The Cowardly Baby Saint Can See Ghosts [Novel] Prologue

"Hey!"
"…"
"Not going to answer? I told you to clean this up ages ago!"
Unable to contain his explosive temper, the orphanage director grabbed a nearby potted plant and hurled it.

The sharp ring of shattering porcelain echoed as jagged shards flew past, grazing the child's arm.
Yet the child remained dead silent, merely staring blankly at the raging man.
It was a calculated silence, meant to keep his wrath tethered solely to her.
Better for her to bear the brunt of it than to let it fall upon the trembling children cowering behind her.
She gritted her teeth and endured.

They will be here soon.
"Creepy brat. Ignoring me again?"
Tsk. The director clicked his tongue, striding over to ruthlessly yank her ashen hair.
"I-I'm not ignoring you! Ah! I'm sorry!"
Whimpering from the agonizing pull on her scalp, she spat out apologies like a broken, memorized script.
Just yesterday, her tiny body was beaten black and blue simply because she had yet to let out a single scream—a defiance he found sickening.
Yet her dead, unwavering eyes and hollow voice only poured oil on the flames of his anger.
He raised his hand high, ready to strike her across the face.
It was then.
"Over there!"

The rotten wooden floorboards groaned under immense weight.
A heartbeat later, the door splintered with a deafening crack, shattering into pieces as it was kicked into the wall.
"Aaargh! Wh-What?! What's going on?!"
Startled, the director tumbled backward with a pathetic shriek.
Trampling over the ruined door, knights clad in pristine white armor flooded the cramped room.
"Step back quietly."
"Wh-Why—no, who are you people?!"
A lethal spear tip aimed right at his throat forced the director to raise his hands and scramble away.
From the gleaming blue blade down to the shaft, and finally the holy white armor—only after taking in the sight did the child let go of her trembling fists.
"Where is the Saintess?"
"…What on earth—!"
The director stammered, his eyes wide with utter bewilderment.
"Tsk. Pathetic."
Shaking his head as if he never expected a coherent answer, the holy knight's piercing blue eyes locked onto the child's murky purple gaze.
Beneath her matted ashen hair, which looked as if it had never seen a brush, her ragged clothes were torn in several places.
The scars of vicious abuse were glaringly obvious, yet the girl herself seemed entirely ordinary.
Yet the knight could not tear his eyes away from her.
The divine aura radiating from that fragile little frame was undeniably holy power.
Glancing down at her bleeding arm, the child hurried over to the knight with short, frantic steps.
"Please help me."
With every step she took, the jagged cuts on her arm seamlessly melted away.
Just meeting her gaze sent a shudder through his entire body.

The knight unconsciously traced the sign of the cross over his chest.
He was certain.
The Saintess they had sought so desperately was standing right in front of him.
Belatedly, his eyes traced the fading wounds on her skin.
His blood ran cold as ice, only to instantly boil over into molten rage.
"How dare you lay a hand on her, ignorant of who she is?!"
Roaring with unadulterated fury, he smashed his gauntlet into the director's face.
One strike was far from enough; he hoisted the staggering man by the collar and rained down blow after brutal blow.
They were the unrestrained, merciless fists of a high-ranking holy knight.
The director could only choke out pathetic, suffocating gasps.
"Ugh…"
The only thing that tethered the knight's shattered reason was the faint groan of a young child.
Snapping back to his senses, he discarded the beaten man like trash.
"Know that your miserable life was spared today only because the Saintess is watching."
He ground his teeth, leveling his spear at the chest of the collapsed director.
"P-Please… Spare me."
Crushed by the suffocating pressure of a furious templar, the director begged for mercy just as desperately as the child had moments prior.
Yet granting mercy was by no means the duty of a knight.

Dropping his weapon to the floor, he approached the little girl with the utmost reverence.
"Saintess. Forgive us for taking so long to find you."
Falling to his knees and gently pressing his forehead against her filthy, battered hand, the holy knight whispered in a trembling voice.
"Will you come with us?"
The child slowly nodded.
It was the dawn of a new era—the day a Saintess was born into an empire that had been bereft of one for three centuries.