The Yellow-Haired Villain in Soaring Phoenix's Novels Also Desires Happiness

“Name.”

“Aviva.”

“Age.”

“Fifteen.”

“Only fifteen? What a pitiful child. So young, and yet afflicted with such a grave illness.”

Bishop Kore bent down and looked at Aviva with a sorrowful expression, as if he too had already felt the suffering this frail girl had endured.

He dipped a finger into holy water and lightly brushed it across Aviva’s cheek, as though that alone could ease her pain.

“Don’t worry. The Goddess will protect you now.”

Aviva opened her eyes weakly and looked calmly at the noble bishop standing before her. Deep in her eyes, there was only anger and indifference so faint they were almost impossible to detect.

To her, it was that so-called “two hundred thousand” that had nearly dragged the entire orphanage down and forced Pero, still so young, to struggle alone outside.

She would not be grateful to the bishop.

And she would not be grateful to the Goddess.

“Can she be cured?” Muen asked.

“Of course.”

Bishop Kore answered with complete confidence.

“What I am about to bestow upon this poor child is the grace of the Goddess herself. That grace is enough to wash away all filth and suffering in this world. A mere illness is nothing before it.”

“That’s wonderful to hear.”

Muen clasped his hands in admiration.

“As expected of the illustrious Bishop Kore. Hearing you say that is incredibly reassuring.”

“However...”

At that, Bishop Kore abruptly changed his tone. His graying brows drew together slightly, and a trace of distress appeared on his face.

“The Goddess’s grace is not so easily invoked.”

“Oh? What does Your Excellency mean?”

“The Goddess’s grace only works on the most devout believers. It has no effect on ordinary people. Therefore...” Bishop Kore lowered his voice, his tone heavy with heartfelt sorrow. “As her adoptive father, you must prove her devotion to the Goddess.”

“Prove... devotion?”

Muen raised a brow.

“But haven’t I already paid two hundred thousand...?”

“That was only the most preliminary proof.”

Bishop Kore tightened his grip on the holy cross hanging at his chest and looked toward the Goddess statue at the front of the Hall of Sacraments.

“Two hundred thousand can only prove that you possess a heart willing to believe in the Goddess. It cannot prove your devotion. If you wish to prove your devotion, then you must...”

“Pay more?” Muen cut in with a half-smile, suddenly understanding.

“Sir jests. The word ‘money’ is far too crude, and it doesn’t fully capture the matter. You must understand that what the Goddess wishes to see is not money, but the determination with which you believe in her.”

“And what exactly counts as determination?”

“It need not be money alone. Property, land deeds, shops, jewels, or other things... anything important to you.”

Bishop Kore bowed slightly. His expression was utterly sincere, and his eyes gave no sign at all of noticing the gems and gold on Muen’s person. There was not the slightest visible trace of greed.

“Do you understand? It is only a symbol.”

“A symbol?”

“Yes, a symbol. In truth, I would not force you. Even if you are not devout believers in the Goddess, I will still treat her. But if we do so without invoking the Goddess’s grace, that method carries considerable risk. Given the condition of this poor child’s body, I would not recommend it.”

“I see...”

Muen nodded in understanding.

In simple terms, if he wanted Aviva cured “without risk,” then he had to pay a price of faith. If he had money, he paid money. If he had no money, he sold a house. If he had no house, he mortgaged land. And if he did not even have land, then surely he had something else precious.

As long as they were not beggars from the Lower District with absolutely nothing, anyone living in this world would have some “important possession.” And being willing to part with such an “important possession” could, in a sense, certainly count as proof of sincere faith in the Goddess.

As for whether the Goddess herself could actually feel that devotion—

That was anyone’s guess.

After all, the final say rested with this bishop.

Muen idly turned the gold cane in his hand.

“So for this so-called symbol... how much does Your Excellency want?”

“Not much.”

Bishop Kore raised two fingers.

“Two million will suffice.”

“Mm!”

Before Muen could say anything, Aviva began struggling. She grabbed hold of his sleeve and shook her head with all the strength she had, pleading weakly,

“N-no... two million... that’s too much. I... I can’t pay it back...”

“Don’t worry. I’m your ‘adoptive father’ right now. Why would I make you repay it?”

“But you...”

“That’s enough. Leave it to me.”

Muen lightly patted Aviva’s hand, signaling for her to be at ease, then lifted his head and looked at Bishop Kore.

“All right. I’m willing to pay the two million.”

With that, Muen tossed him a crystal card.

“You are beyond doubt an outstanding father.”

Bishop Kore took the crystal card and casually set it aside. Just as he had said, money was merely a symbol. He appeared not to care about it at all.

“Please rest assured. The Goddess’s grace will certainly restore this young lady to full health. Soon she will be able to bask in the sunlight like any other ordinary child. Please wait outside for a short while.”

“I look forward to that moment.”

Muen nodded, then obediently left the Hall of Sacraments under the guidance of a nun.

The Hall of Sacraments fell quiet again. Only the Goddess watched everything with compassion.

Very soon, the nun who attended the bishop returned. With a touch of her finger, she put Aviva into a deep sleep, then said to Bishop Kore—who was carefully checking the crystal card and the amount stored within it,

“I’ve arranged for him to wait in the prayer room.”

“Excellent.”

Bishop Kore gently stroked the crystal card, even more tenderly than he had stroked the girl’s cheek a moment ago.

He chuckled.

“There’s not two million in this card. There’s two and a half million. That really is an exceptional fat sheep.”

“Are we going to keep butchering him?”

“Of course. You don’t come across sheep this fat and this stupid very often, so naturally we should press a little harder. But first, we still have to do the job. After all, rich people like this aren’t the ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) same as commoners. If there’s no visible effect, they’re much harder to fool.”

Bishop Kore tucked the crystal card into his robes. Having done this sort of thing so many times, he was already supremely experienced and confident.

Now that the sheep had been delivered right to him, how could he possibly not savor how fat and tender it was?

“How are you going to treat her?” the nun asked. “Are you going to use Third-Tier Pure Holy Light?”

“Pure Holy Light? No, no, no, no...”

Bishop Kore spread his hands.

“I told the fat sheep it was the Goddess’s grace, yes, but how could I possibly use something that precious? If I did, wouldn’t that mean the two million was practically no profit at all?”

“Then this child’s illness...?”

“We’ll use a more ‘conventional’ method. Bring me my tools.”

The nun paused slightly, then nodded.

“Yes.”

Beneath the golden dome of the Hall of Sacraments, candlelight flickered, casting the Goddess statue in an aura of holiness and mystery.

The nun silently offered a prayer to the Goddess, then brought out the tool case Bishop Kore used regularly.

When the case was opened, it revealed all manner of precise instruments, including scalpels and the like. But there was no holy aura on them, no sacred radiance at all—only black bloodstains left behind by long use, stains that had never been fully cleaned away.

“Who examined this child last time?”

“Father Webber.”

“And the result?”

“There’s a tumor on the left side of her abdomen. It’s cancer.”

“As I thought...”

“Your Excellency had already noticed?”

“To prevent that fat sheep from asking questions about it, I naturally had to confirm it in advance. But if I’d known Father Webber had already confirmed it, I wouldn’t have needed to waste the mental energy.”

“It was still good to confirm it again.”

The nun gently loosened Aviva’s outer clothes. Beneath the pitiful, neatly wrapped chest binder was a young body so emaciated it was shocking to look at.

“Do you still want a more detailed examination?”

“Heh, there’s no need. Even the worst-case outcome would only be accidentally cutting the wrong place. And even if I do cut the wrong place, so what? At worst, I’ll just use a bit more Holy Light to patch her up afterward.”

Bishop Kore looked at the sleeping Aviva and smiled.

“I like cancer best. To ordinary people, it’s an incurable terminal illness. No matter how expensive the medicine, it can’t resolve those lumps of flesh that keep growing inside the body. But to me... it’s the finest illness there is.”