The Useless Extra Knows It All....But Does He?-Chapter 360 - "With Great Power..."

The square was no longer loud.

It was tense.

Thousands of breaths were being held at once, the air thick with incense, dust, sweat, and fear. The chanting that had surged moments ago now faded into a trembling murmur, like waves retreating before a coming storm.

The Saintess stood motionless at the center of the execution platform.

Tears slid endlessly down her cheeks, catching in the light before dripping onto the stone. Her lips trembled, but no sound escaped. Her chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths as if her lungs had forgotten how to draw air properly.

She did not wipe her tears away.

She only looked at Luca.

Not pleading.

Not begging.

Just... searching.

For an answer.

For confirmation.

For something to hold onto.

And Luca stood before her, his back straight, gaze steady, the black armor faintly humming beneath his skin. Dust still clung to his boots from his landing, drifting slowly down around him like ash.

His eyes never left the bishop.

The bishop, in contrast, was barely restraining himself. 𝒇𝒓𝒆𝒆𝙬𝒆𝒃𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝙡.𝒄𝓸𝒎

Veins bulged at his temples. His hands trembled as they clenched and unclenched inside the long sleeves of his ceremonial robes. The faint scent of incense clung to him, but now it mixed with something acrid — anger, barely masked.

He took a sharp step forward.

"Enough!"

The word cracked through the square like a whip.

Holy runes embedded into the stone flared violently, amplifying his voice. The crowd recoiled as if struck. A few people staggered, covering their ears. Even the banners lining the plaza snapped harshly in the sudden pressure.

"Enough of this mockery!" the bishop roared.

His gaze swept over the people — not with guidance, but with fury.

"You dare raise your voices in judgment of the Church?" he snarled. "You dare question divine authority?"

His eyes locked onto Luca, burning.

"You want answers?" he spat. "Very well. I will give them to you."

The bishop stepped forward, boots striking stone with sharp finality.

The Saintess flinched.

He raised a trembling hand and pointed directly at her.

"Look at her," he commanded.

The crowd hesitated — then slowly obeyed.

Some looked reluctantly.

Some looked with pity.

Some looked with thinly veiled fear.

"She stood as the Saintess of the Holy Kingdom," the bishop continued, his voice rising with each word. "A vessel of the Goddess’s will. A symbol of purity. A beacon of faith."

He paused.

Letting the words sink in.

"And yet," he said coldly, "she lost her faith."

A ripple went through the crowd.

"What...?"

"No..."

"That can’t be..."

"Lost... her faith?"

The bishop’s mouth twisted into something resembling a smile.

"She lost her divine power," he declared. "The blessings of the Goddess have abandoned her."

Gasps broke out.

Several people instinctively clutched their prayer beads. A few priests exchanged uneasy glances. Whispers erupted like sparks catching dry leaves.

"She lost her powers...?"

"Then she really is..."

"But isn’t that... too much...?"

The bishop lifted his arms wide, robes billowing.

"A Saintess without faith," he thundered, "is nothing more than a fraud."

His voice echoed against the cathedral walls.

"A lie upheld by sentiment!"

He turned sharply, pointing toward the people.

"And what is a lie allowed to stand?"

Silence.

Taut.

Suffocating.

His finger lowered slowly.

"It becomes poison."

A murmur ran through the crowd again — fear this time, mixed with doubt.

The bishop’s voice grew sharper, almost fevered.

"She held power. Influence. Authority. And with that comes responsibility!"

He stepped closer to the edge of the platform.

"Should someone entrusted with divine authority be allowed to continue after losing the very thing that gave them legitimacy?"

His eyes burned.

"Tell me!"

No one answered.

Some shifted uncomfortably.

Some bowed their heads.

Some clenched their fists.

The bishop inhaled sharply, chest rising, as though drawing strength from their hesitation.

"She is the Saintess of the Holy Kingdom," he declared. "Not a commoner. Not a victim."

His voice hardened.

"With power comes duty. With duty comes consequence."

He gestured toward her.

"And she has failed."

The Saintess’s shoulders shook.

Her hands curled tightly into fists, chains rattling softly. Her head lowered, silver hair hiding her face — but the tears continued to fall, soaking into the stone beneath her feet.

A child’s sob echoed somewhere in the crowd.

The bishop straightened, voice ringing with finality.

"So tell me," he demanded, "is it unjust... to hold her accountable?"

The silence that followed was unbearable.

No one answered.

No one moved.

And through it all—

Luca remained utterly still.

His expression unreadable.

His eyes calm.

Waiting.

Because the bishop had just made his greatest mistake.

And the crowd... had begun to waver.

The square trembled—not from sound, but from uncertainty.

Whispers moved like nervous insects through the crowd, rising and falling in broken fragments.

"...is that true...?"

"...lost her faith...?"

"...but she saved people—"

"...how could that be a crime...?"

The murmurs swelled, unsure, unstable, pulled in two directions at once.

Above them all, seated in his elevated throne, the Pope remained still.

Not tense.

Not alarmed.

Amused.

His fingers rested lightly against the armrest, his gaze drifting lazily across the square like a man watching theater unfold exactly as he had hoped. His eyes lingered on Luca for a moment—curious, entertained.

Interesting...Now what will you do...Luca Valentine?

The bishop, however, was smiling.

Triumph flickered across his face as he turned toward Luca, shoulders squared, chin raised. In his mind, this was over. The crowd wavered. The Saintess stood condemned. And now—

Now even this interloper would be forced to submit.

Luca exhaled slowly.

Then he spoke.

"You’re right, Bishop. You are absolutely right."

The words hit the square like a stone dropped into water.

The murmurs died instantly.

Every head turned.

The bishop’s smile widened.

The Saintess froze.

Luca’s voice was calm. Too calm.

"You’re right," he repeated, louder now. "With great power comes great responsibility."

Gasps rippled through the crowd.

Some looked at him in disbelief. Others in confusion. A few nodded unconsciously, thinking he had conceded.

The bishop’s lips curled upward, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes.

But Luca wasn’t done.

"But tell me something," he continued, voice steady, cutting cleanly through the air. "Do any of you know how she lost her faith?"

The crowd shifted.

Murmurs stirred again.

"...How...?"

"...What does he mean?"

"Didn’t they say she abandoned it...?"

Luca turned slowly, letting his gaze sweep across the sea of faces.

"I’ll tell you."

He paused.

Long enough that every breath in the square seemed to stop.

"As a Saintess," he said, "her faith was never about obedience. Never about blind devotion. Her faith was simple."

His eyes flicked to the girl in chains.

"It was not to harm. Not to abandon. Not to turn away from those in need. Not to hurt any being in this world. Such a holy faith."

The Saintess’s breath hitched.

Luca’s voice lowered, roughened.

"And do you know how she broke that faith?"

He inhaled sharply.

"She broke it... to save me."

A shockwave rippled through the crowd.

"What?"

"Save him?"

"What does he mean?"

"Who is he talking about—?"

Luca took a step forward.

"She broke it to save all the first-year students of Arcadia Academy."

Gasps erupted.

The bishop’s eyes widened—just slightly.

Luca continued, his voice gaining strength.

"She killed a spatial-expansion–stage cultist alone."

The words landed like thunder.

"Alone," he repeated. "A monster strong enough to erase cities. Someone she had no chance of defeating without breaking the very faith she was bound to."

He turned toward the Saintess now.

"And she knew it."

The Saintess’s hands trembled violently.

"She knew," Luca said, voice thick with emotion, "that if she used that power—if she crossed that line—she would lose everything."

His jaw tightened.

"Her title. Her faith. Her place in this kingdom."

A pause.

"And like today possibly her life."

The crowd had gone deathly silent.

"She still did it."

Luca’s eyes burned as he looked back at the people.

"But she chose to save those innocent students instead."

His voice wavered for the first time.

"She chose their lives over her own future."

The Saintess’s knees buckled slightly.

Tears streamed freely down her face now, her lips trembling as she stared at him.

Luca raised his voice.

"She knew the cost," he said. "And she paid it anyway."

He turned sharply toward the bishop.

"You’re right," he said, voice sharp as a blade. "With power comes responsibility."

The bishop stiffened.

"And she fulfilled hers."

Luca spread his arms slightly, encompassing the crowd, the platform, the cathedral itself.

"So tell me," he demanded, voice echoing through the square, "does someone who sacrifices everything to save others deserve to die?"

Silence.

Heavy.

Crushing.

The wind stirred.

Banners fluttered weakly.

Faces in the crowd twisted with doubt, fear, realization.

Luca’s gaze locked onto th

e bishop.

"Tell me," he said, voice low and unyielding.

"Does she deserve this punishment?"

"Does she deserve this execution?"

The question hung in the air like a blade poised to fall.