The Yellow-Haired Villain in Soaring Phoenix's Novels Also Desires Happiness Chapter 420: The Question

The mont Liya put on the crown that symbolized the Saintess’ office, countless faithful knelt; a rain of light that washed away filth descended; the entire Holy City was shrouded in boundless sacred radiance—and this ceremony called Sanctification was brought to its final close.

After that, innurable sound-transmission stones and express letters spread outward from this city as a center, radiating across the whole continent. In only a few days, this news would be on the front page of every paper: everyone would know the new Saintess had ascended, and her na was Liya Angel.

From now on, however, likely not many would dare address the Saintess by her given na.

Though no one yet knew ❀ Nоvеlігht ❀ (Don’t copy, read here) what impact the new Saintess would bring to this world, her enthronent ceremony would, as promised, be held five days hence; thus the entire Holy City began to operate at a frantic pace.

The faithful were still imrsed in the thrill of having personally witnessed the new Saintess’ accession. They didn’t even know that, not long ago, the entire Holy City had been struck by an Evil God.

And even if they learned it, no one would care. In the eyes of the faithful, this sacred city was protected by the Goddess herself.

Of course, there were discordant voices as well. There would always be people asking why the Saintess—or rather, the previous Saintess—had abdicated for no reason.

The Saintess’ tenure was for life; there was no term limit. Passing the title to a successor occurred either when she returned to the Goddess, or for special reasons.

The latter was rare.

And after all, the previous Saintess had served nearly twenty years, her image deeply rooted in people’s hearts. Her sudden abdication truly made many faithful feel they couldn’t accept it.

So zealots even stord several small churches because of it.

Naturally, under the patient and gentle guidance and exhortations in the Holy City, this little ripple soon vanished as well.

The statue of the Goddess looked down on the world. Wherever the eye went, there was only light.

...

But whatever happened outside had nothing to do with Muen at the mont.

As the yellow-haired pig who had just rooted out the cabbage patch, he was about to experience sothing extrely perilous for him.

That was... to face that farr uncle head-on.

The Aimier Grand Cathedral.

As before, under the guidance of High Sister Lin, Muen passed through the majestic hall and arrived before that unremarkable wooden door.

“His Holiness is waiting inside.”

Lin bowed without expression, then turned and left without lingering, leaving Muen—who had wanted to tug her sleeve and say a few words to bolster his courage—awkwardly staring at the hand he’d already reached out.

“Damn it, what’s there to be scared of.”

Muen slapped himself once and gritted his teeth:

“I rely brought happiness to a beautiful, captivating girl. I didn’t do anything with a guilty conscience. There’s nothing to be afraid of!”

After a thousand fierce inner skirmishes—since stretching out your neck or shrinking it both et the sa blade, and bringing happiness to a pretty girl is no cri—Muen finally pushed the door open and walked inside.

Within was no longer the ordinary room from last ti.

It was a space so vast he could not see its end.

Above was a sky like the true firmant, with imnse celestial bodies hanging there, orbiting slowly along their tracks.

Underfoot lay a white-jade platform; below that, Muen saw an entire nation suspended in the void.

Through the barrier, he imdiately recognized it.

Kanteville. For the first ti, Muen beheld this much-tried Lost Land from such an angle. In only a few days, its vitality seed to have recovered; even the core area could be seen from afar, green and lush.

“It will beco the Church’s experintal field.”

A familiar voice sounded. Muen, who had been craning his neck to look at Kanteville, jolted.

He turned stiffly and, forcing a kindly smile, waved from a distance at the Pope, that man placed above ten thousand.

“Good evening, Your Holiness. Have you eaten?”

“What now—you requested this audience, and once you’re here you’re afraid? Standing so far—afraid I’ll eat you?”

Brows and hair both white, the Pope seed once more the kindly elder he appeared to be, words and gestures gentle and amiable.

But Muen, whose butt still throbbed faintly, didn’t dare relax his guard. He smiled sincerely:

“Not at all, not at all. I’m rely expressing my respect for you.”

“Heh. Respect. You weren’t like this the last ti we t.”

The Pope swept his sleeve and pointed at the low table before them:

“Sit.”

An arm can’t best a thigh; Muen obediently sat.

“Drink.”

A cup of hot tea was handed to him. Muen, alard and cautious, eyed the tea personally brewed by the Pope. So—had His Holiness really resorted to sothing as roundabout as poison to remove him?

Such an obvious trap—how could he possibly...

“Mm. Fine tea.”

Under the Pope’s gaze, Muen took a rapt, delicate sip.

“Your Holiness said Kanteville will beco an experintal field—what does that an?”

“Cultivation of vegetation, weapons trials, magic testing—in short, purposes like these. Most importantly... improvent of the Seeds of Life.”

Seeds of Life... As he recalled, those were seeds blessed by the Goddess—astonishing yield, far surpassing previous crops.

“People can’t live in Kanteville anymore?”

Muen asked curiously.

“Live? Good idea.”

The Pope looked at him with a not-smiling smile. “I could allot you a plot for free. Want to live there? As long as you like.”

Muen thought carefully, then shook his head hard:

“Forget it, forget it. I was overthinking.”

What a joke. In a place ploughed by the powers of several deities, who knew what negative residues would remain?

A short stay might be fine, but to live there permanently... one day you might wake up and see your dick take the initiative to chat you up, discussing which girl tasted better.

“Your Holiness’ actions truly benefit the people—rit for a thousand ages.” Muen tossed in a complint.

“Heh.”

The Pope glanced at Muen and said nothing.

Silence stretched. Uneasy, Muen finally took the initiative.

“I thought... Liya really couldn’t beco Saintess anymore.”

“Why? Because that lass is no longer ‘pure’?”

Another sidelong look; a cold snort.

Muen’s scalp tingled. He chuckled dryly: “Isn’t that how stories always put it? The Goddess favors pure maidens, so as the Goddess’ executor in the world, the Saintess should naturally be...”

“The Goddess doesn’t care.”

“Eh?”

“I said: the Goddess doesn’t care.”

The Pope set the cup down casually:

“Have you read the Holy Canon?”

“I have.”

Muen nodded. Though he wasn’t a believer of the Life Goddess, the Church’s Holy Canon in this world was much like the Bible in his previous life—printed in huge numbers by all nations; even non-believers often read it.

“Does it stipulate what a Saintess must or must not be?”

“Uh...”

Muen blinked and thought carefully:

“Doesn’t seem like it.”

“There you have it. In such matters, the Goddess doesn’t care; the Church... also doesn’t care. Because even if she’s been rooted by a pig like you, she can still bear the Holy Light, still be Saintess, and lead the faithful.”

“Then...”

Muen scratched his head awkwardly. “I looked up prior Saintesses and found that during their tenure they seed never to have partners. Even many who abdicated midway for special reasons never married for life... of course, barring a few special cases.”

“That’s because—though the Goddess doesn’t care, though the Church doesn’t care—soone cares.”

The Pope extended a bony finger and tapped the table.

“Such as...”

“Such as?”

The Pope looked into Muen’s eyes, his smile aningful:

“The faithful.”

“The faithful?”

Muen froze, then suddenly understood.

Think of his forr world: when a mildly famous celebrity disclosed romance or marriage, it often caused a stir—fans even publicly tearing each other apart online.

A Saintess is no re celebrity.

In countless faithful eyes, the Saintess serves the Goddess and stands closest to her.

They worship the Goddess, but the Goddess is distant and intangible; therefore much of their faith settles upon the truly present Saintess.

Muen recalled following the forr Saintess into the city, the frenzy of the crowds, and a few days ago, the countless faithful kneeling like a tide.

Like a sea, like a surge—enough to drown everything.

“Shhh—”

He couldn’t help shivering.

Just imagine: the Saintess you sincerely revere, to whom you pray every day—that noble, sacred, immaculate Lady Saintess—has been rooted by a yellow-haired pig... Not only rooted, but groped up and down, every inch of her skin and every corner of her body—and even those gently flowing holy springs—tasted carefully, savored slowly...

If you were a faithful, what would you choose?

A. Forgive.

B. Tear him apart.

Is there even a choice? Of course—tear him apart!

And this world has no internet to vent on. Their “tearing” would be literal—ripping the hateful yellow-hair to pieces.

“Do you understand now?”

The Pope continued to sip his tea leisurely and said:

“What binds a Saintess is neither the Goddess nor the Church, but the things that lift her high—and... themselves.”

“Their kindness, their compassion, their sense of responsibility, and the faithful’s expectations and belief—all are turned into ropes that bind them fast. Only they themselves can break free—but they often refuse to.”

“Cruel as it sounds, so-called romance is far too luxurious a thing for a Saintess.”

“Is that so? Then what will the Church... what will you do now?”

Muen asked seriously:

“For the Church, exposure of my relationship with Liya would be no small blow to your reputation. So what will you do? After Liya becos Saintess, will you force us apart?”

“Forcing you apart... does sound foolproof.”

The Pope arched a brow—and a terrifying might suddenly rose. In an instant, the harmless, amiable elder once more beca a supre being towering above all humankind.

“What if I... truly did so?”

His expression appeared unchanged, yet a dreadful pressure fell upon Muen.

“...”

Muen said nothing.

Only for a mont.

He looked at the Pope, placed both hands upon his knees, and slowly straightened his chest.

The vast pressure made his bones creak.

But the man who had been afraid of petty retaliation monts ago now bore the might of a supre one and t it without fear, calmly looking him in the eye.

“I’ve said this before.”

Muen forced each word out between his teeth:

“I am Liya’s knight. So... I will stand by her side forever... forever!”

“...”

The Pope stared at Muen indifferently.

His withered fingers tapped the tabletop.

Tok. Tok. Tok.

With each tap, the pressure upon Muen grew heavier.

He clearly heard the ground beneath him crack; he heard the groaning protests of his overburdened body.

He knew that with only a slight exertion from this old man before him, no matter how many cheats he had, he would be ground into paste without exception.

For now, he had no capital to oppose the Church.

Yet he remained stubborn, unwilling to bow his head.

“Heh. You’ve got guts.”

Suddenly, the vast pressure vanished. The Pope calmly lifted his cup and blew away the steam, as if nothing had happened.

Muen clutched his chest and panted harshly. Though sweat soaked him through, he still flashed the Pope a provocative grin.

“Ha. I thought you were serious.”

“I’d rather be. Unfortunately, our new Saintess truly seems to have the courage to cast off her bonds of her own accord.”

The Pope’s white brows drooped, revealing the helplessness of a man whose painstakingly grown cabbage had followed a yellow-haired pig to its doom:

“In her eyes, you seem more important than the Saintess’ seat. The Church has no ti or energy to cultivate another after we’ve finally chosen one.”

“Of course. I also think I’m more important than the Saintess’ seat.”

Muen’s mouth curled in pride.

A vein jumped on the Pope’s hand as he barely suppressed the urge to punt this guy out the door again. He snorted:

“Affairs of the young—I don’t want to manage them. But the greater picture matters. I hope the two of you...”

The Pope lowered his voice and made a hush gesture.

Muen’s expression turned odd. Was His Holiness telling him not to be overt—so... sneak into the village, and don’t fire the gun?

He rubbed his chin. For now, that did seem the only way.

He wasn’t so iron-headed fool. He naturally wouldn’t rush about trumpeting sothing that would heap massive pressure on both Liya and the Church.

Being tied to a stake and burned by hundreds of millions of frenzied faithful was not fun.

Besides—think about it... to develop a romantic, underground affair with a lofty, pure Saintess... sounded pretty exciting.

By day, Her Holiness received the veneration of countless faithful; by night...

Heh heh.

“However, Your Holiness...”

After indulging in a brief fantasy, Muen put away his silly grin and looked at the Pope with expectation:

“Since you’ve acknowledged my relationship with Liya, shouldn’t there be a little token of acknowledgnt?”

“A... token?”

“You know, when a daughter marries, there’s bride-price and gifts. You...”

“...”

That vein jumped again. The Pope glared in shock at the shaless man before him.

You stole my cabbage and still want benefits from ?

Is this how you fleece wool?

In that instant, the Pope seed to see another shaless old loli hopping before him. He could only sigh—worthy of being her disciple, huh?

“Take this.”

After the sigh, the Pope suddenly tossed Muen a gleaming golden badge.

Muen hurried to catch it and found engraved upon it the image of a grand hall—solemn, austere, lifelike.

“What is it?”

“A badge symbolizing an Honorary Cathedral Knight.”

The Pope said, “Your previous ‘Knight Attendant of the Saintess’ was rely a nominal role assisting the Saintess within the Sanctification Ceremony. What I grant you now—Honorary Cathedral Knight—is an honorary knightly title attached to the Church, with a certain degree of authority to mobilize Church resources.”

“Uh...”

Muen’s eyes widened.

That good?

An Honorary Cathedral Knight recognized by the Church—this was a distinguished title countless people dread of but never attained. It was usually conferred upon fad powerhouses or those who had rendered great service, and received imnse favor in every nation.

Not to ntion the ability to mobilize Church resources. This honor made even Muen—the duke’s son—feel the badge burning hot in his palm.

“It’s really for ?”

He still couldn’t quite believe it, afraid there was so pit waiting.

“I, as Pope, won’t stoop to hoodwinking a little rascal like you.”

Expressionless, the Pope said, “Consider it a reward for what you did in Kanteville. Though I don’t like admitting it, those matters truly were hot potatoes the Church ought not touch.”

“Oh.”

Only then did Muen relax, happily admiring the badge.

Whether he was a knight or not wasn’t the point.

The point was that he could now be considered soone with a certain standing in the Church—one of their own. He wouldn’t have to be escorted or watched every ti he went sowhere in a church, like before.

So...

He’d go ask where Liya’s room was—right away!

No other thoughts, really—mainly to share this happy news with her!

At that very instant—which Muen did not notice—the corners of the Pope’s mouth faintly curved.

...

...

“All right. The tea is finished.”

As the last of the tea flowed down with its fragrance, Muen noticed the celestial bodies above had reached a boundary in their orbits; the whole space dimd markedly.

All noise had vanished. In the utter hush, the Pope looked at him calmly:

“You didn’t co just to exchange irrelevant small talk, did you.”

“...No.”

After a mont’s silence, Muen set down his cup:

“I do have a question I want to ask you.”

“Ask.”

“...”

Muen glanced around.

“Rest easy. I have sealed the Supre Seat. No one can hear our conversation.”

The Pope spoke plainly.

“Thank you.”

Muen pocketed the badge, his expression growing solemn.

“This is a question that began to trouble in Kanteville. Its root lies in a single sentence Miss Freya spoke. I know how imnse its implications are, so I’ve thought on it for a long ti. But sotis, thought and suspicion alone cannot yield an answer.

“Though saying it borders on blasphemy and presumption, for the sake of peace of mind—and as a precaution—I still wish to risk offense and ask.”

The Pope’s face was impassive, as if he had long expected this, waiting for Muen’s next words.

“So...”

Muen drew a deep breath, fixed his gaze on the Pope’s eyes, and asked earnestly:

“Your Holiness—tell : the Life Goddess Aimier, whom the Church and countless faithful on the continent worship—is she... an Evil God?”