Reaching the grand priestess level granted her a newfound freedom from serving the priests in her orphanage. Another perk was the opportunity to meet the legendary pope of the Holy Empire. Yet, amidst her anticipation, a sense of doubt lingered. Could the pope and the higher-ups truly be unaware of the orphanage's dark practices, especially considering the significance of saintess candidates to the Holy Empire?

Despite her desire to expose the orphanage's evils, she found herself constrained by circumstances beyond her control. Now, with her body no longer entirely her own, she lacked the autonomy to act on her convictions.

Stepping into the grand cathedral, where she was scheduled to meet the pope, she reflected on her journey. Managing to ascend to the grand priestess level before her hundredth year was no small feat. Typically, saintess candidates achieving level 2 would be assigned as inquisitors, a group overseen solely by grand priestesses.

However, due to her exceptional aptitude, the church was considering a different path for her. They intended to designate her as the true saintess candidate, potentially replacing even the most formidable inquisitors. Hence, the pope himself would personally assess her aptitude before finalizing any decisions. If confirmed as the true saintess candidate, the church would channel all available resources to expedite her progression to level 3.

Standing before her was the highest authority in the Holy Empire, the hero of the holy war a hundred years ago, Sir Graham Campbell. He was clad in a luxurious white robe adorned with golden edges, and he held an exquisite staff. Despite his more than 500 years of life, the pope possessed a strikingly handsome visage of a middle-aged man, with a head of silvery-white hair and golden eyes that shone with wisdom.

Behind him stood the saintess of the Holy Empire, also bearing silvery-white hair and golden eyes. Casting a glance at the saintess beside the pope, she couldn't help but notice the pallor and sunken appearance of her cheeks, reminiscent of a skeleton. It seemed the rumors about the saintess being heavily injured in the last holy war held true.

A glimpse at the pope's face filled her with dismay. Despite the benevolent smile he wore, she discerned the falseness behind it. Behind that facade lay a repulsive malice and evil, hidden beneath a mask of kindness. She recognized that fake smile instantly, having encountered many priests in her orphanage wearing the same deceitful expression. Disgust twisted her stomach, but fortunately, she wasn't the one in control of her body; thus, the pope and those around her remained oblivious to her inner turmoil.

The pope directed everyone except the saintess, the orphanage director, and her to leave the room. Once they departed, the orphanage director transferred the brainwashing control to the pope before exiting, leaving only the pope with the power to manipulate her mind from that moment forward.

As the pope slowly approached her, his gaze roamed up and down her body, leaving her feeling exposed and violated. Despite recognizing the familiar deceit in his smile, seeing the pope's true nature was disheartening. She had once looked up to him during her days in the orphanage. Mentally closing her eyes, she felt despair gnawing at her mind.

Taking hold of her chin with his fingers, the pope commanded, “Saintess candidate N117289, open your mouth.” Her mouth obeyed involuntarily. N117289 was her name, a name she wished she could forget, along with the horrors it carried. But little did she know, this was just the beginning of the atrocities she would be forced to commit at his command.

The memory of her first kill remained vivid in her mind. Kneeling before her was a supposed "heretic" and his family, condemned by the Holy Empire for failing to comply with orders. In truth, the man was merely a count in a rural region grappling with a crop disease outbreak. His only "crime" was requesting leniency from the Empire due to the reduced harvest, fearing starvation for his people during the winter months.

She knew the truth behind the facade of heresy. His plea for mercy fell on deaf ears, and the Holy Empire dispatched her to execute him and his family. It was a grim reminder of the ruthlessness underlying the Empire's rule, as she became a pawn in their merciless game of power.

The Empire did not accept any form of resistance, for they possessed an abundance of subjects in their territory; if one population dwindled, they could easily replenish it from another region. So, the refusal of the noble family to pay taxes was deemed intolerable by the Empire. Thus, the Pope dispatched her to their territory to serve as a stern warning to others—a demonstration of the consequences for disobedience, akin to sacrificing a chicken to frighten the monkeys.

Desperately, she struggled to regain control of her body, but she could only bear witness as the light faded from the count's eyes, and then from his wife and children... On that fateful day, her mind shattered. Perhaps she could have deluded herself if her victims were genuine criminals, but the thought of taking innocent lives was unbearable.

Each subsequent task only plunged her deeper into despair as it demanded the blood of countless innocents. Her spirit buckled under the weight, and she found herself drifting in and out of consciousness. Gradually, she began to lose her sense of identity, forgetting her former name, her orphanage, even her memories of the new one. Slowly but inexorably, she slipped away from herself.

Then, abruptly, she was jolted awake.

"*murmur… innocent lives, it’s time for you to face the consequences,” came a voice from the figure standing before her. A searing pain tore through her body as she lay there, vulnerable.

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She found herself in a state of confusion. Typically, her perception of the outside world resembled watching a movie in a theater, where she occupied the backseat, merely observing the world unfold on the screen. Despite seeing and hearing everything around her, she remained disconnected from any physical sensations in her body. However, this time, despite her body being immobile, an unusual sensation gripped her—a sense of being in control of her own body.

The scent of the dusty wind, the chill of the night air, the cold touch of the ground beneath her—each sensation filled her with an inexplicable joy. It was as if, for the first time, she was truly alive.

Soon, she discerned the reason behind this newfound experience. Somehow, her second personality lay dormant, overwhelmed by profound fatigue. This allowed her a fleeting moment of control over her own body.

Regrettably, the bliss was short-lived. Before long, she felt her second personality stir from its slumber, forcefully seizing control once again. Despite her efforts to resist, she found herself powerless against the overwhelming dominance of the second persona. It was a frustrating experience, akin to being a mere bystander in her own body, as the second personality operated independently, devoid of any acknowledgment or communication with her.

Helplessly, she observed as her second personality uttered nonsensical words. Despite the man wearing a mask, she could sense his evident annoyance, likely triggered by the second personality's words.

As if the torrent of words drained all the second personality's mental energy, she felt it slip back into slumber once more. Seizing the opportunity, she regained control of her body, if only for a brief respite.

As she watched the man summon a spear with an aura of lethal intent, she felt a sense of resignation wash over her. ‘Ah, so today is finally the day I will die,’ she thought. ‘It's about time. I've lived for too long, caused the deaths of countless innocent people, and destroyed countless lives.’

She couldn't simply absolve herself by blaming her second personality, for it had used her body to commit those atrocities. She bore responsibility as well. Death now seemed almost merciful, as she feared that if she waited any longer, she would lose all sense of identity, becoming a mere puppet to her second persona's actions.

Watching the man with the peculiar blue mask, she regarded him with a calm and relieved gaze, tinged with a hint of gratitude. Yet, her expression seemed to provoke him further.

“Why? Why do you have such a righteous look on your face?" the man demanded, his voice booming with anger. "Don’t you realize the innocent lives you've taken? You should feel guilty!”

His words summoned forth memories of all the individuals she had harmed. Throughout the years, she made a concerted effort to recall their names and faces, ensuring that their existence was not consigned to meaningless oblivion. Despite the Empire's propaganda, which painted these individuals as guilty of nonexistent crimes and deceived the world into believing it, she remained determined to remember them as the true victims. In doing so, she sought to preserve their memory and honor their humanity amidst the Empire's deceitful narrative.

She had made a conscious effort to remember the innocent faces, to also safeguard her sense of self and morality from being tainted by the deeds of her second personality. Despite the gradual fading of her past memories, she clung to the recollection of those faces, holding fast to her moral compass. Yet, even as she fought to preserve her identity, she felt fragments of her mind slipping away, either vanishing into oblivion or merging with the second personality.

Closing her eyes, she summoned the faces of those she had harmed once more, simultaneously preparing to accept her fate. As a piercing pain surged through her body, she sensed her senses fading away, and her physical form gradually dissolving, fragment by fragment. The approach of death became palpable, drawing ever closer.

As the sensations faded, she found herself weightless, her eyes opening to find herself suspended five meters above the ground. "I can see?" she marveled, moving her hands in front of her eyes to see a blurry white light.

"Is this my soul form? Does this mean souls exist? Does it mean that God exists?" she pondered, feeling a gentle pull guiding her upward. Looking ahead, she saw a warm circular light in the midnight sky, beckoning her.

Suddenly, her focus was diverted by distant shouts from below, yanking her attention back to the ground. "NOOOOO!! STOOOOOP!" "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!! CLAARICEE!" The cries resonated with profound sadness, despair, and helplessness, evoking a sense of sympathy within her for the person calling out.

Then, amidst the cries, a name echoed: "Clarice." Something stirred in her mind at the sound of that name, triggering a rush of unknown memories.

"Clarice? Is that my name?" she wondered aloud, feeling the tendrils of her forgotten past slowly beginning to unravel.

Ignoring the pull of the warm light, she descended gracefully before the towering figure kneeling at the spot where she had perished.

Observing the man's face closely, recognition dawned. "Ah, he's the grand paladin," she realized. They had crossed paths fifteen years ago, when he ascended to become the third level 3 powerhouse alongside her and the pope.

However, what made him memorable to her, aside from his unmistakable towering stature, was the way he always regarded her with eyes filled with sadness and nostalgia. But his gaze hadn't always held that weight. Their initial meeting had been marked by his introduction and a look of happiness and anticipation in his eyes.

When she responded to the introduction through her second personality, his gaze momentarily turned sad, but he swiftly masked it with a smile, concealing his inner turmoil. However, a year later, he abruptly entered the cathedral while she was deep in prayer, his voice desperate as he questioned her recollection of him. Revealing their shared past in the orphanage, he awaited her response. Despite her denial, a brief flicker of anger flashed in the grand paladin's eyes, though she sensed it wasn't aimed at her. Thus, her second personality chose to dismiss the incident.

"Wait, the same orphanage?" she mused, scrutinizing the man's features more closely. As fragments of her past flooded back, she recalled a face from her childhood, one that bore a striking resemblance to the man before her—a snotty brat who had once clung to her like a loyal follower after she had rescued her from bullies in the orphanage.

Indeed, the image of the snotty brat from her orphanage days didn't align with the powerful level 3 powerhouse before her. Back then, he had been short and chubby—a sight that had likely irked many of the malnourished orphanage children. Yet now, he had transformed into a formidable figure.

Turning her gaze towards the man who had ended her life, she couldn't help but gasp in shock.