The Useless Extra Knows It All....But Does He?-Chapter 372 - Looking into the dark past! (4)
They walked.
Not hurried. Not slow.
Just... forward.
The stone beneath their feet was warm from the sun, pale ivory tiles veined with gold dust that caught the light with every step. The streets of the Holy Kingdom from twenty years ago unfolded around them like a living painting—alive, unbroken, unaware.
People passed straight through them.
A woman carrying a basket of fresh bread laughed as a child tugged at her sleeve. Two young priests argued softly about whose turn it was to clean the outer shrine. A knight removed his helmet to wipe sweat from his brow, greeting a passerby with an easy smile instead of rigid authority.
Faith here was... gentle.
Not enforced.
Not sharpened into a blade.
Incense drifted lazily from open chapel doors, mixing with the smell of baked goods and sun-warmed stone. Wind chimes tied to prayer poles rang softly, their tones light, almost playful.
"—the Goddess watches over honest work—" "—did you hear the harvest blessing was advanced this year—" "—my daughter says she wants to become a healer—" "—may the Light guide her steps—"
Every voice carried warmth.
Every step felt unburdened.
The Saintess slowed without realizing it.
Her eyes moved constantly—left, right, upward—taking everything in with quiet wonder. The way people smiled when they spoke of faith. The way children ran freely between adults without fear of reprimand. The way the Goddess’s name was spoken not with dread... but trust.
She lifted her hand hesitantly and waved it through a passing man.
Her fingers met nothing.
"...They really can’t see us," she said softly.
Luca, walking half a step ahead, nodded once. "We’re observers. Anchored to this time, but not part of it."
She lowered her hand.
For a moment, regret flickered across her face—subtle, fleeting. A sadness at being so close to something alive and yet unable to touch it.
Then—just as quietly—it passed.
Her lips curved upward again as she looked ahead, eyes reflecting the sunlight.
"It’s... beautiful," she said.
Luca glanced back at her.
The smile wasn’t forced.
It wasn’t brave.
It wasn’t the composed smile of a Saintess standing before judgment.
It was small. Genuine. Almost childlike.
Something twisted in his chest.
Will you still be able to smile...
after you see the truth?
The thought came unbidden.
Unwanted.
He looked away, jaw tightening.
What am I even thinking...
They continued walking, bodies phasing harmlessly through the crowd as the city flowed around them. Luca’s gaze drifted over familiar streets that felt wrong in their unfamiliarity—too clean, too hopeful.
His thoughts began to spiral.
I don’t even know the exact moment.
Just the time period.
Just the place.
His fingers flexed unconsciously at his side.
Is Emeron already imprisoned by now?
Or... is this before that?
A chill slid down his spine.
Is her mother already captured by that bishop...?
Or is she still free? Still alive?
The city gave him no answers.
People laughed. Merchants haggled. Bells rang—not as commands, but as reminders.
Damn it...
He exhaled slowly, steadying himself.
I only know that this is close.
The fracture point.
Where everything starts going wrong.
The Saintess walked beside him, hands clasped lightly in front of her, steps careful—as if afraid to disturb the world even though she knew she couldn’t.
She tilted her head, watching a pair of children chase each other past a fountain.
"...It feels strange," she murmured. "Being here. Like this."
Luca hummed softly in acknowledgment.
She didn’t look at him when she continued.
"But... I’m glad it’s with you."
He stiffened for half a step.
Didn’t respond.
Didn’t trust himself to.
They walked on.
Two figures unseen by the past, moving through a city still untouched by rot—toward a moment neither of them could fully predict, but both of them could feel drawing closer with every step.
They kept walking.
The streets gradually narrowed, the grand plazas giving way to quieter lanes where prayer flags fluttered lazily between buildings and sunlight filtered down in soft, broken lines. The city felt deeper here—less ceremonial, more lived in.
After a while, Luca spoke.
"Do you know who the Saintess was at this time?" he asked suddenly.
She slowed a step, clearly caught off guard.
"...At this time?" she repeated, then grew thoughtful.
Her pace eased as she searched her memory, eyes unfocused as if leafing through old records.
"There wasn’t one," she said finally. "Not for nearly fifty years before me."
Luca glanced at her, surprised.
She nodded, confirming it herself.
"The title isn’t something that can just be handed down. There’s a process. Long and... strict."
Her fingers curled slightly at her side.
"To even be considered, one has to pass several layers of examination—doctrine, resonance with divine relics, mental fortitude, compatibility with holy authority." She paused, then added quietly, "Having pure holy power is only the second most important requirement."
Luca frowned. "Second?"
"Yes." A faint, humorless smile touched her lips. "The first is endurance."
He didn’t ask her to elaborate.
He didn’t need to.
As they walked, his gaze drifted to her profile—the calm posture, the measured steps, the way her shoulders were relaxed now in a way they hadn’t been back at the execution ground.
What must you have gone through...
to be the first in fifty years.
The thought sat heavy in his chest.
They passed beneath an archway carved with faded scripture, emerging into a quieter district where the sounds of the city dulled to a gentle hum. After a few more steps, she broke the silence.
"...Where exactly are we going?" she asked.
Luca exhaled through his nose and scratched the back of his head.
"I wish I could give you a clear answer," he admitted. "I know the time should be close. Really close."
He glanced around, eyes scanning buildings, intersections, the flow of people.
"But the exact place... the exact moment..." He shook his head. "That part’s still blurry."
Her expression dimmed for a heartbeat. She looked down, lashes casting faint shadows against her cheeks.
Then—
She looked back up at him.
There was resolve in her eyes. Gentle, but firm.
"Then why don’t we try one place?" she said.
Luca blinked. "Which place?"
She nodded lightly. "Just follow me.....even though I am sure , we will find what we are looking for there, it wouldn’t be a wasted trip."
A small, thoughtful smile formed.
"Anyway, if we don’t have any idea where to go, I would like to visit that place.."
Luca studied her face for a moment, then let out a quiet chuckle.
"...You’re trusting your intuition?"
She tilted her head. "Isn’t that what you’re doing too?"
He couldn’t argue with that.
"...Alright," he said, nodding. "Let’s try it."
And together, they turned—unseen by the past, guided by uncertainty and quiet resolve—toward a place neither of them fully understood yet, but both somehow felt mattered.
They walked until the streets opened up.
Stone gave way to marble.
The noise of the city softened—not because there were fewer people, but because every sound here seemed instinctively restrained, as if even footsteps feared disturbing the sanctity of the place.
Before them rose the cathedral.
It dominated the skyline.
A vast structure of white stone and gold-veined marble, its spires piercing the sky like outstretched hands seeking the divine. Massive arched windows of stained glass caught the sunlight, refracting it into cascading hues of gold, pale blue, and soft violet that spilled across the plaza like holy rain. Runes of devotion were carved deep into the walls, each stroke glowing faintly, breathing with quiet divinity.
At its center loomed a colossal cross, suspended above the entrance—not carved, but forged of pure condensed light, radiating warmth that seeped into the air itself.
People gathered endlessly before it.
Priests in layered white-and-gold robes moved in slow, deliberate lines, staffs tapping softly against the stone. Devotees clasped prayer beads glowing faintly with blessing, heads bowed, lips murmuring reverent hymns.
"—May the Goddess guide us—"
"—The noon blessing will begin soon—"
"—Have you heard? They say the divine resonance has grown stronger this year—"
Holy symbols adorned clothing, skin, even hairpins—crosses, halos, sigils etched in gold thread. The air shimmered with sanctified mana, thick enough that even breathing felt different here—cleaner, heavier, unquestionable.
A place built not just for worship.
But for judgment.
Luca and the Saintess stopped at the edge of the plaza.
She stared up at the cathedral, eyes reflecting its towering form, expression unreadable—neither reverent nor fearful. Just... familiar.
Luca’s face twitched.
Not dramatically—just a small, involuntary tightening at the corner of his jaw, the kind that betrayed thoughts he hadn’t meant to show. His gaze lingered on the towering cathedral for a heartbeat longer, crimson eyes tracing the glowing cross, the pristine marble, the people kneeling so faithfully beneath it.
Then he exhaled through his nose.
Slowly, he turned toward her.
"...The cathedral," he said, voice flat, almost disbelieving.
His brow creased as if the word itself didn’t sit right in his mouth. He lifted a hand, half-gesturing toward the massive structure behind them, fingers stopping midair as though even pointing at it felt wrong.
Then, more incredulous—quieter, but heavier—
"Really?"
She didn’t answer right away.
Instead, she looked at him.
Really looked.
Her hands came together in front of her unconsciously, fingers lacing and unlacing as her gaze softened. When she smiled, it wasn’t bright or confident. It was small. Gentle. A smile touched by memory rather than certainty—almost nostalgic, almost sad.
She nodded once.
A simple motion.
But it carried years with it.
Something sharp flickered across Luca’s expression.
His shoulders tensed, posture stiffening as if he’d been struck somewhere he hadn’t armored. His fingers curled slowly into his palm, nails biting in just enough to ground himself. He looked away for half a second, jaw tightening, before forcing his eyes back to her.
Frustration slipped into his voice before he could rein it in.
Low. Raw.
"Even after everything you went through?"
The words came out heavier than he’d intended.
His hand lifted again—this time not toward the cathedral, but toward her—stopping short, hovering uncertainly between them, as if he didn’t know whether he was accusing the place... or trying to protect her from it.
"After what they did to you," he continued, quieter now. "After what they took."
The cathedral loomed behind them—immaculate, radiant, unmoving.
And Luca stood there, caught between anger and disbelief, staring at the one person who still chose to walk toward it.
