The Cowardly Baby Saint Can See Ghosts [Novel] Chapter 4

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Episode 4.

The real problem was figuring out where to get holy water and a knife.

"Shall we go see His Holiness the Pope now?" one of the priestesses asked.

Lulled by her bright, cheerful tone, I almost blurted out an enthusiastic, "Yes!"

Even with my limited knowledge, I knew the Pope was a figure whose power rivaled that of the Emperor himself.

My breath caught in my throat, my lips parting in shock.

"…Pardon? Do I really have to meet him?"

As a lowly commoner in both my past and present lives, the mere thought of meeting someone with that much authority felt suffocating.

I shrank back, nervously clutching the silken folds of my oversized dress. Seeing my physical distress, the priestesses instantly flocked around me, cooing softly.

"You don't need to be so nervous. His Holiness is a very kind and gentle person."

"That's right! Also, the Pope is like a father figure to all believers who trust in the gods. You can just treat him comfortably, like a dad."

What kind of relationship was supposed to exist between a Saintess—the literal 'daughter of the god'—and the Pope, the god's mortal proxy?

A violent shiver racked my small frame. The very idea of having a father figure was entirely foreign to me.

…Still, I couldn't afford to be picky. Where else was I supposed to get holy water?

Feigning reluctant submission, I finally nodded.

My steps felt instantly lighter. Humming a quiet tune, I walked down the halls, holding the hands of the priestesses on either side of me.

Perhaps because my five-year-old vantage point was so low to the ground, everything in the Temple looked impossibly vast and imposing. Even the intricate geometric patterns carved into the towering marble pillars loomed over me.

"You'll naturally memorize the layout as you explore, Saintess," a priestess smiled, pointing down a diverging corridor. "Over there is the commoners' sanctuary, but this wing is strictly reserved for the nobility."

I pressed my lips into a thin line and kept my thoughts to myself.

If I hadn't inexplicably become a Saintess, I never would have been allowed to step foot in this wing.

The disparity in wealth was glaring. Through the windows, I could see that the distant courtyard was overgrown with untended weeds, while our current path was lined with immaculate, perfectly spherical shrubs and exotic blooming flowers.

"You can go anywhere you want, Saintess. You just have to be careful not to get lost."

"I will," I replied, absentmindedly nodding my head.

As I rounded a sharp corner, a solid mass suddenly stepped into my path. I slammed right into it.

"Ack!"

I stumbled backward with a sharp yelp. My forehead throbbed with a stinging pain, bringing immediate tears to my eyes.

Blinking away the moisture, I peered up and found a boy rubbing his jaw. His eyes were already rimmed with red from the impact, and he was glaring daggers at me.

His jet-black hair stood out like a stark, jagged shadow against the pristine white marble of the Temple.

With skin so pallid it lacked any color and deep, bruised-looking bags hanging heavy beneath his eyes, he looked almost like a beautifully carved corpse.

Slightly taller than my tiny frame, the boy ground his teeth and viciously scrubbed a stray tear from his cheek.

"W-we greet His Highness, the Crown Prince!"

The flustered priestesses gasped in unison, immediately dropping into deep curtsies as they tried to bodily shield me.

"What are you?" he demanded, his tone imperious.

Despite his sickly, haggard appearance, his facial features were strikingly sharp and well-defined.

"I greet His Highness, the Crown Prince," I parroted, mimicking the priestesses' bow.

At my clumsy greeting, the fierce hostility rolling off him dialed back a fraction.

"Your Highness," one of the priestesses interjected nervously. "This is the new Saintess who has just arrived."

He scoffed, an irritable sneer twisting his pale lips. "A new Saintess?"

"Hah. Only sending one down now?"

"They didn't even answer when we were desperately begging," he muttered bitterly.

It seemed the Crown Prince harbored a massive amount of hatred toward the divine.

I stared blankly at the boy destined to sever my head in the future, then pointedly looked away.

He raised a dark eyebrow.

"What's with that attitude?"

"Your Highness, the Saintess is still a young child, so she does not yet know proper etiquette. Please be generous and understand."

The Crown Prince leveled a freezing glare at the priestess defending me before his mouth curled into a dark smirk.

"A Saintess when there wasn't even an oracle? That makes no sense."

"His Holiness will make the official announcement soon," the priestess replied, her face stiffening.

I was getting a bit annoyed just listening to him complain.

He leaned down, inspecting me like an odd bug. "So tiny."

I glared back.

"Why are you so small if you're a Saintess? You're completely a baby."

"You're small too, Your Highness."

"…What?"

He took a menacing step forward, trying to tower over me. I stood my ground, refusing to shrink back.

As our faces drew closer, he was the one who ultimately broke eye contact. Before I knew it, the tips of his ears had flushed a bright red.

What was his problem? He was the one who approached me first.

Sure, he had the underlying bone structure of a heartbreaker in training. But right now? He just looked like a handsome, ill-tempered brat.

His personality was awful, yes, but he mostly just seemed frail and exhausted. Nothing monstrous.

Unaware of my inner thoughts, he jutted his lower lip out in a pout and grumbled, "Whatever, I don't believe it."

"I don't care whether you believe it or not."

He flinched, clearly unaccustomed to being talked back to.

"Because it doesn't change the fact that I am the Saintess."

"How dare you."

I was the resident Saintess, and we were standing in the middle of the holy Temple.

I tipped my chin up in outright defiance.

Perhaps embarrassed by my unyielding confidence, the Crown Prince flushed deeper and averted his gaze. Unexpectedly, the future tyrant seemed quite bashful.

"You… what's your name?" he asked, observing me with an odd, calculating expression.

"Diane."

"…I'll remember that."

Leaving those ominous words behind, he brushed past me to leave.

A sudden, spiteful surge of irritation washed over me. As he passed by, I reached out with lightning speed, snagged a few strands of his long, black hair, and yanked.

He spun around with a sharp hiss, clapping a hand to the side of his head.

"Hmm, hmmm~"

Feigning complete ignorance, I hummed a cheerful tune and walked away with light, bouncy footsteps.

"You little…!"

I heard him cursing behind me, but it didn't matter. Virtual fireworks were going off right in front of my eyes.

Ah, I had accidentally pulled out two extra strands.

They say hair grows back quickly when you're young, regardless. Brazenly, I shoved the five stolen strands of black hair into my pocket.

The Pope released a long, heavy sigh, furrowing his brow.

The Crown Prince's condition—which showed absolutely no signs of improving—was already a heavily whispered topic of conversation within the Imperial Palace.

Had he been approaching the illness wrong from the very start?

The Crown Prince's bizarre affliction caused him to act like a completely different person during unpredictable hours. The condition had deteriorated so much lately that the boy had even begun imitating wild animals.

Everyone working in the Imperial Palace hushed it up under strict gag orders, but…

The Pope felt a profound, aching pity for the young royal.

While the Temple and the Imperial Palace had maintained a tense political rivalry since ancient times, there was no active animosity between the current leadership. That was why the Pope had willingly accepted the Emperor's secret plea to examine the boy.

Now, six agonizing years had passed.

"Even after six years, there's no sign of improvement…" the Pope muttered.

Whenever he visited now, the Crown Prince looked at him with hollow, exhausted eyes. The weekly sessions had become torture; the Pope barely had the courage to meet the boy's gaze anymore.

Today had been no different. Having failed once again to identify the root cause, the Pope had been forced to watch the Crown Prince break down into tears of sheer frustration.

The Pope vividly recalled how the boy had shouted those words before storming out of the sanctuary in a bitter rage just a short while ago.

Smacking his lips bitterly, the Pope let out another deep sigh.

It was then.

His eyes snapped open. A sudden, refreshing wave of immensely pure holy power washed through the air, vibrating against his skin.

Instinctively, the Pope sprang up from his seat.

It had been three full centuries since a Saintess had graced the Empire. He used to lay awake imagining what kind of divine being she would be, eventually burying the foolish hope in the back of his mind.

In truth, he had been half in doubt. Not only had the oracle descended without warning, but it felt like a dream that a Saintess—absent for 300 years—had miraculously appeared in this generation.

What kind of person would she be?

The oracle had only provided the Saintess's geographic location, leaving the Pope no choice but to dispatch Liam without any background information.

Unfortunately, because the Pope had been strictly sequestered while tending to the Crown Prince's episode, no one had dared interrupt to notify him of her safe arrival.

The heavy oak doors of the grand chapel slowly groaned open, casting a long silhouette across the marble floor.

The Pope held his breath.

And then, he froze.

Standing before him was a little girl, significantly younger than the Crown Prince. She was a tiny, fragile creature who looked no older than three or four.

She had likely suffered severe starvation; her stomach, which should have been soft and chubby like a healthy toddler's, was gaunt and sunken.

But in horrifying contrast to her adorable, waddling steps, the child's eyes were utterly dead and hollow.

"Hello."

The tiny child walked right up to him, executed a flawless bow, and politely introduced herself.

"I am Diane Irene. I am five years old."

Silence stretched across the cavernous room.

"I look forward to your guidance."

She smiled brightly as she spoke the polite greeting, but the expression didn't reach her eyes; there was a chilling lack of expectation or hope within them.

How—how was he supposed to accept this reality?

Stunned into speechlessness, the Pope simply stared down at the small savior of their world with a deeply troubled expression.

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