Farewell to the hero! chapter 76

* * *

Life at the temple wasn’t bad.

Each day was a repetition of the same routine, yet the simplicity was oddly comforting.

During my time as a novice priest, I was consumed with study from morning till night.

The curriculum focused solely on the teachings of the Supreme Deity and the principles guiding a priest’s conduct, but I found it enjoyable.

Especially when we got to put theory into practice—it was the highlight of my day.

It felt good to know I was helping someone, no matter who they were.

After three months of training, I easily passed the exam required to become a full-fledged priest.

My score was the second highest among my peers.

Thinking back, even Harilson, who seemed to do nothing but slack off, barely scraped through by cramming the night before.

I vaguely remember him bragging about it afterward.

In any case, with Harilson also passing the exam, I wasn’t left alone.

Initially, we met as partners, but living together forged a deep friendship between us.

The duties of a regular priest, aside from prayer, were broadly divided into two categories: listening to the confessions of patrons or believers and occasionally participating in community service outside the temple.

If a penitent was of noble status, the case might be escalated to a senior priest or even the High Priest, depending on the situation.

For priests like me, our confessions typically came from commoners or self-made nobles who had risen from humble beginnings.

Unless there was a grand festival, temple life was generally tranquil.

Few commoners sought out confessions regularly, so we had ample free time to read or stroll around the temple grounds.

Each day followed a familiar rhythm: praying at scheduled times, taking walks with Harilson, reading, and occasionally hearing the confessions of visitors.

Though the days were uneventful, they accumulated into a year before I even realized it.

Time flowed like water, and another cycle of seasons passed.

It had been two years since I left Kaindel.

“…Please absolve me of my sins.”

“The Supreme Deity has heard your confession.”

I placed my hand over the back of the penitent’s hand, separated from mine by a semi-transparent screen.

During confession, the only part of a believer visible to a priest was their hand.

A light tap signaled the end of the confession, indicating they could withdraw their hand.

Afterward, I watched the penitent rise and cast a glance out the tiny window of the confessional.

The window was barely large enough for an arm, designed to foster an atmosphere of solemnity.

Yet, through it, I could see birds flitting about and leaves drifting to the ground.

When a confession dragged on, I’d often find myself staring absentmindedly out that window.

It was the height of summer.

The blazing sunlight and the vividly blue sky seemed to declare the season’s presence.

Perhaps from fatigue, I felt momentarily lightheaded before regaining my composure.

Was it around this time last year that I first arrived at the temple and met the Pope?

The memory surfaced like a reflection on a lake, only to sink back down.

Day after day, I had been listening to confessions.

This period, leading up to the autumn Festival of the Goddess, was marked by a surge in donations from nobles.

Not all donations were made with pure intentions.

Many were gestures to showcase their righteousness, and this didn’t change even among the newly minted nobility.

As a result, I’d been busier than usual, hearing confessions from these new nobles.

Aside from meals and prayer, I spent most of my day in the confessional.

“Thank you.”

“Please take care on your way back.”

After an hour-long confession, I finally emerged from the booth.

The penitent, now wearing a lighter expression, left without looking back.

Only when they disappeared from view did I move as well.

Despite the fatigue, hearing a genuine confession from a non-patron believer left me feeling fulfilled.

Perhaps I’d continue reading the book I had started last night.

As I walked down the corridor, considering how to spend the time until my next appointment after lunch, Harilson came running, gasping for air.

“Isa! Isa!”

“You’re going to trip. Watch it.”

“Hah… Hah…”

“Take a breather first.”

Harilson was never a quiet type, but it was rare to see him this flustered.

His urgency made it clear the matter was significant.

My heart sank, fearing bad news.

“What’s going on?”

“Well…”

Once Harilson caught his breath, he glanced around the empty corridor before motioning me to lean in closer.

“Have you heard the rumor?”

“Rumor? What rumor?”

Frustrated by my cluelessness, Harilson scrunched his nose and widened his eyes.

“They’re saying the Hero’s gone mad!”

The familiar word caught me off guard for a moment.

“…The Hero?”

“Yes.”

I wondered if I’d misheard.

There weren’t many people in the world referred to as the Hero, but my instincts braced for the worst.

Harilson nodded vigorously, as if questioning why I even needed clarification, extinguishing the flicker of hope within me.

The Hero, Kaindel, had lost his mind.

As I processed the news, I struggled to keep my expression neutral.

“There’ve been rumors about the Hero acting strange for some time, Harilson. This isn’t exactly shocking.”

I recalled reading similar gossip in the tabloids that Sehir brought me.

They said Kaindel’s erratic behavior had been worrying people.

“Sure, but this time it’s different.”

Harilson leaned in further, gesturing dramatically at the corners of his mouth.

“You know that smile? The one he always wore?”

“Did he always smile like that?”

“Totally. But now, it’s gone.”

“Just because someone stops smiling doesn’t mean they’ve gone mad.”

“But this is him we’re talking about.”

“…”

The way Harilson emphasized him felt like a thorn pressing into my ear.

I had a sinking feeling I knew where this was headed.

“Born to be a flirt, they said.”

A voice from a long-ago banquet echoed in my mind.

While I remained silent, Harilson, sensing his chance, continued with eager enthusiasm.

“Also, you know my friend Laura?”

“Technically, your cousin’s friend.”

“Whatever. Laura’s younger sibling works at the Shudelgarten Ducal Estate. They said the Hero’s been breaking wine bottles left and right. And he’s constantly throwing tantrums at the staff.”

“…”

“They even mentioned he’s been hearing things. Talking to himself, spouting nonsense.”

“…Hearing things, you say.”

First it was hallucinations, now auditory delusions?

I suppressed a bitter laugh.

The day I encountered Kaindel in Aiden Village, he claimed to have seen my illusion.

From the way he described it, it seemed like this had happened multiple times before.

Seeing the illusion of someone who left was no trivial matter.

The idea gnawed at me.

And now, hearing voices?

The accusation of abusing servants was puzzling as well.

The Kaindel I knew was kind—at least outwardly—to everyone, including his servants.

The claim that he’d mistreat them didn’t add up.

As I mulled this over, unable to hide my troubled expression, Harilson spoke again.

“Come to think of it, he didn’t show up at this year’s Foundation Festival.”

“That’s right.”

“Do you think it’s because something inside him really broke?”

Now that I think about it, that could be true.

Every Founding Festival, Kaindel never missed a single visit to the temple, always accompanying the king under the guise of being the deity’s favored one.

Even though he despised the temple, he always made an appearance during the Founding Festival.

I assumed this year would be no different. I had dreaded running into him here, only to find out that Kaindel didn’t show up at all.

At the time, I was simply relieved to avoid him. But in hindsight, it was strange.

Why didn’t Kaindel come to the temple this year?

As someone engaged to the princess, skipping a royal event like this was tantamount to challenging the king’s authority.

“Isa, doesn’t this intrigue you?”

“…Not really.”

Harilson leaned in close, snapping me back to reality.

Not that it mattered; my curiosity about such things was pointless anyway.

“What’s more interesting than rumors of a crazy hero is the fact that you skipped morning prayers today.”

“Ah…”

“Regardless of whether the hero’s gone mad, we just have to stick to our own duties.”

I murmured quietly, glancing outside at the sunlit courtyard.

Children’s laughter echoed from beyond the temple walls, easing the weight on my heart, if only slightly.

“After all, it’s not our problem.”

* * *