Chapter One: The Divine Descent

May of the 728th year of the Gaia Calendar. Only a few days had passed since the grand celebrations of the Demon Suppression Anniversary, and the Goddess Plaza in Orie City was already crowded with citizens from all over at the crack of dawn.

On the high platform, the city lord, Count Edgar, could hardly contain his excitement as he announced that his niece, Irene, had been chosen by the Saintess as her successor and that the ceremony to transfer the sacred token was about to begin.

Eric stood beside him, his gaze following the two approaching envoys of the Saintess. Suddenly, he felt a sharp pain in his head.

"Hiss..."

He was the Count’s nephew, sixteen years old, and also Irene’s twin brother. The siblings were strikingly similar: both possessed golden hair, handsome features, and slender builds.

The inexplicable headache persisted, and the two nun-envoys, whose attire was modest yet whose figures were remarkably graceful, had already ascended the platform amidst the cheers of the citizens.

The younger nun held a wooden box, while the other, more mature nun bowed before opening it and using both hands to retrieve the Saintess’s token.

It was a snow-white veil.

Embroidered along the edges were the symbols of the Saintess’s Convent, while the center bore the sacred sigil of the Goddess Yella. Trimmed in gold and exquisitely crafted, it was a beautiful headscarf that most women would find hard to resist, even ignoring the divine attributes imbued within it.

"Irene." Count Edgar quickly prompted his bewildered niece, gesturing for her to kneel and assume a posture of prayer.

Beside her, Eric stared at the veil, unable to tear his eyes away.

Above the fabric, a line of translucent orange text was materializing out of thin air.

[Saintess’s Veil]

Was this… the name of the veil?

But why was it popping up like a label, and why was it flickering?

Eric was dazed and alarmed, his headache worsening.

In the next moment, a long, fragmented memory flooded his mind like a bursting dam, completely beyond his control.

The impact and subsequent cleansing caused Eric’s original perspective to rise higher and higher, transcending the world itself. The memories of what could be called his "previous life" were suddenly compressed into the entity of Eric.

Tearing, fusing, and finally, a reconstruction of his worldview and a transformation of his soul.

While this process felt subjectively endless to Eric, in reality, it lasted only an instant.

As Irene just settled into her prayer posture, Count Edgar noticed the pained expression on his nephew’s face and asked with concern.

"..."

Eric stared at him, then looked at Irene and the two nuns, and finally swept his gaze across the thousands of citizens watching the ceremony, his emotions boiling over.

"Holy shit."

The Count frowned, saying nothing for the moment, only signaling for him to move away from Irene, as the next part of the ceremony was reserved solely for the envoys and the future Saintess.

Eric heard not a word.

His attention was entirely focused on the memories that had just awakened in his mind.

They were memories from a higher dimension, looking down upon this world. Fusing with Eric’s original memories, they elevated his perspective to a new height.

Gaia Continent, the Delan Empire, Goddess Yella, the Saintess... this was the world of a magical online game titled "Crown of Thorns."

He had been a veteran player of this game, grinding away at the tenth-anniversary event on two accounts simultaneously. He didn't know how he had suddenly lost consciousness, but when he woke up, he was here.

And precisely because of this identity, the moment his memory awakened, he saw his—or rather, Eric’s—ending: ruined reputation and a death without a corpse.

All of this was because Eric would try to protect his sister—Irene, who, in her ignorance, would be led astray by villains after arriving at the Holy Capital, ultimately falling and becoming a witch who brought about the kingdom's ruin.

Irene’s own fate was even more tragic than his; not only was she hunted down and killed, but her soul was extracted and her consciousness shattered, sealed away merely as a source of energy.

"Eric!"

The Count, who had stepped aside, called out again. On the other side, the nun holding the token arrived before the praying Irene, preparing to drape the holy veil over her.

*I must not let history repeat itself.*

As this thought flashed through Eric’s mind, his body acted on its own. He snatched the veil from the nun’s hands.

*As long as I don't let Irene become that Saintess, it will be fine!*

"..."

The token having been suddenly snatched, the envoys were caught off guard, staring at him in astonishment.

Beside him, the Count wore the same expression. The cheers from below the platform were suddenly choked off, coming to an abrupt halt.

Eric thought, *Oh no.*

He had almost forgotten... this was a high-profile public occasion.

He needed a plausible excuse.

Eric looked at the Saintess’s veil in his hand and suddenly discovered that he could see even more information.

He quickly came up with an idea that he would regret for the next two years.

"The one who is to become the Saintess..."

Eric shook out the white veil, draped it over his own head, adjusted it a few times, and then tossed his hair with a graceful flourish.

"...should be me."

The entire square fell into silence.

The sun climbed higher.

The sunlight shone on the central platform, illuminating the beautiful golden hair beneath the veil that swayed in the breeze.

The light shimmered, giving his hair a nearly translucent texture. With the veil draped over both sides, his young face—eyes closed, chin slightly lifted in the sunlight—exuded a sacred, stunning beauty.

The sudden silence was thus prolonged.

If the Saintess, as a servant of the gods, needed to have a clear and concrete image, it would probably be exactly like the one before them... this was the thought shared by a significant number of the onlookers at that moment.

Until a single noisy spark suddenly ignited, tardily yet violently setting the entire square ablaze.

"Madman! Blasphemer!"

An old monk waved his scripture, attempting to charge onto the platform, only to be stopped by the guards below. He could only tilt his head and shout in fury.

"How dare you! You have defiled the sanctity of the Saintess! That is not something your filthy body can touch! How dare you—"

His voice was like a thunderclap, traveling fast and far, jolting the other citizens from their absurd silence.

Although he had a handsome face and looked very much like the Saintess-designate still kneeling there, he was, after all, a man.

The young master of the City Lord's mansion actually wanted to be the Saintess!

The entire square erupted in uproar. Various speculations and discussions followed like a rainstorm after a thunderclap, quickly drowning out all other sounds.

"Eric!"

Count Edgar, who had stood aside after the ceremony began, finally recovered from his state of sheer disbelief.

Was this still his young yet composed nephew?

"What kind of madness has taken you?"

He strode forward, grabbing his nephew’s arm, his other hand reaching for the veil on his head.

However, thinking of the old believer’s roar, he hesitated, released Eric, and pulled up his still-kneeling niece.

"Irene, take back the veil. It is yours."

Irene stood up, dazed, and looked toward her twin brother, only to be met by the sudden unsheathing of a sharp blade.

"...Eric?"

The cold glint of the sword flickered on his face. Edgar’s eyes widened, his instant fury overriding his confusion, and his voice turned cold.

The captain of the guard looked at the Count, who stared coldly at his nephew and raised his right hand.

With a single wave, the dozen guards standing by behind him would rush forward and pin down the mad young master who had drawn a weapon.

Yet, at the center of all eyes, Eric seemed completely indifferent to the commotion.

He stood straight, his sword hanging naturally, its tip touching the ground. Then, he lifted it, drawing a perfect arc from bottom to top, pointing straight at the firmament.

Then, he leveled the blade, raised his other hand, gripped the edge, and held it tight.

Then, he pulled—

*Puchi!*

Blood sprayed, instantly drawing a collective gasp from those on and below the platform. The onlookers' gaze became even more focused.

Eric knelt on one knee, bowed his head slightly, and pressed the blood-stained sword against his forehead.

The crimson blood flowed slowly down the blade, staining his golden hair and the white veil, trickling down toward his face.

The young nobleman who had been the epitome of heresy just a moment ago was now bowing his head, revealing the most devout posture.

"The Blood-Baptism Ritual..." Count Edgar’s widened eyes involuntarily constricted.

This was the supreme etiquette of the imperial knights. He only knew of it from books, as there was basically only one occasion to use it: swearing an oath to the Emperor before a military campaign.

Eric, his nephew, had truly gone mad.

Despite his utter lack of understanding, Edgar could only wave his hand dispiritedly, signaling the guards to take his nephew back first.

And just then, Eric, who had been silent for a while, suddenly spoke in a loud voice:

"Goddess Yella above—

If what I have seen and heard is not an illusion, but the enlightenment you have bestowed upon me, then I pray you to continue to send down your divine decree and guide me—"

The guards who had stepped forward stopped and looked back at the City Lord.

The two nuns from the Holy Capital also looked at each other; the younger one was full of confusion, while the mature one frowned.

Edgar stared at his nephew for a moment, then still signaled for the guards to act.

The guards no longer hesitated and rushed forward.

One of them moved first to seize the sword from the young master’s hand, fearing more for his safety than the possibility of him harming others.

Just then, a sudden change occurred.

"Whoa!"

The nearest guard only managed to see a point of white light ignite on the young master’s head. In the next instant, the brilliance expanded, rapidly spreading across his entire field of vision, leaving nothing but a vast whiteness.

His body was pushed by a force that came head-on—gentle yet irresistible. He kept retreating, unable to stop even as he bumped into his companions.

By the time this inexplicable thrust disappeared, he had backed away a dozen steps, and his vision, filled with white light, gradually recovered.

"My God... this is..."

The guard’s eyes widened, his legs feeling weak.

Before him, a tall, white phantom appeared out of thin air, standing perfectly upright.

The translucent phantom glowed, and its features were clearly visible—it was exactly the same as the statue of the Creator Goddess Yella in the square!

"Goddess!"

Divine hymns echoed faintly in his ears. The guard’s knees gave way, and he couldn't help but kneel.

Below the platform, the citizens saw the process even more clearly: holy light emerged from Eric, and the Goddess Yella descended upon the platform.

The light of that moment almost enveloped the entire square. In the early summer season, it brought a warmth different from sunlight, fire, or any other source, making one involuntarily want to worship.

This impulse quickly turned into action. With a rustle, the citizens in the Goddess Plaza knelt one after another, the sounds of fervent prayer rising and falling.

"Yella above!"

"Oh, Goddess..."

"It’s a miracle! The Goddess has descended!"

The Goddess’s phantom spread her arms, enveloping Eric below. Her glowing face, while peaceful, still gave off a sense of divine majesty.

After a brief pause, the Goddess’s arms gradually lowered, and her body crouched down, as if to cradle something.

And the center of her joined hands, the place she seemed to cherish, was the young master of the City Lord's mansion, still kneeling on one knee.

"Ah..."

After the Goddess’s phantom descended, although some people lowered their heads, their eyes still stole glances upward. Thus, they were able to witness the final scene before the miracle dissipated:

A tear welled up in each of the Goddess’s eyes, flowing down her cheeks, meeting at her chin, and dripping down, landing precisely on the figure beneath the phantom.

Holy radiance lit up from Eric’s body. The Goddess’s phantom flared brightly and then gradually dissipated into nothingness.

The wound on his palm from the sword was now completely healed. Eric took a glance and ignored it, standing up before the holy light faded entirely.

The miracle was fleeting, but the atmosphere in the square had completely changed. The citizens were kneeling in a sea of people, whispers of prayer rising and falling.

"Oh, God..."

Some wept uncontrollably, murmuring about their misfortunes and sufferings; others bowed their heads in silence, their hearts of repentance more sincere than ever before.

"Let me up!"

The old monk who had just rebuked Eric again tried to rush past the guards, but there was no trace of anger on his face, only a fanatical excitement born of piety.

And when Eric, standing at the center of the miracle, raised a hand and slowly scanned the crowd, the onlookers, whether near or far, all fell into a collective silence.

"I have heard the voice of God—"

The young master of the City Lord's mansion spoke, immediately triggering a wave of excited yet restrained cheers.

Although the wound on his palm had healed, there was still plenty of blood on his face, but at this moment, no one thought it ferocious or uncomfortable; on the contrary, they found it highly sacred.

"The Goddess Yella has sent down this decree: 'Those with talent sent to the wrong place are the root of disaster.'"

Eric gripped his blood-stained sword tightly, reached out his raised hand toward Irene, and pulled his still-bewildered sister up.

As the sun climbed higher, the siblings, who looked very similar but had vastly different temperaments, stood side by side on the platform. The impression this scene left was so profound that many Orie citizens would never forget it for the rest of their lives.

"Irene being chosen as the Saintess-designate is the very mistake committed unintentionally."

Eric scanned below the platform, raising his voice, using the impact of the miracle’s descent to convey his will to everyone present.

"And this mistake, I will correct—"

Responding to him were uniform cheers that resounded across the square, followed by the prayers of more and more people joining in to praise the Goddess.

Most of the onlookers were ordinary people. Having witnessed the miracle with their own eyes, no one thought the young master’s behavior was heretical; they only felt honored to have witnessed it themselves.

"Supreme and holy Yella, because of your favor, we have received grace, been freed from sin, and reborn..."

When he saw a noblewoman below the platform weeping while maintaining her hands clasped in prayer, Eric understood that his performance had successfully fooled these onlookers.

But he was also well aware that he didn't just need to convince them.

Eric turned around and faced the mature, silent envoy of the Saintess, still unable to help but be stunned by her beauty.

The two nuns sent by the Saintess were fair-skinned and beautiful, each with her own temperament. Especially this elder sister of a nun, whose appearance was flawless; her exceptional figure supported the black nun’s robe, with her chest particularly prominent.

With a glance, he also saw her beautiful eyebrows deeply furrowed beneath her black-and-white nun’s veil, her gaze toward him full of wariness and scrutiny.

...Sure enough, this envoy from the Holy Capital was not as easy to fool as the citizens of a remote small town.

But regardless of whether she approved or not, she had to respond. Eric was betting that she would not make things difficult for the future Saintess’s family under these circumstances.

His requirements were not high; even a vague response would suffice. As long as she didn't expose him on the spot, other things could be discussed later.

Hmm, what was this envoy’s name again...

"Mother Superior Alana..."

As soon as Eric opened his mouth, he saw the nun before him suddenly drop by half—her knees had given way, and she had knelt down.

Eric was stunned. Alana, whose knees were on the ground, murmured "Oh, God," and then collapsed onto the platform, her eyes tightly shut, as if she had fainted.

"..."

His gaze swept over the white silk stockings revealed beneath the nun’s habit, and Eric opened his mouth.

Why was this envoy of the Saintess acting too?

And since she had "fainted," there was naturally no way for her to make any response.

"Mother Superior Alana!"

The young nun next to her, completely unaware of the truth, rushed toward the fallen Mother Superior, her anxiety and panic genuine.

Eric looked back at the citizens still praying devoutly below the platform.

At least the problem here was resolved.

Only by letting today’s ceremony end peacefully would it be convenient for him to proceed with his next plan.

The sun continued to rise, and the sunlight unknowingly became somewhat dazzling, shining straight down on all the absurdity in the square.

Eric narrowed his eyes and looked upward, his gaze resting on the white veil that swayed in the breeze before his forehead for a moment.

A few lines of text that only he could see appeared again.

[Saintess’s Veil]

『A white headscarf woven from sacred, fine silk of unknown origin; soft and light, embroidered in the center with the sacred sigil of Yella, the God of Creation.

Can enhance divine arts related to the faith of Yella.

The initial Saintess handed the veil to her successor before returning to the Divine Kingdom, thus becoming a token of inheritance.』

Attached Skill: Goddess’s Protection (Charging)

[Goddess’s Protection]: Divine Art. The Goddess’s phantom briefly descends, knocking back all surrounding enemies and blocking attacks from any source. Heals all external wounds of the caster.

Eric murmured in a low voice.

"It’s a good thing it was fully charged when I got it..."