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Chapter – 20
When I turned my head toward the direction of the approaching footsteps, I saw a boy in priest’s robes running toward us.
“Looks like that kid is the owner of the tomatoes.”
“Thath what it look like.”
Judging from how he was clutching a bag with a snapped strap, it seemed the strap had suddenly broken, causing this whole mess.
“It’s good the young master picked up the toma— huh?”
While answering, I caught sight of the boy’s face as he came closer and lost my words.
Skin pale as if drained of blood, finely arranged features.
Hair like it was woven from golden threads, and eyes the color of gold that would glitter brilliantly under sunlight.
The boy was extraordinarily beautiful.
But my surprise wasn’t just because he was handsome.
That face…
It was incredibly familiar.
Undeniably familiar.
How could I forget?
That child was—
“Run. Get away.”
My luck.
My salvation.
The man who opened the door of the prison I was trapped in.
The owner of the tomatoes was the very person who had helped me before I regressed.
While I stared blankly at him, the boy reached us and bowed deeply.
“I am sorry. The strap broke, and my tomatoes spilled.”
Even then, I couldn’t open my mouth.
Contie narrowed his eyes, glancing between the two children in the carriage.
What is this strange atmosphere?
He had never expected something like this.
“Hey, little priest. I’ll give you a ride to the temple.”
“I’m fine.”
“Fine, my foot. You’ve got too much to carry.”
“……”
“Just get in when someone offers you a ride. Only idiots suffer for being stubborn.”
“…Then I’ll accept your kindness. Thank you.”
Right—up until he let the little priest into his carriage, he had no idea the atmosphere would turn like this.
He didn’t know the little marshmallow was so interested in the priest boy.
“How owd are you?”
“What’sh your name?”
“Do you… um… can you shoot fire from your hands?”
The tiny one had endless questions for a kid she’d just met.
Her round white cheeks puffed nonstop, and her lavender eyes sparkled without dimming for a moment.
In contrast—
“I’m seven.”
“My name is Calix.”
“I cannot produce fire.”
The boy answered politely, but his eyes were empty.
So empty one would wonder if a child’s face could look that expressionless.
The marshmallow was odd, and this little priest was odd too.
Kids these days must be having a rough time, Contie thought as he leaned askew and rested his chin on his hand.
In the distance, the temple—Calix’s destination—came into view.
“What’s this? You’re early today.”
The moment Calix stepped into the temple, a priest loitering near the entrance walked up to him.
“You always crawl in like some slug, arriving at sunset.”
“……”
Calix didn’t respond, and the priest frowned.
“Seriously, so full of yourself. Kids born with divine power are always such a pain. Must be because you’ve got filthy magician blood mixed in. Tch.”
“……”
“Give me that!”
Thud.
The priest yanked the bag harshly out of Calix’s arms.
“If anything’s missing, you’re dead!”
Throwing out that threat, the priest turned away.
Calix stayed rooted to the spot, his eyes fixed on the priest’s retreating back.
Or rather—on the bag he was carrying.
The bag looked perfectly intact, as if the strap had never broken.
“I fix bag for you! Menlony can fix it!”
It was thanks to the young lady in the carriage.
The daughter of Duke Panteive.
The tiny young lady had used her authority to repair the damaged bag.
Strange.
He didn’t know much about nobles, but he knew the Panteive Duchy used the “Power of Darkness.”
So why did the duke’s daughter have the authority to “repair objects”?
Unless…
…Is she also a mutation like me?
No, even if she was, she wouldn’t be the same as him.
I’m a filthy mutation.
Calix had originally been an orphan wandering the streets.
For some reason, he had no memories of his early childhood.
All he remembered was that his name was “Calix.”
From the first moment he could remember, he had been wandering the streets.
Then one day—
“You carry divine power. Come with me.”
A priest took Calix away.
He had sensed the faint divine power within him.
But not long after Calix became a trainee priest, a shocking truth was revealed.
“Wait—this kid… seems to have mana?”
“What? Mana?”
“How can someone have both divine power and mana?”
“He’s a total mutation!”
Calix had not only divine power, but also mana.
And while his divine power was faint, his mana grew stronger by the day.
To Calix, this was no blessing—it was a curse.
In the Empire, “authority” and “divine power” were treated as noble and sacred.
But “mana” was—
“To think you have that filthy power. No wonder you give off bad luck.”
Mana was treated as unclean and ominous.
The petty and vile power of betrayers.
Long ago, during the age when the Dragon who founded the Empire was still alive, mana and mages were respected.
Mana had originally been the power the Dragon gifted to humans.
Those who received the Dragon’s gift became mages, highly regarded and admired.
But the greed of the mages ruined everything.
At some point, they desired more—coveting the Dragon’s power itself.
In that process, the Saintess—his beloved—was killed.
Enraged, the Dragon reclaimed the mana he had bestowed upon humans.
Most mages lost their mana and became ordinary humans.
Some retained their mana, but it was weak compared to before.
Afterward, the Dragon, mourning his lost love, chose eternal sleep.
Before that, he left “powers” to three families who had served him faithfully, and gave his blood to the Emperor’s child, granting the lineage of the Dragon.
Thus, “authority” and the “Dragon’s bloodline” were ultimately blessings rooted in mana.
But the Empire thoroughly separated “mana of mages” from the Dragon’s blessings.
The blessing of a great Dragon could not be lumped together with the power of treacherous betrayers.
People who repaid grace with betrayal—filthy betrayers.
Thus, in the Empire, mana—separate from the blessings—became proof of being a descendant of traitors.
In a way, they’re not wrong, Calix thought.
He was, to the temple, just as much a betrayer.
“We took him in because of his divine power, but he had that filthy power too? And we can’t even throw him out now.”
The “benevolent temple” could not afford to expel anyone.
And the problem was that Calix possessed divine power as well as mana.
A trainee priest with divine power—being expelled?
That had never happened in history.
From that day, Calix’s quarters were moved to the temple storage room.
“Stay in there. I’m sick of seeing your face.”
“If you’ve got any shame, clean the temple. If we have to tolerate your filthy power, you’d better be useful.”
And thus, the priests’ torment began.
