Omniscient First-Person’s Viewpoint - Chapter 545



The Descent of the Saintess

In the western continent, at the monastery of the lighthouse built on the peninsula stretching into the Mediterranean. It is the beacon for sailors, illuminating the only sea route of the continent along the Mediterranean coast. The monks residing here, with their sunburnt skin, battle against the treacherous sea.

Brother Gilo of the lighthouse monastery was inspecting the Great White Wall when he noticed the spreading red letters. He had the duty to immediately transcribe the words written on the wall into an official document. He hurriedly gathered paper and pen to write, but upon seeing the red stains, he frowned.

“Red? A monastery of blood?”

There was no information worth conveying to the Great White Wall from a monastery of blood. What could possibly be of significance for heresy to announce from that distant land of savagery?

“Perhaps they’ll just be spreading more deceit about the appearance of the Lamb’s Apostle.”

That was all there was to report from the monastery of blood. With little enthusiasm, he dipped his pen into the red ink.

At that moment, the Great White Wall turned crimson.

It was as if someone had committed murder against the backdrop of the Great White Wall. Bloodstains splattered as letters were inscribed in fresh blood. Was the victim leaving words with their blood? The horrifying and brutal sight caused the brother to bang his knee against the desk in shock.

“Ugh!”

It was an obvious anomaly, yet the brother had the duty to record even that.

Realizing his obligation too late, he hurried to write down the contents inscribed on the Great White Wall, but upon reading the words, he understood that his attempt was futile.

For the monastery of blood had requested an audience with the saintess.

Similar events were occurring all over the world. On the small Great White Walls buried within the territories of the ten nations, as well as on the massive Great White Wall of the imperial headquarters. A revelation so rough and savage that it could only be described as a phenomenon echoed throughout.

Everyone knew who was committing such atrocities against the Great White Wall that conveyed the words of the divine. Yet, all they could do was watch helplessly.

It was happening in the land of savagery, beyond the Enger Plains, where the monastery of blood reigned.

With a refreshing boldness, Yegcheria placed her hands on the now crimson wall.

“The saintesses cannot ignore this, can they? Ah, it seems I will receive a revelation from the saintess after a long time!”

“Though it’s to receive a definite answer, isn’t it a bit too extreme?”

“The Divine Palace is the guardian of stale order and norms. They are dullards who only react to displays of extremity. To reach the saintess, we must present a problem they cannot solve on their own!”

Indeed. No matter how high and mighty the Divine Palace may be, they cannot allow the Great White Wall to remain stained with blood. As expected, a signal soon arrived.

[How dare you, vampire, defile the Great White Wall of Rakion with blood! Are you mocking the sacred bricks that record the teachings of the first saintess!]

—

On the blood-stained white wall, white letters emerged. At that moment, a fierce light burst forth, driving away the bloodlust that had sullied the wall.

[The stain shall be purified by light! Fallen nun, vanish into the shadows of history!]

Long ago, in an era when the teachings of the Celestial Deity were treated as heresy and persecuted. The first saint secretly taught people the words and faith by writing on baked bricks. When soldiers came, the faithful would fit their bricks together to conceal the teachings.

Then one day, when the soldiers, suspicious, began to tear down the bricks. Just before the saint’s teachings were revealed to the world, a miracle occurred. The teachings of the Celestial Deity transformed into a stern rebuke against the oppressors. The soldiers of the oppressor realized that the saint was the true prophet and repented.

The miracle born from this ancient tale is the Great White Wall of Rakion. It was named after a brickmaker who had baked bricks for them.

All Great White Walls, even if located in different places, are the same. The teachings of the Celestial Deity transcend the Great White Walls.

Conversely, this means that miracles performed in other monasteries can also influence the Monastery of Blood.

Words began to emerge throughout the Great White Wall.

[I shall condemn!]

[I shall punish!]

[Repent!]

Light clusters surged from all corners of the Great White Wall. The holy light, which purifies all things, pierced through the bloodlust. The growing light cluster attempted to tear apart the blood-stained veil and restore the Great White Wall to its original whiteness.

“To seek the teachings is to reach out, and to extend one’s hand is to draw near. Hearing my voice and feeling my touch is the path to getting closer to the Celestial Deity. Thus, the one who obstructs the path is surely a demon.”

Blood exorcism, the rite of blood.

The sacrament of blood that drives out the dry was performed. The vampire nun recited the scriptures, exuding bloodlust.

The light cluster continued to flicker. However, the blood veil merely yielded for a moment before quickly flowing back to fill the gaps. Dozens of holy lights flickered intermittently, unable to overwhelm the sacrament of blood.

“You cannot erase my words with the command not to defile. Just because I wrote my words in blood does not mean you can condemn and erase them. The scriptures do not say so.”

“Well, that’s because there were no vampires back then.”

“But it’s not written, is it?”

To a mad zealot, anything not inscribed in the scriptures is not truth. Extreme fundamentalism brushes against extreme progressivism. They are lenient towards what is not in the principles.

The light of the Great White Wall flickered as if taken aback. Even with dozens of nuns exerting their strength, they could not withstand the power of a single Yegcheria. At the very least, it would take the combined strength of the abbess or a bishop to even stand a chance.

Of course, there was a simpler way to resolve the situation. It would mean yielding to the demands of a terrorist, but it was a more certain method. Suddenly, the expression of Yegcheria, who had lifted her head, brightened.

“Oh, our saint blessed by the first saint. Thank you for bestowing grace upon this monastery!”

And then the causality twisted.

The sound of something taut snapping was heard. At that moment, the bloodlust that had filled the Great White Wall vanished in an instant.

It was not swept away or driven out. The Great White Wall returned to its original state. A miracle of a higher order, different from mere miracles or power struggles.

The Great White Wall was restored by the power of the saint.

As if to say it had never been sullied by blood, a single line of text gently emerged from the now-pure Great White Wall.

[I have stopped you, Yegcheria. I have come to you directly.]

What? What does that mean?

—

In the strangely twisted words of causality, Yegcheria clasped her hands in awe and welcomed the saint’s revelation.

“Oh, Lord… The humble servant of the celestial being welcomes the light that has come to this remote monastery.”

Though she could write on the Great White Wall, her voice could not be conveyed. Yegcheria manipulated her blood energy to inscribe words upon the Great White Wall. However, the moment the blood energy touched the wall, which maintained its form through some mysterious power, it vanished.

The saint’s authority is a power of elevation, greater than divine might. They can invoke miracles beyond the imagination of those who possess sight transcending time and space. The saint, who ‘erased’ the blood energy, wrote calmly, independent of Yegcheria’s strength or authority.

[No matter how I respond, I cannot reverse the twisted causality that is you. That is providence. Yet, as a saint, I implore you, once a devout believer: cease your wandering and return to the embrace of the divine. Though that flesh may be cursed, I shall ensure that your spirit remains, to reclaim the light.]

It’s a command to die. If one were truly a believer of the Holy Palace, they might regard death for faith as trivial. Yegcheria smiled lightly, waving her blood-stained fingers.

“Ah, dear saint. You jest too much. Do not fear death. If you possess a clear and pure spirit, the celestial being will gladly make room beside them. If my mind is clear, what reason is there that this wretched flesh cannot bestow goodness and virtue?”

Once again, the words vanished before they could touch the Great White Wall. Though it was clear that the message did not reach beyond the wall, the saint responded as if she understood.

[It is the fate of the saint that even a predetermined outcome cannot be avoided. I had to ask, knowing you would not respond. Therefore, I shall remain silent on the questions you may pose.]

“Dear saint. What I wish to convey to you is…”

[It is not a message for you, Yegcheria. It is for the human king who has spurred you on.]

Oh? She shouldn’t be able to see.

The Great White Wall is merely a wall where the same words are inscribed in every place. It conveys neither scene nor circumstance. Yet, for some reason, the saint beyond the wall was looking directly at me.

[There is no need to labor over repeating answers you already know. I cannot provide answers you do not know. The thread of causality that would continue this conversation has ended, so I can tie this knot.]

Those words are the truth.

No matter what we say, no matter what blood energy Yegcheria unleashes. That saint can freely close and reject this conversation. That is the power of the Saint of Causality, Tichiel.

I can’t even begin to guess what kind of ability that is. Perhaps even if she reads thoughts and grasps their essence, it would be the same. It is a kind of power that is as difficult to understand as the Steel Saint, Perel, and even if understood, cannot be unraveled.

However, being a saint does not mean being omnipotent. The fact that this conversation, untouched by causality, has taken place suggests there is still room for something.

“Then does that mean I can think freely?”

Before Yegcheria could even write her words, the Great White Wall answered on its own.

[Yes. This conversation has already been tied off.]

What I guessed is mostly correct, and it means she won’t reveal what is still merely a hypothesis, right? A good attitude, but unfortunately, that is not enough right now.

There is a protagonist here who won’t know unless explained.

“So says she, Mr. Shay. What do you think?”

The reincarnator, standing with a sulky expression, replied irritably.

“What do you mean? Explain it in a way I can understand.”

‘Tichiel’s way of speaking is so convoluted that it’s hard to grasp. Sigh, if only the Holy Sword Commander were here to transla te. I can’t figure it out beyond the Great White Wall.’

Then the Great White Wall turned momentarily white. In a clearly flustered handwriting, the saint’s message was conveyed.

[Yegcheria. What is it that you are reaping? Causality is twisted….]

It was then.

—

The letters crumbled helplessly.

The letters written in the air trembled and then disintegrated into consonants and vowels, collapsing downwards. Thus, the letters that fell beneath the great white wall recombined to form a single phrase.

The light came down from the sky.

In that moment, without any premonition or warning. A girl, quietly with her eyes closed, appeared in the chapel.

Or could it be said that she appeared?

If presence is a sign of existence, she radiated an immense presence. Even when she turned her head, I could sense her existence there. My consciousness was undeniably focused on her above all else.

But she did not exist here. That illusion had no warmth, no weight, no gentle voice.

No one is here. Yet she undeniably exists. I could draw her appearance if I wanted to. But if reflected in a mirror, her image would vanish like a wisp.

It feels less like she is here and more like the ‘fact’ of her presence is conveyed to my mind. Thoughts are unreadable, and there is no sense of reality, yet she clearly existed here.

“It’s been dreadfully long, King of Humans and Yegcheria.”

As if transcending time and space, a voice that was soft, clear, and held an unchanging truth resonated. The saint, with her eyes quietly closed, looked directly at the regressor and greeted her with a melancholic nod.

“And, my last hope and first despair.”

Since I cannot read thoughts, I do not know who she is or what power she possesses. Yet the regressor knew who stood before her. Even in the face of an immense miracle, the regressor greeted her with a calm familiarity, as if pleased to meet her.

“Nice to meet you, Meiel.”