CHAPTER 368: A FAMILIAR PRAYER

"Corpus nihil est nisi vas alienae voluntatis, in quo manet spiritus excelsus. Putrescente carne et torquentibus membris, tamen gratias agimus, quod maiestas illa superna nos respicit."

Dressed in white attire lined with gold, the priest stood in front of the small altar.

The faint scent of myrrh clung to the air, along with the warmth of the melting wax of the candles.

It was hard for Xion to see his face hidden under the hood as he prayed to the goddess, but one thing was sure.

This person was very special. Exactly how? Xion couldn’t quite put his finger on.

This person was a stranger, and yet, his fingertips itched with a phantom ache to reach for that hidden person.

His heart beat just a little faster, like an invisible thread was tugging at his soul.

Even as he remained standing at the far end of the small crowd, his gaze continued to fall on the tall figure rather than the statue of Myrthia.

"Quia etiam flagella peccatorum sunt benedictio sub velamine, et dolor est signum gratiae eius."

A low, smooth voice sounded again.

Despite never learning this language, Xion could easily understand the meaning.

The body is nothing but a vessel of the foreign will, in which the exalted spirit dwells.

As we, the sinners, feel our flesh rot and the limbs are wracked with pain, still we give thanks, because that higher majesty looks upon us.

To Xion, it sounded a little absurd. The notion of being thankful even when god wasn’t being merciful. But to others, that didn’t seem to be the case.

For even the scourges of sins are a blessing under a veil, and pain is the sign of its grace.

The lines of prayers only made Xion roll his eyes, though his lips parted and uttered the same words as the group filling the small hall to the brim.

As for how Xion ended up in this small but well-maintained church, it was partially the fault of that priest.

Xion was out to meet the healers, and after calming down the very enthusiastic Bard and giving them the basic idea of how they should proceed from now on, he went to the market.

With the afternoon sun still high, Xion decided to take a stroll.

Somehow, his stroll led him to the quiet back streets behind the bustling market.

It was as if Xion was in a trance, or his feet had a mind of their own.

Normally, he would have avoided even going near anything related to the church after that incident with Talia.

But here he was, holding his hands and subconsciously muttering the prayers he shouldn’t even know.

Each word rolled off his tongue with an ease that felt both comforting and terrifying, as if someone else’s memories were bleeding into his own.

He simply chalked it all up to his transmigration buff. Or perhaps, the original little Xion Vaelis was such a devotee that even after so many years, the feeling still remained.

The prayer ended, and the devotees were far too excited to approach the priest.

The paladins didn’t let anyone approach until the high priest was out of sight.

Ray tsked. "They always act so high and mighty. As if being in the order of Thirteen is equivalent to becoming a god."

Xion looked at Raymond Eldritch, dressed in polished armour that glared under the sunlight, and then at the paladins.

Honestly, he didn’t see much difference between them.

"What are you smiling at, Your Grace?"

Xion pulled back the corner of his lips and shook his head. "Nothing."

He possibly couldn’t tell that he was comparing Ray with the arrogant paladins. That would only make the knight commander scowl at him.

There was no brother Allen to control his temper, after all.

"Shall we leave now? His Grace, the Archduke, wouldn’t take this visit lightly."

It was a nice way to say that Darius would be angry if there was so much as a scratch on Xion under his watch. None of the vessels of Dakhelm had a good impression of the holy.

But Xion felt rooted to the spot.

A faint nostalgia lingered on the tip of his tongue as his heart kept telling him to stay, to recite the prayers with the same fervor as these people.

However, to utter those words without any faith was equivalent to a satire. A mockery of the religious belief.

Xion wasn’t the one to hurt anyone deliberately. And he indeed knew the goddess was as real as he was.

It was just... he looked at her more like how a child would at his mother, rather than a figure to put on a pedestal and showered with devotion.

What exactly was he blabbering about with all these thoughts? Xion sighed.

Just as he forced his legs to move, one of the paladins rushed toward them, his rich purple cape bellowing behind him.

Ray’s hand was already on the handle of his sword when the paladin stopped at arm’s length and bowed respectfully to Xion.

With his hood hiding his face, Xion highly doubted they knew who he was. People weren’t familiar with him.

Even if they didn’t know who he was, standing beside Ray all but marked him as some high-ranking noble. Precisely why the devotees had been keeping a certain distance from him.

"The high priest would like to have a word with you, Your Grace,

Xion. Of course, with your permission."

Xion narrowed his eyes. How did the priest know it was him?

Did he have some powers like Aunt Serena?

But then again, only the high-ranking priests had their own paladins. Like the Thirteen elders.

So, this high priest was one of them.

After thinking about how Serena had warned him to live for himself and not care about others, he decided to really follow his heart.

"Sure," he said. "Let’s go."

If Serena knew that her dear son had taken her warning in this way, she would surely get angry at herself.

For now, though, the priestess of Night was busy killing a high priest.

Ignorant of the blood feud that had just happened between Serena and the church, he followed behind the paladin to the secluded area.