Reincarnated User Manual-Chapter 323: The Hero (2)

‘Faith.’

Humans believed that phenomena beyond their understanding were acts of a transcendent being.

Unexpected famine, typhoons compounded by autumn rains, volcanoes, earthquakes, plagues…

These are now explained and can be somewhat anticipated. However, just 300 years ago, such events were interpreted through the lens of faith.

A wicked god caused the disaster.

The ancestral spirits were enraged because offerings were skipped.

500 years ago, a malevolent god descended directly onto this land—not to criticize their ignorance, but to highlight how faith was once indistinguishable from everything else.

For instance, divine power that reattached a severed arm.

Only clergy who cultivated their faith in the one true god could borrow divine power to heal others.

No matter how esteemed a mage, no matter if they were an immortal dragon, they could not heal another’s wounds.

Uniqueness.

Proving this was evidence of the god’s existence, and it was called a miracle precisely because only the Lord could perform it.

However…

‘What on earth is happening here?’

The cardinals’ gazes filled with astonishment—not because they witnessed a miracle.

Cardinal Secundino had staked his faith to test the champion. He admitted that doubting the young man, Shiron Prient, was a sin and pledged both his faith and life as penance.

In response, the Lord answered with a sacred flame.

Even though the holy sword hadn’t been drawn…

Even though there were ways to immediately apologize to Shiron Prient…

He showed arrogance, declaring he would accept punishment directly from God.

‘Corrupt thoughts have summoned divine wrath.’

‘The Lord’s anger is justified. Even after receiving an answer, he sought another sign from God…’

Many cardinals were dissatisfied with the holy sword’s immovability, but now they had to accept it.

The sacred flame did not harm life by nature.

But now, it threatened to reduce an unbeliever to ashes unless the champion, Shiron Prient, intervened immediately…

“What the hell are you doing?!”

“…Wh-what…”

“I don’t blame you for doubting me. But wasn’t this approach a bit extreme? If I hadn’t stopped it, he’d be headed straight to the afterlife!”

Cardinal Secundino froze like stone in Shiron’s arms.

His half-opened eyes and dulled senses struggled to process what had happened, his mind consumed by confusion.

‘What… just…’

It wasn’t that he had forgotten what had occurred.

The smell of burning flesh.

The silence enveloping the congregation.

The tears pooling in his eyes as he looked up at Shiron’s face, the hazy glow behind his head. Though the source of the light was the ceiling lamp, to Secundino, it seemed like an aura radiated from Shiron’s back.

‘I will no longer doubt.’

The holy sword.

The sacred flame.

The aura.

Miracles that most experienced once in a lifetime had occurred consecutively.

“…Hero.”

Secundino called the blessed name without a trace of doubt. Though his mind had been foggy, the signs that filled it pointed in one direction alone. Even though his face was shadowed beneath Shiron’s, not a single hint of darkness remained.

‘Oh, damn it.’

Shiron grimaced, turning his head away. The sight of a sturdy middle-aged man gazing at him with melancholic eyes made him want to drop him immediately.

[Creepy—just toss him aside.]

But despite Latera’s provocation, Shiron gently set the cardinal down. Then, he stood up, adjusting his disheveled attire.

“May I leave now?”

“…Return here tomorrow.”

“I think I’ve proven myself sufficiently.”

Although Shiron spoke with a displeased expression, the High Priest showed no signs of discomfort. Instead, he barely maintained an air of composure and pointed at the ground.

“Look… down.”

“Pardon?”

“The Lord wishes to convey His will to you.”

Updat𝓮d fr𝙤m ƒгeeweɓn૦vel.com.

“…”

Shiron’s brow furrowed.

Three neatly inscribed characters were engraved onto the previously blank stone floor.

‘Don’t go? Is this directed at me?’

Had a miracle occurred? Or perhaps someone was playing a trick…

He rubbed his eyes, wondering if he was imagining things.

But that couldn’t be the case.

Cold sweat ran down Shiron’s cheek as his fist clenched tightly.

[Hero?]

Latera sensed a surge of powerful emotion emanating from Shiron.

‘What on earth did he see? There’s nothing on the floor.’

“…Yes. I will return tomorrow.”

“Thank you. If you require a place to stay…”

“I’ll manage.”

Shiron bowed his head and left the room. No one stopped him. Even Yoru, Lucia, and Seira, sensing the tension, remained silent.

As Shiron left the space, Cardinal Deviale suddenly sprang to his feet.

“I never imagined it would come to this!”

The gazes of the cardinals seated around him converged on him.

Deviale’s expression was a mix of annoyance and pride.

“Still, he truly is our hero. Overcoming every trial with ease. Ha-ha!”

“Deviale Zebiel. You seem to have grown somewhat careless in conduct since we last saw you?”

“Careless? That’s unfair, Cardinal Ganuto. Do you realize how many miracles have just occurred? Three. Three miracles!”

Deviale waved three rigid fingers in emphasis, his theatrical display shocking the cardinals who knew him.

Deviale Zebiel.

A man who harbored deep hatred for heretics even before coming of age. Unlike most cardinals, who had lived for centuries, he was only in his early forties. Everyone present was aware of the unyielding fervor with which he pursued his faith.

A staunch opponent of reformation.

A man who denied even the existence of confessionals and penance chambers. If it hadn’t been for the string of miracles just witnessed, he might have been suspected of being someone else entirely.

“Do you take me for a fool? I saw the miracles, too.”

But Deviale’s character and the miracles seemed to have little connection.

The majority of cardinals, including the one-eyed young Cardinal Ganuto, still wore expressions of discontent.

“What are we to do about the traces of demonic influence found on Shiron Prient, the hero? The test of proof was necessary.”

“I think Cardinal Secundino’s approach was excessive, considering the holy sword was already seen…”

“That’s a conclusion made in hindsight, Cardinal Deviale.”

The interruption came from a silver-haired woman with a braid over one shoulder.

Cardinal Ignasio. The second-oldest present after Seira Romer, despite her youthful appearance suggesting otherwise, likely due to her long-lived lineage.

“In hindsight?”

“Before you arrived, we considered the possibility that the holy sword might have been in the hands of a demon worshiper.”

Ignasio’s green eyes flashed as she spoke.

Crack—

“…Did you just say demon worshiper?”

Dust spilled from Deviale’s clenched hand, where the corner of the table had been crushed into an unrecognizable shape.

“Yes, a demon worshiper. Did I say something false?”

“Ha…!”

“Deviale Zebiel. It’s well-known that you favor Shiron Prient, now recognized as the hero. But to this extent?”

With a flick of Ignasio’s fingers, pale flames rose.

The flames drifted downward, spreading toward a specific spot. However, they stopped abruptly, unable to cross the area where Shiron had stood moments earlier.

“Every step he took is saturated with an ominous aura. A demon of a far higher rank than any ordinary one.”

“Yet you held back, fully aware of this?”

“Unlike you, I believe all can be redeemed. But,”

A pale malevolence flickered in Ignasio’s eyes as her anger shifted toward Deviale.

“With you, it’s different. What exactly happened that made you turn a blind eye to such obvious evidence? Why did you alone know that Shiron Prient was the hero?”

“What do you expect me to do?”

Even amidst the tense atmosphere, Deviale shrugged nonchalantly.

“Shall I go to him now and accuse him of hiding a pact with a demon?”

“That won’t happen. As you said, the Lord performed no less than three miracles. Our omniscient Lord has already given His approval.”

“It wasn’t three—it was four.”

It wasn’t Deviale but Cardinal Secundino who spoke. He gazed blankly in the direction Shiron had left, through the flames Ignasio had conjured.

“The holy sword. The sword that wouldn’t be drawn. The flames that burned me. And finally, when I looked up at him! I saw the light guiding the way! A halo! There was a halo!”

He fell to the ground, prostrating himself in an act of devotion. Deviale also crossed himself.

“He is truly our champion. Such boundless compassion for an insolent lamb…”

“You’ve lost your minds.”

Ignasio’s gaze twisted into one of disdain toward the two fanatics.

That night, at an inn in Lucerne, Lucia lay in bed and quietly turned to her side.

Shiron’s face, eyes closed, was beside her.

She had tried to restrain herself out of guilt for the pregnant Siriel, but tonight Shiron had initiated the closeness.

“Shiron, are you asleep?”

She whispered softly, but Shiron didn’t respond.

“Are you…?”

“I’m not.”

“…”

“If you want to say something, just say it. It’s fine.”

Staring at the ceiling, Shiron finally spoke. Lucia gathered her resolve and leaned into him as she whispered.

“Is it okay that you revealed you’re the hero?”

“…It’s fine. For now.”

Revealing his status as the hero was acceptable. His unease stemmed from something else entirely.

“Can I ask why you kept it a secret?”

Lucia’s worry deepened, as Shiron rarely showed signs of distress.

“I don’t fight for sacrifices or fame.”

The words written earlier that day were far from reassuring.

“I desire nothing. I just want to kill the Demon God.”

“…I see.”

Lucia turned her gaze back to the ceiling.

He lived solely for this mission, desiring nothing in return. To her, even his selflessness seemed noble.

‘What did I ever want?’

As Kyrie, she had wanted so much.

Fame. A warm family. A home where she could rest peacefully. She had achieved most of those things by now, though they once seemed unattainable.

‘…The holy sword. I won’t wield it.’

Miracles, one after another. Even during her time as Kyrie, such events had never happened.

Perhaps even the god deemed Shiron more fitting as a hero.

Lucia pondered silently until she fell asleep.