No, How Can an Atheist Become a Saintess!? – 102
EP.102 Stubbornness and Arrogance (14)
What does it mean for those who worship the power of magic to die by that very force?
If no one had ever seriously pondered this question, it would be nothing short of a cruel joke. Of course, the priests had long struggled with this dilemma. And in their attempts to reconcile reality with faith, they arrived at a simple conclusion: those who could not withstand it lacked devotion.
Those in higher positions endured because their faith was strong; those below them perished because theirs was weak.
It was a strange notion, but over time, philosophy wrapped itself around this belief like flesh, and doctrine solidified it into a rigid framework. Generations passed, and eventually, no one dared to question it.
But then—what would it mean for such people to be consumed by magic?
If their survival had always been attributed to the depth of their faith, how were they supposed to react when faced with magic beyond even that faith’s protection?
If magic swept through with such force that neither kings nor royals, nobles nor priests could withstand it—if it erased every last trace of the dwarves’ carefully built legacy with a mere gust—how were they to make sense of it?
Should they see it as divine judgment upon those with insufficient faith? Some sects had, indeed, taken that stance. If so, should they accept their fate and die quietly?
Or should they instead acknowledge that everything they had believed in was a lie?
In the end, not a single person accepted their fate with grace.
They all ran.
Scrambling toward the farthest corners, desperately seeking refuge in the very tunnels they had once shunned.
But even that escape was cut off.
It wasn’t as if they hadn’t prepared. They had heeded the warnings of outsiders, listened to the king’s decree. The nobles, too, had some understanding of what would happen when magic surged uncontrollably. After all, the commoners under them were their assets—without them, there would be no lands to rule, no estates to rebuild.
They had thought they would survive, rebuild, and continue their noble lineage.
But before death, such calculations were meaningless.
Magic engulfed everything.
Even looking at it stung the eyes. The sheer concentration of magic threw the entire city into chaos.
Ironically, the only ones managing to hold back the magic, however feebly, were the outsiders. They wielded weapons imbued with light, possessing the power to purify magic.
But even that was not enough.
They could slay the beasts conjured from magic. They could cut down the creatures formed from its swirling energy.
But stopping the flood itself? Impossible.
Magic poured through the cracks in their defenses, slipping between walls and shields alike.
The fires died. Even the magical lights, once so brilliant, were snuffed out in an instant.
Amid excruciating pain, people succumbed to death.
…Or so it should have been.
But then, far in the distance, a light appeared.
It was impossible to tell whether it was real or a hallucination, a mirage conjured by fading consciousness.
At the edge of the darkness, someone knelt alone, praying.
For whom, it was unclear. Was it a prayer to a god, or merely a desperate plea for those about to perish?
Yet, in such absolute darkness, seeing that light—whether dwarf or human—there was only one possible reaction.
A desire to reach it.
Hands stretched forward. Step by step, they moved, struggling yet determined.
The numbing cold that gnawed at their bones began to fade as they neared the light. The magic clinging to their bodies melted away, and lost strength slowly returned. Pain subsided, and the grip on their swords tightened once more.
When they finally blinked, they found themselves standing exactly where they had been before.
The dwarves, still in shock, could only blink in disbelief at their survival.
The nobles, royals, and priests—more attuned to the magic within their bodies—felt its absence and reeled in horror.
Arrogance had no place in that moment.
Only relief remained.
And the humans—
They ran.
Gripping their gleaming swords, shields consecrated by Anna in hand—
They raced toward the call.
Toward the light.
*
Ria watched the scene unfold and thought—
The light is praying.
At the heart of what could be called the plaza before the dwarven royal palace, Anna sat.
Ria had already seen her once. The warmth from when she had grasped Anna’s hand still lingered in her palm, and as if in response to that warmth, her sword shone brightly.
A miracle.
Anna’s miracle—one that had saved so many from the heart of the magic surge.
A prayer.
The clanking of armor echoed through the corridors. Soon, from every passage illuminated by that light, people began to emerge. Knights clad in the armor of the Church’s Order and dwarven heavy infantry.
They saw Anna.
They stopped in their tracks, mouths agape.
Ria raised her sword high.
“Form a battle line!”
She had no real authority to give such an order. She was merely Anna’s guard, a knight assigned to her as both guardian and servant.
But standing beside Anna’s radiant presence, wielding a sword gleaming with divine light, there was no one who would question her command.
“Follow the order!”
“Follow your faith!”
Shouts echoed among the knights, their voices scattered and uncoordinated.
But in the end—
“Follow the Saintess!”
That was how it always ended.
They all knew.
They knew whose light this was.
They knew who had pulled them back from the brink of oblivion.
Knights gripped their shields and swords, rushing forward to form a defensive line.
Their formation faced the entrance to the dwarven kingdom—the largest corridor, where the magic still surged in waves.
And then—
A chorus of unnatural cries erupted.
Creatures beyond description emerged, monsters never before seen, entities with no names—born for one purpose alone: to erase all life in this place.
But not a single knight wavered.
If anything, it was the monsters that hesitated.
Like wounded, frightened beasts before a blazing torch, they bristled, howling and puffing themselves up, trying to appear larger. As if what lay behind them terrified them even more.
Ria stood at the very front of the formation.
Her shield was too small to cover her fully. But fear had no place here.
She could not afford it.
The one she was protecting had given herself to this battle without hesitation.
And those who guarded such a person could not allow fear to take root.
The first to lunge was a wolf-like creature, its body covered in unblinking eyes. Its maw, split to its ears, revealed a blackened, writhing tongue.
Ria swung her sword.
Brilliant white light scattered like a whip’s lash.
The beast vanished—without even leaving a trace of where it had been cut.
“…I see.”
Even witnessing such a sight, Ria only murmured to herself.
The formation moved forward.
Slowly.
But steadily.
And in their advance, there was nothing but absolute certainty.
*
The moment the battle was over, Ria rushed toward the room where she had last met the princess.
Anna was still praying. The delicate white threads of divine light still clung to her hands.
Ria approached cautiously, sword still drawn.
It was a sacred sight, undeniably beautiful, yet—
“……”
A strange sense of foreboding crept over her.
Then—snap.
A faint, brittle sound echoed, as if to confirm her unease.
Instinctively, Ria swung her sword.
The sacred white threads were severed effortlessly, vanishing like mist.
"Anna!"
She lunged forward just in time to catch Anna as she collapsed.
Blood trickled from Anna’s hands.
Tiny wounds marked the backs of her palms—small enough that they could have been made by a needle, too insignificant to leave a scar.
Yet the amount of blood flowing from them was anything but normal.
“…Ria.”
Cradled in Ria’s arms, Anna’s voice was weak, barely more than a whisper.
“…Did the battle… end well?”
Ria gritted her teeth.
Everyone had seen it.
Even the princess of this nation had been left speechless by the miracle.
The way she had illuminated that pitch-black cavern as if it were broad daylight—there wasn’t a soul who hadn’t felt something stir within them at that sight.
She had erased a catastrophe that could have wiped the dwarves from existence.
“…It did.”
Ria wanted to say something more.
Wanted to tell her she hadn’t needed to go this far.
That she didn’t have to sacrifice herself.
But the words wouldn’t come.
Her throat tightened.
Her vision blurred.
Her head spun, and it wasn’t just from the exhaustion of battle.
A dreadful thought took root.
Had this path been set in stone the moment she first pushed Anna forward?
Had everything unfolded this way because of that?
“…That’s a relief.”
Anna exhaled the words as if sighing, then closed her eyes.
She fell asleep just like that.
Only when Ria heard the soft, steady rhythm of her breathing did she allow herself to relax.
But even then, she couldn’t wipe her tears away.
She was still holding Anna too tightly.
What happens now?
That wasn’t what scared her.
What terrified her was what would become of Anna in the aftermath.
Because Anna, no matter what came next—
No matter how great the burden—
Would be too stubborn to let it go.
She would insist on carrying it herself.