---The Miracle of the Saint.
Kree possessed no means to stop it.
A saint performs a miracle and saves those who suffer.
That sacred act is one no one is permitted to hinder.
To stop a saint who has resolved herself to perform a miracle is the most unforgivable of sins.
Especially for one given the duty of an inquisitor, who must above all uphold the law of God.
Kree desperately suppresses the emotions screaming to intervene, burying them beneath devotion to God and her own sense of ethics.
"My God, my God—I offer you my precious memories. Please, give this person once more the faith in You…"
Thus, Kree could only do as she always did: grit her teeth and watch the scene unfold.
And God's miracle was realized.
In an instant, light flooded the interior of the pavilion.
Not sunlight, but a pure, radiant glow tinged with faint warmth, dazzlingly enveloping her entire field of vision.
A sense of relief and bliss, as gentle as a mother's embrace, softly wrapped the hearts of everyone present.
It truly felt like the presence of the divine; her very soul understood that some transcendent power had descended upon this place.
"Aah, AAAAAGH!!"
Amidst it all, what she heard was a wail utterly incongruous with the majestic sight.
"What have I done! Why did I forget such an important thing until now?!"
Ceanmach, the healing priest, collapsed where he stood, clutching his head and screaming.
It was a dramatic change, but a reaction that was largely to be expected. The faith reborn in his heart now made him repent for his actions during the time it was lost.
What manner of spiritual anguish must he be feeling now?
To Kree, who had never lost her faith, it might not have been clear, but just by looking at his attitude, it was as plain as day that this was a suffering that threatened to tear him apart.
"Oh! Forgive me, God! Forgive me, Holy Saint! Please, forgive this foolish creature. What have I done... all this time, what was I... what have I been doing?"
This was the miracle of the Saint of the Diary.
The most precious, yet cruelest of all, a blessing bestowed by the divine.
Its scope was limitless. While primarily specialized in healing others, if it fell within the realm of what could be called a miracle, it could accomplish anything.
Treating the sick, restoring destroyed items, gaining the power to exorcise evil spirits.
The effects were vastly diverse, as were their ranges.
Of the seven saints, the miracle of the Diary was considered the most versatile and the most powerful blessing bestowed by God.
It had even effortlessly shattered the curse of oblivion brought by the King of Ruin.
The holy divine saves suffering people universally through the hands of the saint.
But that was an unbearably cruel sight.
Because the price Retrain, the Saint of the Diary, paid for using the miracle,
—was that God demanded her memories in return.
What were the circumstances that led her to possess the diary?
When had she started writing it?
For every memory of those she had devoted, there existed a person saved.
For every memory she had lost, there existed words of gratitude.
The very means Retrain had devised as a survival tactic—so she wouldn't even know why the believer sobbing with emotion before her was crying—was the true nature of the large diary she carried.
"Saint Retrain! Great Saint Retrain! I thank you for God's grace! For this miracle bestowed upon a non-believer like me—such mercy! I don't know what to say! I humbly shame myself to ask: please, bestow this miracle upon the multitudes who still suffer! If you do, this town will surely be rebuilt! There are still so many who suffer under the curse left by the King of Ruin!"
"...? Eh? Ah—y-yes!"
In response to Ceanmach's frenzied pleas, Ritrain opened her diary, confirmed something, then closed it. The reason why the person before her had collapsed in tears, the reason why he was uttering words of gratitude — Ritrain was verifying those reasons. Perhaps, having perhaps sacrificed even his title as Ceanmach the Medicinal Priest, he had only now come to truly know her once more. The memories she retained were painfully few. No one knew, and no one understood. She only interacted with others as the diary dictated.
"Well, um, I'm glad it worked out."
"The achievement of a miracle — congratulations, Lady Ritrain! What a magnificent feat! I, for one, have witnessed God's miracle for the first time and am overcome with emotion! With such power, the Southern Province is sure to be saved!"
"Yes, um... yes. Thank you?"
The holy knight, his voice slightly shrill with excitement as he lined up words of praise — Ritrain turned a vague response toward him as though only now noticing his existence. She probably did not understand who he was either, or why he was here. The bewilderment in her voice made that painfully clear.
The mission imposed upon this young girl was endlessly heavy. God's grace was far too radiant and far too overwhelming for her alone to bear. Yet no one was permitted to shoulder it in her stead. The Holy Maiden's solitude was demanded by none other than God Himself.
"The achievement of a miracle is truly — a fine thing. However, Ceanmach the Medicinal Priest appears still to be in a state of confusion. He will need time to reflect upon himself. ...You there. Could you escort him to the rest area? I should like to continue the questioning and discuss further cooperation at a later time."
"Yes, sir! Understood, Inquisitor Imreis! Then, with your leave! Come, Ceanmach. This way, please..."
"Oh, how embarrassing — to trouble a holy knight like this, what a..."
"Please, think nothing of it!"
Kree smoothly prompted their departure, and the still-excited pair left the tent. Having concluded their business, there was no point lingering; the situation wouldn't change just by watching. At most, High Priest Ceanmach's expressions of gratitude would only gain more variation.
The lucky recipients of a divine miracle's direct favor, and its witness. After these two—who might otherwise have their names inscribed in scripture as participants in a miracle—departed, an unusually quiet space awaited the women left behind.
"Was that acceptable?"
Kree asked Ritrain, who had been frantically flipping through her diary pages since earlier.
"Y-yes... probably..."
"I see."
She fell silent immediately.
Her memories—of the Diary Saint, Ritrain—were, by nature, finite. While she actively offered up new, daily memories as payment, recklessly invoking miracles would inevitably bring her to her limit. In other words, the time might come when the memories she had thus far refused to offer would become necessary.
The only thing Ritrain, her mind full of holes from continuous sacrifice, stubbornly refused to surrender and clutched close were her memories of her father. Kree had conveyed this implicitly: use miracles carelessly, and a moment of grave choice would eventually arrive.
That is, the day her memories were entirely gone, and Ritrain ceased to be Ritrain. The day her recollections of her father vanished, and only a hollow doll remained—a Saint, reduced to a mere function.
—For now, the world was brimming with chaos.
Malevolent forces watched hungrily, their stirrings threatening to drag every living soul into the depths of hell.
The El-Nar Spirit Pact Union had already fallen, showing ominous movements under the dominion of evil. Quolia, too, had suffered a catastrophic blow from the southern state risen as the Renea Divine Radiance, and had yet to recover from its deep wound.
Furthermore, in the southern continent—the Dark Continent—another dire existence was prophesied to reside in a neutral nation. From here on, the war between light and darkness would almost certainly... no, undoubtedly grow ever more fierce. Countless would be wounded and felled along the way. Those seeking the Saint's aid would only increase, never diminish. And Ritrain was not so cold-hearted as to abandon the innocent people who pleaded for help. That is why the Saint in her diary would continue to perform miracles from this day forth. Even if she had to offer up every last cherished memory she possessed... At that moment, what could this gentle girl possibly offer?
"Um, Imreis the Inquisitor..."
"...Yes? What is it?"
"Do you think God, do you think Lord Aros... has been watching over my good deeds?"
To Kree, whose heart was darkened by a question with no answer, Ritrain spoke hesitantly. Seeing her like this was the hardest thing of all. It was agonizingly painful, unbearably difficult to endure. Therefore, to ensure her own thoughts remained hidden, she closed her heart, froze her emotions, and forced a smile. But even so... Kree, despite possessing an iron will, could not stop her voice from trembling.
"Y-yes. God must surely... be watching over Lord Nerim's deeds."
"I see... I'm glad."
Ritrain smiled with an expression of such profound, genuine relief.
That smile was so genuinely innocent that it filled Kree with an unbearable sense of guilt.
Kree remembered.
She remembered that this small girl was truly a cheerful and affectionate soul.
She remembered how, because the other knew her while she had lost her memories, she would become timid and adopt a wary, watching posture, not wishing to cause discomfort.
Kree remembered.
The name Ritrain was given when she was taken into the central authorities; her true name was Nerim, bestowed by her adoptive father.
She remembered the kind words, spoken when neither of the other knew the other, when she herself was tense before an audience with the Saint: "You can just call me Nerim casually, okay?"
Kree remembered.
She remembered that the girl's sense of justice was sharper than most, and that she was more sensitive to human suffering than anyone.
It was so much like her father, and she had thought, no—she had *believed*, that one day the girl could become a fine holy official just like him.
Kree remembered.
She remembered the girl weeping at night, softly calling her father's name…
"Your father will surely return. Besides—"
Inwardly, Kree wailed.
The smile she had practiced so many times crumbled again, replaced by a stiff, awkward expression.
Oh God, oh great God, why do you desire such tragedy?
When will she be saved? How will she be saved?
What should I do for her?
There was no God to answer.
If you are truly omniscient and omnipotent, benevolent God, you must be hearing this.
The gods who should have been confirmed to exist maintain silence at the pleasure of their holy will.
Thus Kree could only wear a sorrowful smile...
"Please feel free to call me Kree."
She swore in her heart to stay by the girl's side until the inevitable end came.
◇ ◇ ◇
Some days after the collapse of the Renea Divine Kingdom.
The old Quolia Southern Province. The commercial city of Selduchi.
The city closest to the connection point between the Southern Province and the Dark Continent.
Located in the uttermost south of Quolia proper, this city once bustled with unofficial trade against the neutral nations of the Dark Continent.
But now, in this chaotic era, the place where a diverse array of people still visited had become wrapped in a kind of gloomy atmosphere.
The immigration control checkpoint at Selduchi's city entrance was sealed, with only idle birds singing.
This city in the Southern Province was currently designated a critical control zone in the names of Quolia's Three Archbishops, and passage of people was thoroughly cut off.
Not only were outsiders barred entry, but no one was permitted to leave either—a stringent measure. But this was an emergency.
Merchants had already fled to safer places, and pilgrims or travelers were too occupied with the plague outbreak.
The garrison soldiers, who normally had no rest while processing immigration for merchants, pilgrims, and mercenaries, were naturally idle due to this state of affairs.
Regardless, security was still necessary; they couldn't leave the place completely unguarded.
That day, a single soldier sat in a chair within the administration building annexed to the city gate, his elbow propped on the surveillance window, idly gazing at the clear sky visible outside.
It was obvious to anyone, but despite being given an important assignment, he felt bored by the work that simply wasn't coming.
"I hate to say it, but this is painful—there's too much time on my hands... The busier daily life I used to have almost feels nostalgic now."
It's an organizational norm for frontline soldiers and the upper echelon to have vast disparities in their sense of crisis.
He too felt a vague unease but lacked any real sense of danger, spending the day in a daze, simply waiting impatiently for the shift change…
That was when it happened, truly suddenly, without any warning.
"Hellloooooo! Could I trouble you for a moment!?"
"Whoa! Wh-what… who are you?"
The man appeared suddenly, truly suddenly, outside the window.
Even if he had been spacing out, the view from the window was clear, with nowhere for anyone to hide nearby.
Despite this, the man had approached completely undetected, and the soldier, who moments ago had been performing his duties carelessly, could not hide his alarm.
He instinctively took a step back from the window and placed a hand on the sword at his waist.
But the strange man showed not the slightest concern for the soldier's obvious distrust and defensive posture. On the contrary, he seemed to have no intention of acknowledging his own suspicious appearance whatsoever.
"Oh! My sincerest apologies! My name is Vittorio, Vittorio from Mynoghra!"
He met the soldier's gaze, thick with confusion and suspicion, with unblinking cheerfulness.
Furthermore, he bowed deeply with an exaggerated flourish.
The head he slowly raised was like a snake lifting itself, radiating a sinister aura, and the grin on his mouth was as unsettling as if he were licking his lips.
For him, a low-ranking soldier ill-informed about distant affairs, the fact that the catastrophic details of Takuto Ira, King of Mynoghra, had not reached him was perhaps a blessing or a curse.
But such questions became meaningless in the next instant.
A group had also appeared, seemingly from nowhere, shuffling forward from behind him.
Every one of them wore a fixed, unnervingly broad smile.
They seemed almost artificial, but they were clearly not puppets, as evidenced by the handful of girls at the front who wore distinctly irritable and exhausted expressions.
"Wh-what do you want? This city is currently under lockdown," the soldier asked, his voice losing its confidence.
Though usually the type to lord it over anyone from the Dark Continent, he was, after all, a small man with enough sense not to cause trouble under these circumstances.
It was a mark against him, however, that his companions weren't nearby—given he’d been given only a skeleton crew—so his composure wavered visibly from time to time.
Still, even if his wits were somewhat about him, his chances of standing up to the con artist before him were virtually nil...
"Are you happy, I wonder~?"
A phrase heard elsewhere was dripping out once more here.
Vittorio’s eccentricities, born of having too much time on his hands...
The next move by the strategist hero was about to begin.