Chapter 354 - The Broken Faith and Silent Goddess (1)

The corridor felt longer on the way back.

Not physically—Luca knew the path well enough now—but emotionally. The air seemed heavier, every footstep echoing louder than it should. The faint warmth of the underground garden had faded, replaced by the cool sterility of carved stone and sacred silence.

Luca and Aldric walked side by side.

Neither spoke.

Their steps fell into an uneasy rhythm, boots brushing against ancient marble, robes whispering softly with each movement. The distant hum of cathedral life filtered faintly through the walls—prayers murmured, bells echoing far above—but here, in the passage between sanctum and shadow, it felt as though the world had paused to listen.

Luca broke the silence first.

"...Did you understand what he wanted?" he asked quietly.

Aldric didn’t look at him right away.

They walked another few steps before the older man shook his head, slow and deliberate.

"No," he admitted. "Not fully."

His fingers tightened slightly around his staff.

"But I know this much," he added. "He did not summon us merely to look at you."

Luca exhaled through his nose. "Yeah. I figured."

They turned another corner. Light from high windows began to seep in again, pale and reverent.

Luca hesitated, then asked the question that had been sitting in his chest since they left the garden.

"...Is he a good person?"

Aldric stopped.

Not abruptly—but with the quiet finality of someone who needed to think before answering.

Luca halted beside him.

For a moment, neither spoke.

The cathedral’s distant bells rang once, low and solemn.

Aldric stared ahead, eyes unfocused.

"I..." he began, then stopped.

His jaw tightened.

"I dare not comment on His Holiness," he said at last, voice careful. "Not as a priest. Not as a subject."

That alone was an answer.

Luca let out a faint, humorless breath.

"...Yeah," he muttered. "Thought so."

He looked ahead again, gaze darkening slightly.

In his past life—his previous playthroughs—the Pope had been a figure of reverence. Distant. Untouchable. A narrative pillar of righteousness.

But that was the game.

And if there was one thing I had learned since coming to this world...

It was that...I could never judge it anymore from the knowledge of my game.

Or worse.

It had told the truth in ways that only made sense once it was already too late.

They resumed walking.

The corridor widened, light growing brighter with each step until the towering arches of the cathedral’s main hall came into view. Voices echoed faintly. Footsteps passed in the distance. Life continued—faithful and oblivious.

As they reached the threshold, Aldric stopped again.

He turned to Luca, studying him carefully.

"You..." Aldric said slowly. "Are you certain you don’t want to see her?"

Luca’s breath caught.

His gaze dropped to the floor.

"I don’t know," he admitted quietly. "What I’d even say."

He clenched his fist, then loosened it.

"What if she asks me something I can’t answer?" he continued. "What if just seeing me makes things worse? I don’t know how to answer her questions."

Aldric watched him closely.

"You’re afraid," he said gently.

Luca didn’t deny it.

Aldric sighed, a sound heavy with age and regret.

"Wait here," he said at last. "I... wish to pray."

Luca looked up, surprised. "Now?"

Aldric nodded once. "Just a moment."

He turned and walked toward the cathedral doors, his figure slowly swallowed by the towering structure of faith and stone.

Luca remained where he was.

Alone.

The light from the stained-glass windows washed over him in muted colors—gold, blue, crimson—casting broken reflections across the floor. Somewhere inside, voices rose in hymn.

He exhaled slowly.

And waited.

Unaware that the choice he had just made—to wait—might matter more than anything he had done so far.

***

The cathedral swallowed sound the moment Aldric stepped inside.

The towering doors closed behind him with a muted echo, sealing away the distant murmurs of the faithful. Light filtered down from the high domed ceiling in fractured beams, passing through stained glass that depicted miracles, salvation, judgment—centuries of devotion carved into color and stone.

At the far end of the vast hall stood the statue.

The Goddess.

She towered above the altar, sculpted from ivory-white stone that seemed almost too smooth, too perfect. Her face was serene, eyes half-lidded as if gazing upon the world with endless mercy. One hand extended forward in blessing, the other resting over her heart. Wings of carved light fanned behind her, catching the glow of the candles placed at her feet.

Hundreds of them.

Their flames flickered gently, illuminating offerings of flowers, coins, prayer scrolls—countless hopes left behind by believers.

Aldric stepped forward.

Each footstep echoed louder than it should have.

He stopped at the foot of the altar.

For a long moment, he only stood there.

Then—slowly—he lowered himself to his knees.

The sound of fabric brushing against stone was soft, but in the vast silence it felt deafening.

His shoulders trembled.

He bowed his head, hands clenched tightly before him.

"...Why?" he whispered.

The word barely carried.

His voice broke as it left his throat.

"Why her?"

The candles flickered.

Aldric lifted his face, eyes glistening as he stared up at the Goddess’ unmoving expression.

"She didn’t choose this," he said, his voice trembling now. "She never asked to be your Saintess. Never asked to carry the weight of this kingdom on her shoulders."

His fingers dug into the stone floor.

"She was just a child," he whispered. "A little girl... crying in the cold outside an orphanage. No name. No home. No one looking for her."

His breath hitched.

"I found her there," he said hoarsely. "Shaking. Looking at this unknown world with her small eyes. Afraid of the world. Not being able to speak."

His voice cracked.

"Was I wrong to help her?" he asked. "Was I wrong to guide her toward your light? To tell her she was chosen... that her life had meaning?"

Tears slipped free, streaking down his face unchecked.

"She didn’t kill out of malice," Aldric said, anguish rising in his voice. "Those cultists were going to murder her. They hunted her. Cornered her."

His hands shook as he pressed them to the floor.

"She fought back because she wanted to live."

Silence.

Only the soft crackle of candles answered him.

"Is that a sin?" he demanded, voice breaking. "Is that worth death?"

His breath came uneven now.

"Tell me," he whispered desperately. "How is this justice? How is this faith?"

The statue did not answer.

Aldric let out a choked sound, half sob, half laugh.

"...You won’t speak to me," he murmured. "You never do."

His shoulders slumped.

For a moment, he looked impossibly old.

Then—slowly—he rose to his feet.

His hands trembled as he reached for the chain around his neck, pulling free the small silver cross that had rested against his chest for decades. His fingers tightened around it, knuckles white.

His voice was low now.

Steady.

"If it is your will for my daughter to die..." he said quietly, "...then forgive me."

He lifted his head, eyes burning with resolve.

"Because I will stand against it."

His grip tightened around the cross.

"Even if my faith shatters."

The words echoed through the empty cathedral.

Aldric turned.

His steps were firm as he walked away from the altar, away from the statue, away from the silent gaze of the Goddess.

The doors opened.

Light spilled in.

And as he passed through them, the candles behind him flickered violently—

—but did not go out.

The Goddess watched.

And said nothing.

***

The hut was small.

So small that the fire in the corner warmed the entire room without effort. A single table stood between two worn stools, its surface scarred by age and use. Steam curled gently from two chipped clay cups, the scent of bitter mountain tea mixing with the faint smell of old wood and ash.

Outside, the holy city slept.

Inside, time felt suspended.

Luca sat with his elbows resting on his knees, hands wrapped loosely around the cup in front of him. He wasn’t drinking it. His eyes were unfocused, fixed somewhere beyond the flickering firelight.

Across from him, Aldric sat stiffly, both hands wrapped around his own cup as though grounding himself. His shoulders were tense, his expression drawn, the weight of everything he had seen—and everything he feared—pressing down on him.

They had been silent for a long time.

Finally, Aldric spoke.

"...What’s your plan?"

His voice was quiet. Controlled. But there was an edge to it, the kind that came from holding too much in for too long.

Luca didn’t answer.

The fire crackled softly.

Aldric exhaled and continued, almost to himself.

"We could take her," he said. "Before the execution. Quietly. I know the patrol routes. The underground passages. We could get her out of Solaria before dawn."

He looked up at Luca, eyes sharp now.

"It would be dangerous," he admitted. "We’d be hunted. Branded heretics. But she would live."

Luca remained still.

Aldric clenched his jaw.

"...Or are you saying we fight?" he asked. "Storm the square? Cut through the knights and priests and drag her away by force?"

His voice wavered just slightly.

"Because if that’s what you mean, then say it. I’ll do it. Even if it kills me."

Silence again.

The fire popped.

Then—

"No."

Luca’s voice was calm.

Flat.

Aldric froze.

Luca finally looked up.

His eyes were steady. Clear. Burning with something far more dangerous than anger.

"No," he repeated. "That’s not what I plan to do."

Aldric stared at him. "Then what?"

Luca set the cup down slowly.

"That’s not what she deserves," he said.

Aldric’s breath caught.

"She doesn’t deserve to be dragged away like a criminal," Luca continued. "To live the rest of her life hiding in fear, hunted by the very faith that raised her."

His jaw tightened.

"She doesn’t deserve to be saved like a fugitive."

Aldric’s hands trembled slightly.

"Then what?" he asked again, almost pleading. "What do you intend to do?"

Luca leaned back against the wall, eyes lifting to the ceiling as if searching for the right words.

For a moment, he looked... tired.

Then a faint smile touched his lips.

Not warm.

Not kind.

Certain.

"Who said anything about taking her away?" he asked quietly.

Aldric frowned. "What?"

Luca’s gaze sharpened.

"I don’t plan to steal her from them," he said. "I don’t plan to hide her. And I definitely don’t plan to run."

The firelight reflected in his eyes.

"I just plan to kill someone."

The words fell into the room like a blade hitting stone.

Aldric stiffened. "Kill...?"

Luca met his gaze.

"To fulfill a promise," he said softly.

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Aldric opened his mouth—then closed it again. His thoughts raced, piecing together implications he didn’t want to face.