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Chapter 1
The underground prayer room of the temple was damp.
A place one could only enter with the pope’s personal permission — therefore, some called it sacred.
Another word for it: the penitence chamber.
“My first daughter.”
Leponea was used to everything that happened in this place.
Even the sight of the most holy and divine Pope Pretess, famed as the holiest of all popes in history, holding a whip…
And the sight of a priest, curled into himself, desperately suppressing cries of pain.
“Yes, Your Holiness.”
A dank, moldy smell stabbed at her nose.
Nausea rose up, but just like always, she swiftly erased both it and every emotion that tried to surface.
At this point, she could no longer tell if she was a person… or an emotionless doll.
Pope Pretess threw the whip toward a corner in irritation and gave his order.
“Steal the Craytan ducal family’s heirloom and bring it to me.”
In this place, his command was absolute.
Leponea had no right to refuse.
“Use any means necessary.”
He muttered indifferently as he healed his own hands — the ones wounded from wielding the whip.
He never once spared a glance at the priest who had been struck.
“My daughter.”
Whenever delivering missions, he always pretended to speak with benevolence — as if he were God Himself.
“If you are caught, die cleanly on the spot.”
Even when he issued secret orders purely for his own gain…
Even when he committed deeds that clearly defied divine will…
He still possessed divine power — what people believed to be God’s blessing.
God…
How indifferent.
“Yes, Your Holiness.”
Leponea slowly lowered her gaze.
With blood still staining his hands, the pope washed them with holy water, then glanced at Leponea’s expressionless face.
“My daughter, you are now an adult. It’s time for you to become independent.”
“…Sorry?”
“Mm. Complete this mission, and I will grant you independence.”
Leponea’s eyes wavered.
“You’ve grown now, haven’t you? You can live on your own.
Finish this mission properly, and I will provide support so you may live however you wish.”
Live however she wished?
A heart that had been silent and still for years suddenly began to beat.
“Oh my… You look like you don’t believe me.”
“N–No, I was just surprised… I’ve never even thought about independence before…”
“Really? Then what would make you believe me…?
Ah, yes. Would you believe it if I swore on God’s name?”
For one who served God, it was the ultimate vow.
Anyone who broke a divine oath would lose their divine power instantly — a terrifying consequence.
“Here.”
Light radiated from the pope’s hand — proof of a divine oath.
“In return, you will wager your life as well.”
He smiled.
“If you fail, die. That is only fair… don’t you agree?”
This was her one chance to stop.
A way to never obey him again.
Leponea bowed deeply.
“…I will stake my life.”
In a chamber where not a single ray of sunlight reached —
God was nowhere to be found.
* *
Age five.
Leponea’s earliest memory was the orphanage.
The day the girl beside her was sold off by the orphanage director — crying her lungs out.
Afraid she would be sold next, Leponea escaped to a government relief facility run by the Empire.
But the situation there was no different.
Violence was routine in a place meant to protect children.
At only five years old, she had already lived days so horrific she thought death might be better —
Yet she had nowhere else to run.
That autumn, during the Harvest Festival —
she first met Pope Pretess, newly appointed.
She clung to him, begging to be saved.
‘Will you do anything for me?
If you promise, I will let you live like a human.’
She should have run then.
But she foolishly believed —
Hell to hell, what difference does it make?
Pope Pretess took several children, including Leponea, away from the relief facility.
He prepared a small mansion on the outskirts for them.
They received fine clothes, warm baths, and enough food.
At six years old, Leponea was taught by a private instructor.
Noble etiquette. Human weak points. Sword techniques…
Nothing about it was normal.
And the training was merciless.
Children unable to keep up were sent back —
which meant death or hell.
No child dared cry or say they hated it —
doing so meant expulsion, which was equivalent to execution.
Eventually, the children no longer viewed each other as family…
but as obstacles to be removed.
At age fifteen, Leponea received her first mission.
‘My first daughter. I fulfilled my promise and allowed you to live as a human.
Now you must fulfill yours. Leave this letter in the cardinal’s residence.’
That was five years ago.
The beginning.
The pope’s spy —
the dog he raised.
That was the price for letting her “live like a human.”
Children who failed their missions three times or fled were later found dead.
No one could hide from the pope — whose power rivaled the emperor’s.
Even Leponea was assigned multiple missions.
She cried, clinging to his robes, begging she couldn’t do it —
and was punished every time.
Her only fortune was that she excelled —
the top of her training group —
which allowed her to survive despite three failures.
If that could even be called fortune.
Eventually, to live, she killed every emotion
and became the pope’s hands and feet.
Now.
In her private hideout — a forest cabin — Leponea let out a weary sigh.
“Ha…”
She leaned back in her chair, a thick file covering her face.
It contained information on the Craytan ducal family.
“At this rate, reincarnating as the Craytan family’s daughter and carrying the heirloom out would be faster.”
The Craytan dukedom — guardians of the Empire’s peace and safety.
The duke and his two sons could all wield aura — making them the strongest family in existence.
Aura users lived far longer than normal humans, their bodies aging extremely slowly.
Naturally, power and fame followed.
They had wealth, authority, and overwhelming strength —
everything was perfect.
What little weakness existed was the missing youngest daughter —
lost before turning one.
Twenty years ago, the duchess’s carriage was attacked.
Her body was recovered —
but the baby vanished without a trace.
Even now, after two decades, the family searched — clinging to hope she was alive.
“Tch. Too many fakes have already tried claiming to be her. Pretending to be the daughter won’t work.”
Anyone who claimed it was treated with suspicion immediately.
So that method was unwise.
“Still, I have to succeed.”
No one would get hurt —
all she needed was to steal an heirloom.
Then she could live without ever seeing the pope again.
She had survived this long —
dying at the finish line was not an option.
She slapped her cheeks with both hands.
A sting spread across her face.
“First, I have to confirm what the heirloom even is.”
Whether she should bag it, pocket it, or pry it loose — she needed a plan.
The Craytan mansion had heavy security —
without a verified identity, no one could enter.
A false identity was easy to create,
but for now she intended only reconnaissance.
“I already prepared something.”
She opened a drawer and grabbed a small vial.
A miniaturization potion — capable of shrinking her to the size of a pinky finger.
She had used one previously for theft, and purchased another at great expense, hiding it secretly.
This wasn’t for missions.
It was for escaping — if she ever dared run.
But if she completed this mission, escape would be unnecessary.
She would be free.
I’ll drink it, shrink, sneak into the Craytan manor, and identify the heirloom.
Leponea uncorked the vial and drank it in one go.
Gulp.
No taste at all.
“…!!”
Her body suddenly ignited with unbearable heat.
“Haa—!”
What?
Something was wrong.
She had used this potion before,
yet had never felt such agony.
It felt as if she were being thrown into a burning furnace.
“Kuhh!”
Clutching her chest, she collapsed helplessly.
Her heartbeat thundered inside her skull.
Thump, thump, thump!
The world spun violently, her vision flipped, and breathing became difficult.
Her legs could no longer hold her up.
Someone.
Someone please… help…
She stretched her hand out desperately.
Though she cried out —
as always,
no one came for Leponea.
She eventually lost consciousness.
When she finally opened her eyes—
“…Huh?”
Her eye level was lower.
Her clothing hung absurdly large around her.
Her hands — her feet — had become tiny.
And on the back of her hand…
was the exact same scar she had gotten as a five-year-old while escaping the orphanage —
a fence-shaped imprint carved into her skin.
A scar she clearly remembered disappearing years ago
was now back — exactly the same.
“W-What? M-My hands… why are they so small?! Ahem — huh?! My voice— what’s happening?! Aaaah!”
It wasn’t miniaturization.
“Wait— my height! W-Why am I so small?! My voice — my words — what is this?! Mirror! I need a mirror!”
Leponea had become a child again.
Exactly as she was when she fled the orphanage at five years old.
