MLBR 38

The Day of Prophecy always came within two or three months after the Saintess Selection Ceremony. Although the first prophecy had the greatest impact, it was common for the second and third prophecy days to follow soon after. The more complex the prophecy, the more often the Saintess met the Holy Mother—sometimes not just once, but in several sessions.

And the first day of prophecy—that was the day.
The Gas family would officially announce that they had been chosen to guard the Saintess, earning the honor of being her protectors.

“Now that I think about it again…”

Suddenly sensing danger, I jerked my head up. Far away, in his designated seat, sat Whistler.

As if timed perfectly, our eyes met. Intense emotion flickered, and his golden irises seemed to ignite.

“Whistler and Mille could end up in a romantic storyline.”

That was, without a doubt, the worst-case scenario.

Whistler—the most eligible man in the social world, known as an “angel.”
Mille—the Saintess, the divine protector of the Empire.

Together, they were like a couple straight out of a novel—far more dazzling than even Herais and me.

If things continued like this, they could easily become rivals.

And the worst part? It was possible. Historically, Saintesses often ended up marrying their “Glorious Ones”—the knights or nobles chosen to protect and guide them.

“It’s not like Whistler is uninterested in Mille, either.”

I’d seen them kiss once. Whether it was impulsive or not, they were the main couple in the novel I’d read.
Logically speaking, the odds of that relationship becoming long-term were high.

“The only reason Whistler paid attention to me in the first place was because he felt inferior to Herais.”

Now that Herais and I were officially together, I wasn’t sure Whistler would continue to take an interest in me. The odds were… uncertain.

He might act out even more—or not at all.

But people tend to crumble when life gets hard, and since Whistler was in a rough position right now, love could easily take root again.

“I need a new plan.”

It was hard to stop a man everyone called an “angel,” even if he was actually trash.
Herais probably agreed with me—which was why he’d decided to delay his revenge. That much was clear.

“For now, I’ll stop worrying about Whistler and focus on Mille instead.”

I fixed my eyes on the stage, where colored light from the stained glass poured down.
Soon, Mille would appear there.

“They say you have to know your enemy to prepare properly.”

So, I’d go after Mille instead—the slightly less trashy one.
Learn about her, persuade her, negotiate with her… whatever it took.

As the prayers ended, Pureist, the High Priest, stepped up to the podium.

“Greetings, everyone. First, allow me to thank all who have gathered here to grace this occasion with your presence. The day we have all long awaited is finally upon us.”

I straightened in my seat, ready to hear about the Saintess for the first time.

“On this Day of Prophecy, we welcome the 35th Saintess, Mille Shining.”

Following the priest’s gesture, a lone figure gradually appeared.

Veiled completely, Mille walked slowly forward, wearing a white ceremonial robe.
A sheer, floating veil draped over her outfit, giving her an ethereal glow.

In her hand, a staff shimmered with a five-colored orb surrounded by a silver whirlwind.
Gripping it tightly, she sat gracefully at the center of the stage.

“What’s changed?”

Her eyes were still the same golden color. So it must be her hair—though hidden under the veil, I couldn’t see clearly.
It seemed to be gray, though.

“And now, the family chosen to stand beside Saintess Mille Shining—the descendants of House Gray, the House of Gas. Introducing the Glorious One of our age: Whistler Gas.”

Whistler rose from his seat and climbed the stairs to the stage.
The High Priest handed him a silver crown.

Kneeling on one knee, Whistler carefully placed the crown upon Mille’s head. Then, lowering his head in reverence, he placed a hand solemnly over his heart.

That simple gesture—
It drew gasps and sighs of awe from all around.

“…How suffocating.”

My chest burned, and my lips felt dry. Was that jealousy I felt? Maybe.
Because, clearly, Herais and I looked better together than those two.

After all, Herais and I had shared deep conversations—even exchanged our “love language rankings.”

“I, Whistler Gas, swear to accompany Saintess Shining through her first and last moments—to share with her all that is sacred and essential. As the present holds greater value than past or future, I vow to devote my life to this moment, before the Holy Mother.”

“As the present holds greater value than past or future, I vow to devote my life to this moment, before the Holy Mother,” echoed the congregation.

With the prayer concluded, Whistler took his place behind Mille, to her right.
The High Priest stood to her left and murmured:

“Now, let us bless the meeting between the Holy Mother and the Saintess.”

The priest knelt, and the attending clerics encircled the round stage, pointing their staffs toward Mille—just like during the Saintess Selection.

Even though I’d never seen it before, it felt oddly familiar.

“Ah… I know this.”

This was the Western-style ritual of divine communion—the beginning of the prophecy.

Mille, eyes closed, lifted her hands toward the ceiling covered in painted murals.
Her fingertips trembled as a clear, melodic voice spread through the silence.

“Oh Holy Mother, the one true God who granted us breath and life—
I, Mille Shining, offer you my first greeting.”

You could hear a pin drop.
Her small voice seemed to carry magical power, sinking deep into our ears.

“Oh Mother, who treasures the present above past and future,
reach out your hand and let our present continue to exist.”

The clerics knelt in unison.
Unlike Whistler and the High Priest, they bowed deeply.
Then Whistler and the High Priest lowered their gazes as well.

Now, in the dazzling light of the stage, only Mille and the staffs of the clerics remained upright.

Then—
With a strange hum, the clerics’ staffs began to glow.

Mille rose to her feet and spoke the final incantation:

“Because history exists through words,
I too shall save your history through writing.”

But that wasn’t Mille’s voice.
It was husky—someone else’s.
A sudden, chilling transformation rippled through the air.

“I shall reveal your hero.”

In that instant—bang!—light erupted from the clerics’ staffs.
Their beams stretched forward and struck Mille, enveloping her.

A radiant halo bloomed behind her as she slowly rose into the air.
A crackling current of energy burst from her staff’s orb, forming the shapes of a book and a quill pen that floated before her.

Once Mille wrote the prophecy into that book, the communion—the first prophecy—would be complete.

“This is my will—”

What? Her voice suddenly cut off. I looked up.

Was this… supposed to happen?
The nobles around me looked just as confused.

“My will—”

A cold silence swept through the hall.
One by one, people opened their eyes, confusion turning into doubt.

“Wh–what’s going on?”

“Ah!”

When Mille spoke again, the sound drew gasps—her voice had returned to normal, soft and clear.

But this wasn’t supposed to happen.
Not yet.

Then—CRACK!
A deafening sound echoed as all the light vanished.
The brilliance filling the stage disappeared—from Mille, from the staffs, from everything.

“Th–there!”

A noble cried out as Mille swayed—then collapsed.
In a flash, Whistler leapt up and caught her in his arms.

“Hm?”

Something flashed before my eyes—something I almost caught but couldn’t hold onto.
I saw something, but couldn’t tell what it was.

“Was her hair… gray, not silver? Gray?”