“Archbishop,” Isher asked, “did the Pope instruct you to share all this with us?”
The Demon King’s revival was, for now, a tightly guarded secret.
Yet Belon had laid it bare before every saintess candidate.
Clearly, this came straight from the Holy Land’s upper echelons.
“You’re spot on, Isher,” Belon confirmed. “It’s the Pope’s directive. Every one of you saintess candidates harbors exceptional potential. Any could rise like Sylvia—become a true saintess, shielding humanity when crisis strikes.”
“Archbishop,” Nana piped up, “does that include me?”
“Er, well…”
Belon couldn’t picture it—Nana as a saintess?
Handing that role to such an oddball would tarnish the Holy Land’s prestige.
And Via? Talentless to her core—he deemed her saintess prospects nil.
But in this setting, blunt rejection wouldn’t fly.
“Nana—if you dialed back the quirks a notch, sure, it’s possible.”
“Quirks? I’ve always been totally normal!”
Nana turned to Janice, eyes wide.
“Janice—am I a weird saintess candidate or what?”
“Heh.” Janice just smiled, offering no verdict.
“Point is,” Belon pressed on, “catastrophe looms for humanity once more. The Pope needs you gripped by urgency—no more dawdling at your own pace. Humanity’s future rests on your shoulders!”
His gaze swept the room, lingering on each face.
“The saintess throne’s sat empty for years—the people crave a true one’s return. Break through to Transcendent tier soon enough, and you’re in the running. Sophie’s the frontrunner now, sure—but you’re all at the same starting line. Plenty of shots left!”
“Pressure breeds progress,” Isher agreed, nodding firmly. “The Pope’s wise on this. Slack off, and when war hits, a vacant saintess seat? It’ll shatter the people’s faith in victory.”
That rationale alone justified spilling such a secret to the candidates.
“Competition, huh…”
Mia glanced at Sophie, eyes alight with raw ambition.
The other saintess candidates mirrored her—envy tinged with steel.
Sure, they admired Sophie’s inheritance of Sylvia’s gifts.
But saintess candidates weren’t chosen lightly; each boasted some standout edge.
These girls weren’t convinced Sophie outclassed them outright.
If bloodlines sealed fate, saintesses would hail from one eternal line.
History proved otherwise.
“This just got interesting,” Nana murmured, her words laced with cryptic glee.
“Interesting where?” Ruby shot back. “The Demon King’s risen. Fail to crush him, and we’ll all perish in the demonkin war!”
“Ruby’s right,” Belon interjected. “This isn’t a game—treat it gravely.”
He paused, weighing his next words.
“For now, Demon King Ville’s kept a low profile—no public sightings, traces scrubbed clean. The demonkin haven’t stirred much either; otherwise, the world’s already in flames. He’s scheming something—the Holy Land’s probing deep.”
Good luck digging up dirt, Via thought with an inner eye-roll. The Demon King’s right under your noses—caught your stirring speeches just now.
“Archbishop,” she ventured, “you summoned us for more than this, right?”
“Of course.”
Belon’s face soured at her voice, but protocol demanded he proceed.
“Beyond the Demon King intel, you must’ve guessed why we’ve called you together.”
“Saint Prayer Day!” Nana blurted, no hesitation.
“Every saintess candidate must represent the Holy Land,” Belon explained, “praying devoutly before throngs of faithful and folk alike. Beseech divine grace for our race—it’s a pivotal trial. Your show there sways how the masses perceive you.”
“Same setup as last year?” Nana wondered aloud.
The question echoed in every candidate’s mind.
“No—it’s shifted,” Belon replied. “This year, the Holy Land assigns you to cities across the Saint Luo Empire. Spread the event nationwide, every key corner.”
“Solo gigs?” Isher murmured. “No backups—that’s a real test.”
She clocked it now: the Holy Land meant business, fast-tracking a true saintess from their ranks.
No more group huddles like last year.
One slip in a pack? The rest could cover, high margin for error—the crowds wouldn’t notice.
But alone? No safety net. Every fumble, crystal clear to the masses.
“Next up,” Belon announced, “your assignments—”
He rattled them off one by one, right there before the group.
The roster blanketed the Empire’s vital hubs—leak the word early, and devotees would flock on their own.
But when Via’s turn came, Belon faltered, lips parting then stalling.
“Archbishop—why the pause?” Nana blinked. “By your logic, Via’s gotta join too, right? She’s a saintess candidate—can’t just bench her.”
“…Yes, quite,” Belon grumbled, displeasure thick. “But Via’s case is… unique. She’s pairing with Sophie!”
“Via and Sophie?”
“Indeed—the Pope’s orders.”
Belon left it at that.
But the room pieced it together quick enough.
Via saw it clear as day herself.
Last year? Same deal—twinning with her sister for the day.
Simple reason: hopeless as she was, she still fronted the Holy Land’s image.
Powerless for prayers? Divine grace wouldn’t touch her solo act.
Shipping her out alone? Black eye for the Holy Land—pure letdown for the faithful.
“Sophie,” Belon pressed, eyes fixed on her, “that workable?”
“No issue, Archbishop,” she assured him, voice rock-solid. “I’ll stand with Via on Saint Prayer Day—deliver what everyone’s hoping for.”