Reborn As Papa Silva

Anslem led the trio into his office—a circular room perched at the highest level of the Basilica, where a wide-open window overlooked much of the royal palace. It wasn't an office in the traditional sense. No grand desk, no bookshelves stuffed with tomes, no serene picture frames, no cushy chairs inviting people to sit.

Instead, it was nearly empty, save for a towering black stone cross that stretched nine feet high, its featureless surface nearly grazing the ceiling. Around it stood two large cylindrical cases, where frankincense and myrrh burned eternally, the sweet, citrusy, and faintly piney aroma saturating the air. Beneath the cross lay a stack of ancient, withered parchment, a quill pen, and an ink bottle. A closed, well-worn Bible—its pages seemingly papyrus—rested on a small bookstand, exuding an aura of reverence.

Noelle, still snug in Acier's arms, darted her gaze around the room, her wide, curious eyes shimmering in the dim candlelight. Normally, babies might coo or babble when encountering something new, but Noelle seemed subdued, as though an invisible force had wrapped around her, quieting her very essence. What is this place? her expression seemed to ask. Her curiosity remained, but she wouldn't voice it, as though she, too, sensed the sacred atmosphere and refused to disturb it.

The same feeling gripped Sebastian and Acier. The moment they entered the room, their zealous facades faltered, melting into something real. Both felt an inexplicable urge to kneel before the cross, to pour out their hearts in surrender. The sensation gnawed at their agency—a deeply unpleasant loss of control, even if fleeting.

They managed to regain their composure, suppressing the strange compulsion, but the unease lingered. Acier glanced at Cardinal Anslem, who stood nearby with a serene smile on his aged yet lively face.

"Are you curious what that feeling was?" Anslem asked softly, his tone brimming with understanding. "That desire to submit and serve?"

The couple nodded, their shared confusion evident. Anslem's smile broadened before his expression darkened, taking on a somber weight. "I call this my office," he said, gesturing to the room, "but it is also His Holiness'."

Both Sebastian and Acier raised their brows at that.

"Not only that," Anslem continued, "but it's a free-use space for all Cardinals and Blessed within the Diocese."

"For what purpose?" Sebastian asked, his curiosity overtaking his unease.

Anslem's smile returned, though now tinged with a sly hint of teaching. "Well, what is an office used for?"

Sebastian fought the urge to roll his eyes at being treated like a schoolboy. Still, he replied plainly, without hesitation. "A designated space, often for people of authority, to handle professional matters—commercial or bureaucratic work."

"Certainly," Anslem nodded, "but…" His tone shifted, taking on a more didactic edge. "Everyone's work is different. Carpenters use their offices to design blueprints. Noble lords manage their estates. Shopkeepers track income and inventory. You see my point?"

Sebastian sighed, already feeling the lecture drag on. "What are you getting at, Cardinal?" His words were direct, but not disrespectful.

Anslem's somber expression deepened. "As spiritual leaders, the greatest threat to our faith is mixing the sacred with the mundane. That is the gateway to the seven sins—and the loss of faith itself."

He let the words settle before continuing. "To combat this, we separate the two as much as possible. We higher-ups have distinct spaces for spiritual matters—assessing the Blessed, seeking divine guidance, and tending to matters of faith—as well as for organizational duties, such as managing funds, socializing with the kingdom's aristocracy, and delegating resources."

Sebastian's brow furrowed as realization dawned. The logic, while seemingly exaggerated, made sense. By dedicating specific spaces to particular tasks, one could foster focus and clarity, mentally associating a space with its purpose. It was a principle used even in modern workplaces to boost productivity—so seeing it applied here was unexpectedly clever. Interesting. Even faith, for all its mysticism, has its own brand of structure and strategy.

Anslem wasn't privy to Sebastian's thoughts—or if he was, he gave no sign—as he finally arrived at his point.

"There is no better place to dedicate oneself entirely to matters of the highest faith than here," Anslem said, gesturing to the towering stone cross. "Under the audience of this."

He paused for effect, his voice softening as if revealing a sacred secret. "The first crucifix ever constructed in the world. It keeps this room eternally purified with its sacred and incorruptible aura."

Sebastian and Acier froze, their minds racing to process the revelation. Anslem continued with unnerving nonchalance, as if discussing the weather. "It is said to be over 1,400 years old. Are you curious why the Silvamillions of old chose this land to establish the Clover Kingdom?"

Before either could answer, Anslem pressed on, his words carrying the weight of history. "It wasn't just the fertile soil or abundant resources that brought them here. The old texts speak of a stone that fell from the heavens—imbued with a pure and righteous aura that stirred reverence in all who beheld it.

"The great-grandfather of the First King Clover, the first recorded holder of a four-leaf grimoire, received a divine revelation. He was told to carve the stone into this very crucifix, and by making pilgrimage to it, he and his descendants would achieve eternal glory."

Sebastian and Acier exchanged stunned glances as Anslem's tale unfolded.

"The Silvamillions, along with their extended family, built a village around the crucifix. The settlement thrived, seemingly sheltered by divine protection, warding off evil with an invisible grace. Outsiders flocked to this sanctuary, treating the Silvamillions as divine custodians.

"Nearly a century later, buoyed by destiny and divine favor, the great-grandson of the one who carved the crucifix established the Clover Kingdom, claiming his God-given right as king."

Sebastian and Acier stiffened, their bewilderment plain. Acier, choosing her words carefully, shook her head. "No... that can't be right—"

"I know what you're thinking," Anslem interrupted with a knowing smile. "How could descendants of the Silvamillion family, like yourselves, not know such a pivotal piece of history? And more importantly, how could the royals relinquish such a priceless, divine treasure to the clergy?"

Their silence spoke volumes, and Anslem took it as an invitation to answer his own question.

"This, too, is a matter of faith," he began, his tone tinged with pity and resignation. "Or rather, the lack of it—or its corruption."

He stepped closer to the cross, his eyes distant, as if peering into the past. "Unlike the First King Clover and his ancestors, their children and grandchildren grew up in privilege. They were born into royalty, with everything handed to them, and their faith suffered for it.

"Some showed no gratitude to the Lord, believing themselves entitled to His blessings. Others fell into a far graver sin: they began worshiping the crucifix itself, mistaking it for God rather than a gift of God."

Sebastian's breath caught as Anslem's voice dropped to a near whisper, the weight of his words pressing down on the room.

"The crucifix was too divine, too alluring. It blurred the line between the Creator and the creation, and many began treating it as though it were God."

Anslem sighed, the sorrow in his voice unmistakable. "That blasphemy terrified the reigning King Clover. He feared not only for his descendants but for the noble houses who had grown equally corrupt. He and his closest vassals made a difficult choice, opting for the lesser of two evils.

"They executed the misguided zealots, officially accusing them of other crimes to maintain order. Then, they entrusted the crucifix to the King's most trusted ally, Saint Luminous, for safekeeping."

Acier's brow furrowed, but she held her tongue as Anslem continued.

"The King believed that being ungrateful was a sin, yes—but it was nothing compared to worshiping a false idol. He knew the crucifix was too dangerous to remain in royal hands, where it could corrupt further. Saint Luminous devoted his life to ensuring the crucifix was never equated with God again. And he succeeded."

"Meanwhile, the King and his vassals erased all records of the crucifix from history. Its existence is now known only to the Pope, the Cardinals, and a select few Blessed individuals."

Anslem's gaze lingered on the couple, his voice heavy with lament. "But that secrecy came at a cost. Without tangible evidence of the divine, faith among the nobility and royalty dwindled. Sincere belief is a rarity among their ranks now, and perhaps that is the greatest tragedy of all."

Sebastian furrowed his brow, looking at Anslem with open confusion. "Let's say I believe you. Why would you make such an exception for us? Do you even have the authority to make this decision on your own?"

Acier nodded in agreement with her husband. "Aren't you afraid we might disclose this to the other royal houses and try to retrieve the crucifix ourselves?"

Anslem paused, shrugging his shoulders with deliberate ease. "You are Silvamillion descendants. Saint Luminous decreed that while this crucifix should be hidden from the masses, if members of the royal family seeking to reconnect with God appeared before it—no matter how grand or seemingly trivial the reason—we should give them the benefit of the doubt and show them."

He leaned back slightly, his tone sharpening. "Normally, I wouldn't be so inclined. But knowing you two personally, I trust you understand what can and cannot be spoken of."

He let his words hang for a moment before chuckling softly. "Unless, of course, you want this crucifix revealed to the masses, sparking an existential religious crisis across the kingdom. I trust you'll keep your mouths shut."

"Besides," Anslem added with a knowing smirk, "if you're truly a Blessed, this isn't an exception—it's your entitlement."

Acier scratched her cheek awkwardly. "But Cardinal, my husband aside, have you forgotten me? I'm not a Blessed."

Anslem shook his head firmly. "That's where you're wrong, Lady Acier. If Lord Silva's dream is true—a revelation of how to save you—then it means you are also Blessed. The heavens themselves intervened to change your fate."

Or to correct it, Anslem thought to himself, keeping the observation unspoken.

Acier fell silent, lost in thought. Is that how it works?

"The point is," Anslem said, his gaze softening as it settled on Noelle in Acier's arms, "this child, blissfully unaware of what's happening, aside—there are no outsiders here."

Sebastian raised an eyebrow. "As long as I'm telling the truth."

"As long as you're telling the truth," Anslem agreed, spreading his arms. "Now, are you ready to verify your claim?"

Sebastian nodded firmly. Anslem turned slightly, gesturing toward the stone cross. "Good. Then kneel before the crucifix."

Sebastian blinked in confusion. "And do what?"

"Nothing," Anslem said simply, shaking his head. "The divine will take it from here."

Sebastian scratched his cheek, bemused. "You're… not going to do anything?"

"No," Anslem said with an arched brow, his tone faintly exasperated. "This is a matter for the divine. What could a mere Cardinal like me possibly do?"

Sebastian opened his mouth, hesitated, then closed it again. What was I expecting, exactly? He could hardly admit he'd envisioned some grand ritual—Anslem holding a cross, placing a hand on his head, chanting sacred words, maybe sprinkling some oil or petals for effect.

No, he'd keep that to himself.

Instead, he glanced over his shoulder at Acier. She gave him a slight shrug, and he returned the gesture before turning his attention to Noelle, gently poking her cheek to make her giggle.

With a deep breath, he faced the stone cross, stepping closer until he was half a meter away. Slowly, he knelt, instinctively adopting a seated prayer position.

And then he waited. For what, he wasn't sure.

His answer came quickly.

Without warning, his grimoire shot out of his satchel, floating upright before him.

What the?! Sebastian's eyes widened as the grimoire flipped through its pages with wild speed before stopping at its first blank page.

But it wasn't alone. The Bible, quill pen, ink bottle, and a sheet of parchment from the nearby stack lifted into the air, glowing with a faint golden hue as they hovered above the grimoire.

The Bible opened, its pages flipping before stopping halfway through. A section of text, written in what resembled ancient hieroglyphics, began glowing red.

Sebastian watched in disbelief as the quill dipped itself into the ink bottle, then darted to the parchment, copying the glowing text from the Bible with flawless precision.

Once finished, the quill, ink bottle, and Bible returned to their original places. The parchment hovered over the grimoire's blank page, pulsing faintly with the same golden light.

What is it doing?

Anslem's voice reverberated behind him, startling Sebastian. "If there is a reaction within a minute, your claim will be proven true."

Sebastian was glad his back was to Anslem, as his face twisted into a strange mix of bewilderment and incredulity.

So nothing from before counts as a reaction?

—

Beyond the planet lies the vast expanse of space—a boundless, ever-expanding universe of celestial bodies and empty voids.

At least, that's what scientists in the modern world had theorized. But reality seemed to harbor a different truth.

If the planet Sebastian stood on was taken as a reference point, and one ascended beyond the exosphere into the great unknown—traveling straight upward for approximately 100 billion light-years—one would encounter an unexpected limit.

An invisible wall.

This barrier, imperceptible to the eye yet impenetrable, would forcibly repel any who dared approach it, preventing further passage despite the visible stars and galaxies lying tantalizingly ahead.

Yet, if someone were to somehow breach this inconceivable boundary and journey nine additional light-years, they would find themselves in an entirely new realm.

Gone was the cold void of black space, the desolation of lifeless dwarf planets, and the silence of the stars. Beyond the infinite, they would pass through an endlessly expansive white cloud, entering a domain unlike any other.

This realm was a space of unparalleled beauty. Rivers of crystalline water wound through vast grasslands, their surfaces shimmering like liquid diamonds. Fields of verdant green stretched endlessly, suspended impossibly upon the clouds themselves.

Overhead, a clear blue sky reigned, dotted with celestial creatures resembling swans and doves. These beings glided majestically, their feathers radiant with an otherworldly glow, lording over this serene paradise.

If a mortal ever gazed upon such a place, words would fail them. Only one term could encapsulate the wonder of what they beheld. Only one word could do it justice.

Heaven.

Across the infinite expanse of this sacred land, countless wooden huts dotted the terrain, humble yet harmonious with their surroundings. On a relatively isolated hill, one such hut stood, bathed in the golden light of an eternal sun.

Inside, a tall man sat cross-legged on the simple wooden floor. He was barefoot, clad in a white tunic reminiscent of ancient Roman attire.

His features were sharp and commanding, almost intimidating. A face carved like lightning, eyes fierce as fire, and bronze skin that seemed to radiate strength.

He sat in perfect stillness, his eyes closed, exuding an air of quiet authority. But then, a voice—ancient yet youthful—resounded within his mind, breaking the silence.

"Gabriel."

The man's eyes snapped open, revealing golden irises that burned with divine intensity. A luminous white halo materialized above his head, and peacock-like wings unfurled from his back, shimmering with iridescent hues.

"What is it?" Gabriel spoke gruffly, his voice low and indifferent, devoid of emotion.

The voice, undeterred by his brusque tone, replied with calm clarity.

"You will feel a call from the mortal realm soon. Approve it."

Gabriel's golden eyes narrowed slightly, his gaze sharp and contemplative. After a brief pause, he closed his eyes once more, the halo and wings fading as he returned to his earlier stillness.

"Very well," he said, his voice firm and final.

With those words, the conversation ended, leaving Gabriel once again alone in his quiet vigil.

—

Sebastian knelt before the stone cross, each passing second an eternity to his quickening heart. The minute ticked closer, merciless and unyielding.

He believed he was Blessed—he had no reason to doubt it. If some cosmic force had gone to the lengths of weaving a fabricated reality for him to live in for 27 years, then surely, he qualified. If not him, then who else?

No, Sebastian's fears lay elsewhere.

What truly qualifies as a blessing from God? Is there even such a thing? Or are mortals merely watched over by That One's angels, while That One remains a passive observer?

And worse still—if being Blessed by God really means being Blessed by an angel—what happens if that angel refuses to acknowledge you? Wouldn't you seem like a fraud then?

Sebastian didn't know much about angels or their temperaments, but he could imagine himself in their shoes. If he had gone out of his way to help someone, ensuring they didn't succumb to despair, and that same person turned around trying to probe or "test" him, he might feel petty enough to deny involvement altogether.

So, Michael, Metatron, Mumen Rider, Mario, Mickey Mouse, or Mufasa—whoever you are—are you going to deny me? That wouldn't exactly inspire my faith in following your grand, divine narrative.

Fifty seconds passed.

Sebastian stilled as the parchment hovering over his grimoire descended and seamlessly merged with the blank page.

The ancient hieroglyphic text from the parchment appeared on his grimoire's black page, glowing faintly before stabilizing. Beneath it, additional script in ancient runes and magical sigils he vaguely recognized began to appear, filling the page completely.

He watched in silence as the grimoire snapped itself shut and floated back into his satchel. Slowly, Sebastian lifted his gaze toward the stone cross, narrowing his eyes before rising to his feet.

From behind, Anslem's voice broke the silence, soft and reverent.

"I apologize for doubting you, child. You truly are Blessed."

Sebastian turned to face the elderly Cardinal, whose expression now radiated a warmth and sincerity he had never seen before. Nearby, Acier stood, her gaze fixed on him with a complicated mix of emotions. She opened her mouth hesitantly.

"So… that's how you saved me?" Her voice wavered slightly. "And how you knew all those things… it was foretold in a dream?"

Sebastian opened his mouth, then closed it again, nodding.

It wasn't a lie. In fact, it was the literal truth—he had learned countless truths about this world through that dream. Yet something about simply agreeing felt incomplete.

Divine revelations through dreams were likely much simpler than what he had experienced. He suspected most people received straightforward prophecies, not an alternate life packed with lessons conveyed through a medium as unconventional as manga or anime.

Their revelations were probably less "abstract" and more direct.

The thought made him want to scratch his cheek sheepishly. Hey, I didn't lie to Dorothy—I guess I really am a prophet.

He stepped closer to Acier, holding out his hands. She paused, studying him for a moment before softening, a faint smile gracing her lips as she handed Noelle over.

Sebastian cradled the infant gently, wrapping her snugly in her blanket as she nestled into his arms. He looked down at her fondly, a warm sense of purpose settling over him.

Finally, he lifted his gaze toward Anslem.

"Cardinal…" Sebastian began, his tone measured, "could you kindly explain what just happened?"

Anslem Veritas smiled gently and nodded. "Of course, my child. That is your right."

He gestured toward the crucifix. "This is made from a divine stone, meaning it contains traces of divinity. After existing in this world for over a millennium, it has also absorbed the mana of this realm."

"So…?" Sebastian raised a brow, patting Noelle's back absentmindedly.

"So…" Anslem continued, "because it contains both traces of divinity and worldly mana, it can serve as a medium—a beacon—for communication between our world and the heavens."

"Okay." Sebastian nodded, though his expression remained skeptical. "But what does that have to do with my grimoire flying out of my control?"

Anslem's smile took on a sly edge. "Heavenly objects tend to resonate with one another."

Sebastian and Acier froze, the latter's eyes widening as she stammered, "You mean… grimoires are…"

Anslem nodded, his tone steady. "Yes. Grimoires are gifts from the heavens to humanity."

Sebastian's mind raced. Not just humans, though. He recalled Charmy's mixed heritage, the existence of dwarves, elves, and even the possibility of devils acquiring grimoires. But he kept those thoughts to himself as Anslem elaborated.

"Grimoires—those mysterious spellbooks with unclear origins—grow with their user, responding to their deepest desires and needs. They are bound to our very souls, enabling rapid progress in magical craft and unlocking true potential. Such artifacts, so perfectly tailored and wondrous, are beyond human capability to create. Naturally, they are gifts from God."

Acier furrowed her brows, a chilling thought surfacing. "Why has no one ever asked this before?"

Though she hadn't voiced it clearly, Sebastian understood her question immediately—and it sent a shiver down his spine.

It was such a fundamental question: Where do grimoires come from?

They materialized seemingly out of nowhere, stored in grimoire towers or libraries across the world, waiting for their destined owners. Yet no one—no one—ever seemed to question their origins. People accepted their existence as naturally as breathing. Not even Julius, a self-proclaimed magic geek, had ever raised this glaringly obvious question.

That realization unsettled Sebastian.

Anslem's expression grew solemn, and he lowered his head. "I'm afraid I don't have an answer to that. The Lord's will is mysterious, His thoughts too complex for lesser mortals to fathom. It seems He wishes to keep this truth hidden from the masses. By His will, our thoughts are unconsciously guided away from pondering such matters."

He paused, his tone softening. "Only those blessed with a direct connection to the Lord may learn fragments of these truths. Even then, we are bound by an unspoken rule never to disclose them. I trust you will respect that."

Sebastian and Acier exchanged a glance before nodding. Revealing such knowledge wouldn't bring any tangible benefit. If anything, it would only invite divine displeasure—or worse, the wrath of a certain zealot.

Sebastian's thoughts darkened briefly. Best not to test that theory.

Acier, sensing the heavy atmosphere, attempted to lighten the mood. "It's a shame, though. You could've used that truth as concrete evidence of the divine. Imagine how much stronger faith would become."

Anslem chuckled slowly. "A shame indeed. Few would doubt our religion then, wouldn't they?"

But perhaps that was the issue. The clergy had long theorized that too much faith could breed greed and chaos. Everyone longs for the divine—immortality, ascension, a closer connection to heaven.

If the world learned grimoires were divine artifacts, it could spark wars. Nations might vie to hoard grimoires, attempting to unlock heavenly secrets and approach godhood.

Such conflict would taint the gift's purpose entirely.

Others within the clergy believed it was a test of faith. God offered hints of His existence but no undeniable proof. Would mortals follow His decrees, live virtuously, and earn a place in the next world—or would they demand concrete evidence to dedicate themselves?

Perhaps it was an act of mercy, sparing humanity from the burden of proof. Or perhaps it was a challenge, asking who could believe without seeing.

Sebastian glanced once more at the crucifix, his hand continuing to rhythmically pat Noelle's back. Then, turning to Anslem, he asked, "So, anyone wielding a grimoire who approaches the crucifix will resonate with it?"

Anslem shook his head with a patient smile. "Not quite. First, you need a clear intention—like you, approaching with the desire to verify your status as a Blessed."

"And second?" Sebastian raised an inquisitive brow.

"Second," Anslem continued, his tone steady, "you need a grimoire from the Clover Kingdom."

Sebastian froze, his face contorting in confusion. "Wait—what? It has to be a Clover grimoire?"

Anslem nodded firmly. "Yes."

"Why?" Acier interjected, her own curiosity evident.

Anslem's smile faltered slightly, replaced by a more solemn expression. "If grimoires are a sign of God's blessing to all humanity, we of the Clover Kingdom are especially blessed because of our unique grimoires."

"Unique?" Sebastian and Acier echoed in unison, leaning forward.

Anslem nodded again, his voice carrying the weight of reverence. "Faith, hope, and love—the three leaves of a clover. These virtues align with the Holy Trinity of emotions in our gospel. Through their grimoires, God has granted every citizen of the Clover Kingdom a portion of these virtues in some form. This land—our land—is where the faith was first established, and it remains the only place where our religion is practiced."

He straightened, his tone growing almost fervent. "The Heart, Diamond, and Spade Kingdoms, even the Witch's Forest—none of them have chapels or churches, not because we fear preaching there, but because this faith is a divine gift meant solely for us. Heaven's salvation was given to the Clover Kingdom alone. That is why we are, and always will be, the strongest nation. We are God's chosen!"

Sebastian listened in silence, his thoughts churning. He had no shortage of objections, but he kept them locked behind a neutral expression.

Are the people of other kingdoms not worthy of salvation? He thought of the kind souls he'd encountered—people who, despite lacking faith in the gospel, lived morally upright lives that often surpassed the behavior of many citizens of the Clover Kingdom.

What about the people of Hino? They didn't even have grimoires. Did scrolls count as God's gift, tailored to their culture?

His thoughts shifted to Yami and Dorothy, foreigners who had gained Clover grimoires, and to refugees from other nations who had come to the kingdom as children and also received grimoires.

And then there was Julius. The grimoire he received in this kingdom had a blank cover—did that mean he wasn't truly of the Clover Kingdom? Technically, Julius was from the Spade Kingdom. But what about Yuno, a Spade prince who had been granted a Clover grimoire? Then again, Yuno's other soul had been an elven prince who lived in the Forsaken Realm.

So was Licht's son the one who will be admitted to heaven, and not Yuno himself?

And Asta.

Sebastian's jaw tightened imperceptibly. Asta, born and raised in the Clover Kingdom, hadn't even been given mana, let alone a grimoire. One of the purest souls alive, and yet… had God deemed him unworthy of salvation? Did Asta not deserve heaven?

And what of Asta's grimoire—the one he'd eventually obtained? It wasn't even his. Its true owner could be considered Liebe after Licht lost control of it, a devil.

Sebastian's lips twitched with dark amusement. Would the clergy choke on their own sermons if they had to admit a devil was chosen by God and granted entrance to heaven?

He let his gaze linger on the crucifix. And if Liebe, one day, entered a cathedral to pray, holding up that five-leaf grimoire—would he be turned away?

Perhaps they'd argue the five-leaf clover no longer counted, its corrupted nature placing it outside the "holy trinity of emotions."

Sebastian exhaled slowly, forcing himself to focus on the present.

"Then what about four-leaf clovers? What's their significance?" Sebastian asked, tilting his head.

Anslem's smile widened, a glint of reverence in his eyes. "The first leaf represents faith, the second hope, the third love, and in the fourth resides good luck. This isn't just a saying—those who possess a four-leaf grimoire are literally blessed with divine fortune. Their very existence is proof enough of their status as God's Blessed. They don't require testing."

Sebastian nodded thoughtfully, deciding to shift the conversation forward. "Then what exactly was that ritual doing? What were those words being inscribed into my grimoire?"

Anslem folded his arms behind his back as he explained, "You came here to prove yourself as one of God's Blessed, did you not?"

Sebastian inclined his head.

Anslem continued, his voice steady, "And you claim to have received a dream—a divine revelation, correct? A vision that instructed you on how to save Lady Acier?"

Sebastian nodded again, this time more stiffly.

Anslem's expression turned solemn. "What you need to understand is this: God, the Lord, is currently inactive."

Sebastian and Acier froze. "Inactive?" Acier repeated, confusion flickering across her face.

Anslem nodded gravely. "Yes. God created the world in six days and rested on the seventh. That's why we hold Sunday mass. I'm sure you're both familiar with this teaching?"

The couple nodded hesitantly.

"Now, the real question is: what has God done since then? What is He doing now?" Anslem's gaze bore into them, as if daring them to speculate.

Before they could respond, he pressed on. "Aside from bestowing us with the holy scriptures to provide guidance, God has been in a relatively still state—existing as an observer."

"An observer?" Acier echoed.

"Yes," Anslem confirmed. "Watching His creations live their lives, make their choices, and eventually face judgment on the appointed day."

Sebastian suppressed a bitter thought. What's the point of judgment if only those with Clover grimoires are allowed into heaven? Is it truly about us, or just punishing those deemed 'unworthy'?

Shaking the notion from his mind, he focused on the conversation. "What does this have to do with anything, Cardinal?" he asked politely, his hand instinctively shifting to gently cradle Noelle, who had begun nuzzling against his chest.

Anslem offered a carefully measured response. "Because, Lord Silva, rather than saying we are blessed directly by God, it is more accurate to say we are blessed by His angels, acting in His name."

Sebastian's lips twitched into a faint smirk. So, my hunch was right after all.

Acier frowned in thought. "So, are you implying that this verification ritual was actually a way of communicating with an angel? Specifically, the one that blessed Sebastian?"

Anslem's expression brightened. "Precisely, Lady Acier. God's most active messenger to the mortal realm is the Angel of Revelation. Any act involving divine messages, prophecies, or blessings is undoubtedly connected to Him. The ritual you just performed was essentially seeking an invisible spiritual 'stamp' from this angel within Lord Silva's grimoire. If the parchments hadn't fused with the grimoire, it would have been a denial."

Sebastian straightened slightly at this revelation, while Acier's frown deepened.

"The Angel of Revelation?" she asked, her voice tinged with disbelief. "I'm not the most devout, but I've read the Bible several times. I've never seen any mention of such an angel—or any specific angel, for that matter."

Sebastian nodded in silent agreement. The gospel only described angels as God's servants—immortal, perfect beings of beauty. There were no records of distinct individuals.

Anslem chuckled softly. "That's because it is another secret. Just as humans are individuals, angels are too. They differ in appearance, powers, personality, and responsibilities."

He stepped forward, his voice growing more reverent. "In fact, there are hierarchies among angels. Some are of higher rank, closer to God. The Angel of Revelation is one of the highest class—an Archangel. He is one of the divine rulers, a steward managing heaven on God's behalf until the Lord awakens and reclaims His throne."

Anslem gestured toward the papyrus Bible resting on the bookstand beneath the crucifix. "That," he said with reverence, "is the very first Bible in existence, inscribed by Saint Luminous himself on primitive paper using rudimentary tools."

Sebastian and Acier's eyes widened at the revelation as Anslem continued.

"This is the source of much of our hidden knowledge—knowledge not shared with the general public. For example, the existence and descriptions of the Archangels. The Bibles you see today are diluted versions of this scripture, containing only the teachings we are permitted to share."

Anslem's tone grew even more reverent. "The heavens bestowed countless revelations upon Saint Luminous, and among them was the divine order to omit any specific mention of angels."

"We do not know why, nor do we dare to question it. We simply obey. Perhaps the Popes of each generation, the only ones capable of deciphering the contents of the Primordial Scripture, hold some insight or suspicion, but they have never disclosed it. And it is not our place to press them for answers."

Sebastian narrowed his eyes in thought. Does becoming Pope grant one the ability to read this scripture, or is the ability to read it a prerequisite for becoming Pope?

He and Acier exchanged a subtle glance before Sebastian scratched his chin and voiced his next question. "So the page the Primordial Scripture flipped to—that was the description of the Angel of Revelation?"

Anslem nodded in confirmation.

Sebastian's curiosity deepened. "Would you be kind enough to tell us about him? I'm quite intrigued."

Anslem smiled warmly. "Of course, my child. I sense your interest. In fact, would you like me to introduce all the Archangels to you?"

Sebastian fought back the urge to smirk. Thanks for saving me the effort, old man.

Instead, he nodded politely. "That would be wonderful, Cardinal."

Anslem's expression grew solemn and pious as he closed his eyes and began to speak in a practiced, almost ritualistic tone.

"We begin with the Angel of Light. He is the one who strengthens our faith, shining his blinding and unconditional light upon our souls. Even in the darkest days, when the sun does not shine, his gleam illuminates our lives. This divine light connects us to our higher selves, granting us enlightenment and guiding us to repent and move forward."

Uriel? Sebastian mused inwardly, filing the name away as Anslem continued.

"Next is the Angel of Revelation. He is the Lord's chosen messenger, tasked with delivering divine will and messages to humanity. Of all the Archangels, he has been the most active in the mortal realm, appearing to messiahs and prophets throughout the ages. He bestows upon us the gift of hope."

Sebastian's eyes narrowed slightly, masking the unease stirring within him. Isn't that Gabriel? he wondered. So Anslem thinks the Angel of Revelation is someone else. Or is Gabriel not the only one who delivers divine revelations?

His thoughts churned. And why would this angel—whoever he is—grant me his seal of approval? Was it Big-M's—whoever Big-M is—order? Or am I just some group project Gabriel decided to dabble in as well?

Sebastian buried his questions for now, nodding attentively to Anslem as the Cardinal prepared to continue.

Anslem drew a deep breath, his voice carrying a somber weight as he continued.

"Opposite light is darkness, and this brings us to the Angel of Death. Yet, despite His grim role, He loves us all the same. It is said that His love surpasses that of any other angel. Instead of residing in heaven, He chooses to travel through the deepest pits of hell, collecting the souls of the departed and housing them in the world between worlds. There, they await judgment day so they may receive a fair trial. The greatest love, after all, is the release of death."

Azrael. Sebastian immediately recalled the name from his previous conversation with Azazel, the memory sharp and clear.

Anslem subtly licked his lips, then coughed hoarsely before moving on.

"Next is the Angel of Healing. He is the one who oversees the journeys of all the Lord's creations, from birth to death. He blesses us, travelers of life, with safety and fortune on our adventures. He is also responsible for signaling the final journey—blowing the trumpet on Judgment Day. For this, he is among the Lord's most cherished creations."

Raphael? Sebastian guessed, though uncertainty lingered in his mind.

The Cardinal's tone shifted as he continued, his voice carrying a deeper reverence and an unmistakable undercurrent of ecstasy.

"Finally, there is the one closest to the Lord's throne—the Angel of Judgment. He is the strongest warrior in existence and the leader of all angels. He commands the Lord's army, vanquishes evil from heaven, and punishes those who lose their way. He is the antithesis of all that is wrong, the ally and patron of all that is just. He is the Chief of Angels!"

Michael! Sebastian had to fight the urge to exclaim the name aloud. But as that familiar chill crept down his spine, his thoughts darkened. That's only five. Azazel said there were six!

Sebastian coughed lightly into his hand, masking his growing unease as Anslem opened his eyes, his expression briefly confused.

Hiding his turmoil behind a calm, inquisitive smile, Sebastian scratched his cheek. "Cardinal, is that truly all? I don't mean to doubt you, but the Bible mentions nearly a thousand angels. Surely there must be more than five Archangels to oversee them?"

Acier glanced at Sebastian, her eyes narrowing slightly before mirroring his questioning expression. She turned to Anslem with a look of polite curiosity.

Anslem chuckled wryly at their "eager" skepticism, though his expression soon darkened. Lowering his head, his tone grew heavy.

"You're right. That's not all. In fact, there were once two more." He paused before adding somberly, "Or rather, there were."

Sebastian and Acier leaned forward slightly, their attention fully on the Cardinal as he continued.

"The first was the Angel of Order. He was entrusted by the Lord with the power and responsibility to maintain balance in the universe, preventing chaos from taking root. It was said that under His presence, even celestial bodies—stars and planets—were frozen still."

Anslem sighed deeply. "The second was the Angel of Punishment. A favorite of the Lord, He was granted free reign to punish the wicked on Judgment Day. Those sentenced to hell were to be burned alive in His flames, enduring excruciating pain as their sins and impurities were cleansed from their essence in the foulest manner imaginable."

His voice grew even quieter. "Alas, both of them lost their way. Wrath and pride consumed them, leading them to rebel against God's plan for humanity. They corrupted other angels, turning them against the Lord and waging a divine war on heaven's sacred grounds. For their treachery, they were defeated and banished from heaven by the Angel of Judgment, stripped of their angelic grace."

Anslem looked at Sebastian and Acier solemnly. "There were once seven Archangels. Now, we are left with five."

Acier looked contemplative, her brows furrowed as she absorbed Anslem's words.

Sebastian mirrored her thoughtful expression outwardly. But inside, his unease swelled, a chill prickling the back of his neck as he studied Anslem's earnest and sincere expression.

He's not lying, Sebastian realized. He's not holding anything back. That's all he actually knows.

And it was this fact that made Sebastian's heart pound.

Fighting the growing urge to speak, he forced himself to remain silent. Bro, I think you missed one.

Author's Note:

[1] Feel free to join the discord: https://discord.gg/s3MME8X8ar