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Lobelite. He's a genius. A member of the so-called chosen class of humans.
And it's not just about his status, his wealth, or his looks.
His skills as a cleric are about ninety percent talent.
Unlike a warrior, who grows through constant training and real-world experience, or a mage, who gains power through the wisdom of a great master and by devoting his entire life to expanding his knowledge.
The number and variety of miracles available to a cleric is determined at birth and does not change throughout their lives, except in a very few cases.
Hence, a whopping eight miracle types. Twelve daily miracles.
Lobel is an extraordinary talent by any standard, a once-in-a-hundred-years talent, if not a century. It was not an exaggeration to say that he was possessed by the gods to become a priest.
There was no one else of his age in the system who could match him, and it was no wonder that, even at the tender age of adulthood, he had earned the favor of the Holy See, as he was able to stand shoulder to shoulder with the highest ranking clergy.
Thus, when he was chosen to be the full-time guardian of the honored saintess, Lobelite had no doubt that he would be chosen. He was convinced that there was no one more worthy of the position than himself.
If the world was a theater stage created by the Creator, he was the star, and he had to be the star.
And the centerpiece of the stage should have a beautiful scenario and a perfect ending that would mesmerize the audience.
But.
Lazy's Lowville.
With the arrival of this man, Lovell's otherwise smooth sailing life story would have its first "blotch".
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He was a plain, unremarkable man, with nothing to distinguish him.
Although his face was somewhat rounded, he had a strong impression of being middle-aged, the kind of man who might be favored by older widows.
He seemed to be paying some attention to his grooming and behavior, but only to the extent that he could get away with it without being noticed.
From the point of view of a noble scion, who is supposed to pay close attention to his words and actions at every moment, his clumsy imitation of aristocracy with a haphazard knowledge of it was at times abominable.
Not that his abilities or talents were great enough to make up for his shabby appearance and behavior.
Rumor has it that the only miracle he can perform is the Miracle of Healing. Even that is limited to once a day, and he is said to be unable to draw upon divine power without a suitable medium.
Cleric shame. Halfpenny is a cleric.
At his colleagues' sneers at what was probably the most common way of describing him, Lovell would only superficially restrain them, then secretly slap his knees to show his intense sympathy.
What's more, he was "Lazy. In essence, the surname Reisz was a lowly one, reserved for orphans raised without parents.
Someone who is inferior in appearance, ability, talent, birth, and birthright.
It goes without saying that there is a gulf between him and himself that is as wide as the gulf between heaven and earth, between dragons and ants, so wide that they shouldn't even be allowed to speak.
But.
The man the saintess chose to honor at her appointment was none other than the man himself. Reyes Lowville. It wasn't him.
The shameful vision of that day clung to the inside of Lovell's eyelids, haunting him for a time, even in his dreams.
The saintess's beautiful cob pointed at him, silently and slowly, with a graceful gesture like petals fluttering in a breeze.
The man stood there dumbfounded for a moment, like a dumb man who had eaten honey, before he suddenly raised one hand and said, ''I'm sorry.
''Who wants to talk to me?''
The stupid remark was clearly meant to be a sneering mockery to everyone in the room.
The reverberation of the blood that leaked from the inside of his roughly curled fist that day lingered under Lobel's grip to this day.
There was no room for anyone else's will to intervene, nor should there be, and to question the choice was to rebel against the divine will.
But the impulse that burned like a raging fire in Lovell's mind showed no sign of abating, no matter how much time passed.
This couldn't be right. Something must be wrong. A mistake had been made. A mistake had been made. The cogs were out of alignment.
How could such an insignificant man.
How could he be of any use to the saintess when he was treating the honorable position that every priest aspires to as nothing more than a janitorial staff.
What the hell am I not better than him?
Jealousy. Lobel tried hard to ignore the name of the emotion that was ferociously brewing in the back of her mind.
In essence, jealousy is the emotion a lesser being feels for a being far superior to itself.
In the name of an irrational need to right a wrong, Lobel had fixed his resolve in the wrong place.
I will make that foolish crown mine, for it has found the wrong owner.
And soon enough, the opportunity came.
◈◈◈◈
''This is the reality of the saintess I've only heard rumors about----!''
Admiration, wonder, marvel, and admiration.
Even if one were a veteran bard who had traveled the world, it would be impossible for him to fully express in words the overwhelming emotions that were currently stirring in his mind.
It was as if he were looking upon a pure white paradise, where no defilement was permitted to enter.
A place so dazzling and beautiful that, at night, when the ravages of the outside world were at their most active, one could be fooled into thinking that all the light and brilliance of the world had been gathered into this one space.
The emotional turbulence that Lobel was experiencing was so great that it made him think that if God had created a cradle to hold only the things that the world truly needed, it must refer to this pristine, vast world.
And so, feeling a new kind of thrill, one he had never experienced since his birth, he strode forward with excited steps.
In truth, the mission he had been given by the nun was to guard the entrance to the Realm of Reality until Lazis returned, but in his current state of selfishness, this brief reprieve without Lazis seemed like nothing less than a godsend.
While the nuns were aware of Lobel's over-achievement, they never imagined that he would go so far as to commit such an insane act as to barge into the real world without permission.
The phrase "letting the cat out of the bag" would have been apt for this situation.
'Even if you say that Saintess is a transcendent being who is beyond the reasoning of this world, she is only 16 years old this year, the age of adulthood, when her thinking faculties are not yet fully developed! She must have made mistakes and made wrong choices, so if I can convince her of her incompetence and show her my competence, she will surely reconsider her impulsive decision to become a guardian priest! I can do it!
A human being who has been blessed with circumstances and talent, and has never known failure in his life. Drunk on goodwill and favor, addicted to its comfort, he became self-righteous and ugly.
In fact, he had only ever had one request denied to him, and that was when the other person was a woman.
''Oooh!''
Like a man who has discovered an oasis in the middle of a desert, Lobel stopped in his tracks with an exclamation of delight.
Then, as if lifting up a holy canvas in the presence of the gods, he knelt down in reverence, and before him was the figure of a virtuous girl.
A radiance that would be unrecognizable to those who embrace the path of holiness. A divine being, clad in layers of holy blessing.
A saintess. Welna Anzerath Ashes.
At this point, Lobel had lost all reason to retreat from the foolish illusion that he was born to meet this moment.
''It is an honor to meet you, saintess. I am Lobelite, who will be your new full-time guardian priest from this day forward, Saintess, and I greet you here and now!''
Furthermore.
He didn't even realize that he had just trampled on someone's dignity that he should never have touched.
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