Erin, the third daughter of a small barony near the Allen estate, had often heard stories about the apostle of the Arts Guild even before joining the Allen household as a maid.
A person who roams the continent, spreading her art. A person who gladly gives what she has to those who are struggling. A person who has saved countless people suffering at the hands of the followers of the Evil God.
Back when Benedict Allen was shaking the continent with his inaction, the apostle of the Arts Guild, Prete, made a name for herself with her goodness.
In a way, among the girls, Prete might have been more famous than Benedict.
The wandering bard who spoke of Prete described her as an artist with a beautiful appearance and a sweet voice.
When Erin met Prete after a long time, she was even more stunning than the bard had described.
"I know that Prete-sama is about the same age as Lord Allen, but how does she still look like a young woman in her twenties? Could this also be the goddess's blessing?"
Erin admired Prete but didn’t show any more reaction.
If this had happened when Erin was still a village girl, she might have shouted and squealed.
But now, it was different. After becoming accustomed to the beauty of Lucy Allen, Erin could look at Prete without being overly excited.
Prete seemed intrigued by Erin’s calm reaction, raising an eyebrow slightly, but she didn’t say anything further.
"You're Lady Allen’s personal maid, correct?"
"Yes, that’s correct."
"Before I give you instructions, may I see how you normally behave?"
"If Lady Allen permits."
"I don’t want to. Are you really asking for my permission?"
Suddenly, a voice cut in during the conversation. Erin turned her head toward Lucy’s voice, seeing her reflection in the mirror over her shoulder.
The playful, mischievous face of a young girl. The kind of smile Erin would have seen when Lucy was first becoming her maid, but not the frustrated kind — a smile of genuine happiness.
Back when Erin was reluctantly made a maid, she hadn’t expected to see such a smile.
"Is there no way?"
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"I don’t want to."
Had another maid from the Allen estate been in Erin’s position, they would have been startled by Lucy's sharp tone and lowered their head. But Erin was different.
Having known the current Lucy, she wasn’t afraid. Instead, she offered a faint smile and lowered her head.
"Please, just reconsider, Lady."
"...If you keep being so serious, what should I do, Erin? You’re so boring."
"I apologize, Lady."
"It’s fine. Do as you please. But know this — if I don’t like it, I’ll mess with you, so be prepared."
"I thank you for your mercy."
As their conversation naturally continued, Prete watched with a pleased smile. However, when Erin began to dress Lucy, Prete’s expression gradually turned stern.
"...What do you think?"
"It’s not bad. For someone from a noble family, this would be enough."
Though it seemed like praise, Erin’s expression wasn’t bright. She sensed the underlying anger in Prete’s tone.
"But Erin, your mistress is someone of a different caliber than a typical noblewoman. I’ve never met anyone closer to the goddess herself. You cannot use ordinary methods for her."
Prete’s rigid tone and sharp gaze made the soft smile from earlier feel like an illusion.
However, despite the heavy atmosphere, Erin remained unflinching. She had endured much worse when Lucy was at her most reckless. This level of pressure was nothing.
"Would you point out what needs to be fixed?"
"Look. Lady Allen possesses such a perfect form, there doesn’t seem to be anywhere to improve. In truth, that is the case. But even the most perfect form can be made more beautiful."
Erin was amazed as she listened to Prete’s instructions. So this was another method. It was no wonder she was called one of the leading figures in art across the continent.
"Prete-sama, would it be alright if I take notes in my notebook?"
"Do as you wish. No, I’ll start over and explain it again. Take notes and engrave it in your heart. I cannot forgive someone who dresses Lady Allen to do it poorly."
As Erin endured the tedious lesson, Lucy, who had been bored for a while, yawned loudly.
At that, Prete, who had stopped mid-sentence, hurriedly pinched her nose, trying to stop the blood from flowing.
"Perverted apostle, please just leave already."
"Lady, I apologize, but I cannot do that. I still have work to finish."
"Your nose is bleeding, and you're still talking like that? You look like a disgusting piece of trash."
"If you call me trash, I suppose that’s what I am. It’s an honor."
"...I think I’m going to throw up from disgust."
Bishop Yurik’s body was discovered in his bedroom.
He had always been uncomfortable with others entering his room, which delayed the discovery of his death.
The people of the Arts Guild, realizing that they hadn’t known about the death of their comrade, even though he was right next to them, were filled with self-blame. They forgot about discussing the extermination of the Evil God’s followers and instead mourned their fallen companion.
The mourning procession continued until the evening, and just before the sun set, the doors to the guild headquarters opened, and an angel appeared.
With red eyes full of solemnity, and white skin that absorbed the warmth and drowsiness of the sunset, Prete, the apostle of the Arts Guild, had the appearance of someone closest to the goddess. Despite her fragile appearance, she had an intense gaze, one that seemed unbreakable before any trial.
Lucy Allen, standing beside Prete, was an overwhelming presence, so much so that even Prete seemed insignificant in comparison. She embraced the world with her gaze.
Even under the glow of the sunset, Lucy’s eyes didn’t dull; instead, they glowed brightly.
The worshippers in front of her, feeling reverence filling their hearts, knelt, and this reverence spread further, eventually covering the entire street.
Lucy, feeling their reverence, held her lips tightly and stepped forward.
Her small steps, delicate as though they could disappear with the slightest touch, yet unwavering in the face of countless trials, caused the air around her to fill with the people’s wishes.
The apologies for the fallen comrade.
The desire that those who met the goddess after death might find peace.
The self-reproach. The determination for atonement.
These feelings built up, pressing down on Lucy’s steps, but Lucy remained unfazed.
She moved forward confidently, as though she carried no burden behind her, until she arrived at the place where Bishop Yurik’s body was laid.
The bishop guarding the place, meeting Lucy’s gaze, bowed respectfully and stepped aside.
Lucy, now standing in front of the coffin, took a deep breath, raising her hands to her chest.
And as she closed her eyes, warmth began to spread from where she stood, reaching out.
The warmth that caressed the regret, sorrow, and lamentation in the hearts of the people, soothing them and bringing comfort. Those who felt it, their tears began to fall one by one.
Prete, standing next to Lucy, thought to herself that Bishop Yurik, having reached the goddess, must have smiled.
She was certain that the people who had remained here had, at least in part, been able to lighten their burdens.
This must be the power of one favored by the Holy God.
Really. How fortunate we are that she is here.
Watching Lucy’s prayer with a serious face, Prete wiped her reddened eyes with her hand, and like the other worshippers, she closed her eyes and folded her hands.
After finishing her prayer and slowly opening her eyes, Lucy glanced at the atmosphere of the Arts Guild members and lowered her eyelids again.
Why are the people kneeling in the streets crying while praying?
And why, instead of controlling this situation, is the guild leader and the perverted apostle crying just like everyone else?
Most of all, why aren’t Cal, that useless dog, and the bald knight by my side? Why are they just staring at me blankly!?
Aren’t they supposed to be guarding me?!
Aren’t they supposed to protect me?!
Aaaah! Seriously! What is going on!?
I just wanted to offer my condolences to the dead, and why has it turned into this?
Now that I think about it, the atmosphere has been off since I left the church!
It’s one thing for people to stare at me when the door opens, but why the heck is everyone suddenly kneeling!?
Am I a king?! Am I some tyrant who will chop off their heads if they don’t show respect!?
And why are they praying to me? The goddess they worship is the Crow Goddess, right!?
Praying to me is heresy! Aren’t they scared of the Crow Goddess’s jealousy!?
Aaaah, I feel like I’m going to suffocate!
What should I do!? How do I handle this!?
‘...Grandpa! What should I do!? This atmosphere is too overwhelming!’
<It’s fine, Lucy. Just stay silent, and they will interpret things well.>
‘But I feel like I’m suffocating! I just want to run away right now!’
<Get used to it. As an apostle of the Holy God, you’ll face this countless times. Well... if you think about it, isn’t this what you wanted? Look, everyone here is sending you reverence, not hostility.>
‘I just wanted compliments, not worship!’
The old man’s nagging made me frustrated, and just as I was about to shout, I heard a ding in my ear.
What now!? Useless God!
Why are you butting in during such a chaotic situation!?
I can talk to you once everything’s done!
[Thank you so much, apostle of the Holy God. Thanks to you, the followers can now walk a better path.]
...Huh?
[This may not be much of a reward, but I hope you will accept it as a gesture of goodwill from the Crow Goddess.]
What? Huh?!