heretic dares—DARES!!”

Her fists clenched with burning hatred.
Or—tried to.
Because just then, a thought pierced her mind like a needle.

“…Then why hasn’t the Chief Inspector been punished?”
If the Lord truly disapproved of him, divine retribution should’ve come by now. Not to her.
Four days had passed. If judgment had fallen on him, rumors would be everywhere by now.

But there was nothing.
The only one punished—was Erzhena.
“That… doesn’t make any sense.”

In the middle of that crushing silence, she began to sink into her own thoughts.
“Divine power…”
Back to the fundamentals.

Divine power is based on faith.
A gift granted by the Lord in response to true belief.
The more faithful, the more zealous, the more pure—the greater the blessing.

And if the Lord was pleased, He gave even more.
So for Him to take it all away could mean only one thing:
Her path no longer aligned with His.

Worse, He was displeased.
Utterly.
To the point of turning His face away.

“H-ha… but I haven’t done anything that could justify that…”
The worst thing she’d done was call the Chief Inspector a heretic.
“Other than that, I only—wait…”

A thought struck like lightning.
“…The crusade.”
What if—

No, seriously, what if—
What if this crusade wasn’t His will at all?
What if the Chief Inspector really was a Talent Manifestor, and the Lord had sent him to stop them?

And they ignored that warning and pushed ahead anyway—and now He was furious?
“N-no. No, that’s ridiculous.”
Her head shook, instinctively denying it.

That was a dangerous thought.
Blasphemous.
She was the Saintess. The living symbol of the Church.

And the Pope—the one closest to the divine.
There was no way their will could be different from the Lord’s.
That would be heresy.

A hideous, forbidden idea.
“Y-yeah. No. That’s insane.”
She shook her head harder, almost violently.

But the clash of logic and faith had already begun inside her.
Blasphemous doubts smashing against beliefs she’d upheld all her life.
“But…”

The Lord is the one who weaves chance upon chance into threads of inevitability.
Her meeting with the Chief Inspector—was one such inevitability. A chain of accidents too perfect to be random.
And only now did Erzhena realize something horrifying.

She had never asked him.
“…I never asked if he was a Talent Manifestor.”
She just assumed.

Assumed and declared him a heretic.
He had no visible mana, no aura. He didn’t fit into the world’s painting. A pitch-black man layered in every shade imaginable.
So she filled in the blanks. Condemned him.

"Just because you can see something… doesn’t mean it’s the truth."
But even if that’s true, this shouldn’t be happening.
“If that was the Lord’s will, He could’ve stopped us years ago.”

Why now?
Why not fifteen years ago—during the last crusade?
And then she remembered:

That was exactly when she was chosen.
She wasn’t even five.
A new Saintess being chosen… meant the former one had lost her power.

The campaign to crush the remnants beyond the Kingdom of Crossroads had failed.
The Pope had insisted on pushing forward anyway.
They’d nearly gone to war because of it.

And now—fifteen years later—they were preparing again.
“Now it all makes sense…”
She retraced the memory of four days ago.

The Pope had tried to persuade the Chief Inspector.
“Please… clear the way, for the sake of the crusade.”
Another attempt at crossing the Kingdom of Crossroads.

Another instance where her divine power vanished.
Her eyes widened.
Like being struck with a hammer.

She understood.
“This… this crusade isn’t His will.”
And now she remembered what the Pope said, just before departing:

“After this crusade… there will be no enemies left of the Church.”
He never once said “enemies of the Lord.”
Only “enemies of the Church.”

“What… what have I done…”
The Chief Inspector wasn’t guilty.
He was doing his job.

Even if, hypothetically, he wasn’t a Talent Manifestor, he never once claimed otherwise.
Everything else—she’d assumed.
Declared him a heretic.

Treated him with hostility.
Her hands began to tremble.
“First Holy Knights, hear me! The enemy has already taken root in every corner of the world!”

She had almost ordered his execution.
Because she judged him as a heretic.
Because of her.

“My God… this is my fault…”
Not just a mistake—a sin.
And she had heaped that sin on an innocent young man.

All while petitioning for the Church’s divine mission.
“I deny entry to the crusaders. Please leave.”
And now, the Pope was preparing to crush the one man who didn’t kneel.

She knew what that meant.
To deny the Pope’s request to his face?
“I—I have to stop this! This isn’t the Lord’s will!!”

No more hesitation.
This pilgrimage had to stop.
No—this crusade had to stop.

Who knew what might happen next? If the Lord had taken her power twice already…
A wildfire of war could sweep across the land.
Innocent people might die—because of her.

Because she saw only enemies and allies. Because she thought she understood His will completely—how arrogant could she be?
That thought alone made her run.
Out of the tent.

To find Moheim. To tell him everything.
She reached for the curtain flap—
But someone else pulled it aside before she could.

“Ah, Lady Saintess.”
It was one of her handmaidens.
“I heard screaming. Are you alright?”

The moment she saw her, Erzhena shouted:
“G-get Moheim! Right now! It’s urgent! This crusade—it must be stopped! This isn’t the Lord’s will!”
But the maid didn’t move.

She didn’t even look surprised.
“My goodness… what a mess.”
She brushed past Erzhena and stepped into the wrecked tent.

Furniture smashed. Scriptures torn. She clicked her tongue.
“What a disaster.”
Erzhena snapped.

“This is not the time! Hurry up and—no, forget it! I’ll go myself—!”
She started toward the exit—
“By the way… Lady Saintess, why can’t I see your divine power?”

“…What?”
“Looks like your god abandoned you.”
A new voice.

From behind her.
Erzhena slowly turned her head.
Not brown eyes.

Not her maid.
In the shadows of the tent, gleamed a pair of glowing violet eyes.
Shahal.

From the folds of her cloak, she drew a tiny vial.
“Well then… seems like you’ve got no one left to protect you now.”