"Hasn't it been three hours?"
The priest whispered as the others chimed in.
"He's still in there? How devoted…"
"That much should be expected from a Cardinal."
"Shh, not so loud—he might hear us."
"Come on… let's get back to work."
As the whispering subsided and they returned to their duties, silence fell—broken only by the mind of the man inside the sanctuary, the very subject of their gossip.
"O God of the Universe, who watches from beyond the veil—grant me patience, for Your will unfolds beyond mortal time. I bow not in doubt, but in obedience, for faith is proven by waiting. May the unworthy be corrected, and the faithful be rewarded in Your hour."
He prayed with reverence for the umpteenth time and bowed his head, long, smooth black hair falling forward with the motion. With his almost feminine features, and hands clasped beautifully, he looked like a saint sent down from heaven.
Three hours of kneeling had left his legs numb.
And yet—he didn't want to end his prayer.
How could he rise when the so-called merciful God had yet to respond?
"If You still hear me, then answer—even if only once. I have waited, Lord… how long must waiting be called faith?"
He paused, biting down on his bottom lip. His pretty features and sapphire eyes twisted into a scowl.
"SEND ME BACK, DAMN IT!"
His voice echoed through the sanctuary as he panted for breath. A bitter scoff left his lips as realization sank in.
God had never heard him. Not once.
'Fine. Let's see how long you can keep ignoring me.'
He stood up abruptly—only for his numb legs to give way. He stumbled forward and slammed his head into the marble cross. Hard.
He cursed under his breath, massaging the swelling on his forehead as he glared at the cross. Then, clicking his tongue, he turned away and headed straight for the exit.
The moment he opened the door, his head collided with something—hard, solid, and strangely… squishy?
He staggered back, quickly regaining his composure.
"I apologize."
"Pardon me… are you hurt?"
The man's brows knit with concern. He had dusty rose-pink hair, slightly damp and loose, and light pink eyes—the very image of priestly grace. He leaned closer, stealing the breath from the younger man's lungs.
Edmund Valemont—His half-brother.
Edmund gently placed a hand on the swelling forehead, the cool touch sending a shiver down his spine.
"I-I'm fine," he blurted out. "Don't worry. But I do need rest."
He bowed once and fled in a hurry, leaving Edmund standing there, dumbfounded.
He just wanted to get away.
Because that man—
That man was no ordinary person.
He was batshit crazy.
SLAM!
The door shut as he collapsed onto the bed, the wound on his forehead throbbing painfully.
"Crap…"
He sighed, the weight of the world pressing down on his chest.
"I really am being punished…"
He facepalmed, dreading his absurdly unfortunate fate.
He used to be an author.
Now, he was trapped inside his own novel—punished for offending the God of the Universe.
Apparently, God had no sense of humor.
The novel had been nothing more than a release of Lee Yeongu's anger and pent-up frustration—written during his days as a struggling atheist author.
A historical fantasy world where, in an age recorded by the Church itself, the Supreme Pontiff proclaimed a prophecy:
That the God of the Universe would send a savior.
One who would heal the sick and cursed, raise the dead, and bring an end to war.
But the prophecy never came to pass.
Years turned into decades, and faith eroded into doubt. With no miracles and no answers, humanity was forced to rely on its own strength to survive the monsters that plagued the land.
The Church, once revered, became an object of scorn—its prophecy dismissed as a fabrication born of blind faith.
And when the Demon Lord finally descended upon the world, the people no longer waited for salvation.
If a god would not keep His promise, then mankind would finish the battle without Him.
Thus, the savior foretold by the Church never arrived.
Instead, it was a Lady blessed with dual magic—an existence never mentioned in scripture—who, alongside her companions, defeated the Demon Lord without divine aid.
The Church, having refused to support those it deemed unbelievers, was dismantled in the aftermath.
And the Viremont Royal Family's greatest pillar—the Valemont House—was executed for defying royal decree.
"And I am Theo Valemont, heir to the Valemont House…"
He paused, then laughed hollowly.
"Which means sooner or later, I'll be executed alongside my family. Teehee!"
Theo made a series of ugly, dying noises, stretching his eyelids like a madman before suddenly springing to his feet. He shoved his few belongings into a small bag—he hadn't owned much to begin with.
"To hell with this punishment."
He kicked the window open and jumped out, landing in a bush. Without wasting a second, he ran.
Just as he reached the church gates, his foot caught on a rock. He lost his balance and tumbled straight into the pond.
Cold water closed in around him.
Since when were ponds this deep?
Realization struck too late.
He was drowning.
'No… not like this. I refuse to die this way.'
His thoughts blurred as consciousness slipped away.
'Please… I'll do anything. God, save me.'
His tears vanished into the water as his lungs burned.
He had reached his limit.
FLASH!
A beam of light pierced the depths.
And before darkness claimed him, a voice echoed—
"Divine Mission accepted."
—
TO BE CONTINUED