Tuk. Tuk.
"Agh, my shouldersâ¦."
The old man lightly tapped his shoulders, groaning in exhaustion.
He liked to think his spirit was still as strong as ever, but his bodyâhis body could no longer lie about the weight of time. There wasnât a single part of him that didnât ache.
Just ten minutes. If only he could close his eyes for just ten minutes and restâ¦
"Bishop Raphael! The frontline against the demonic beasts is requesting priests. They say itâs urgentâhow should we respond?"
"âSo Iâm not even allowed to rest, huh."
There was no time to close his eyes.
Urgency bled through the priestâs report, and it didnât stop there.
"Weâve received word from the border! A demonic outbreak is imminentâthey need healing priests or medics immediately!"
"A plague is emerging. Since last month, the number of priests assigned to rural areas has been insufficient, and villages that lacked proper oversight seem to have succumbed to disease."
"Urgent message from the royal capitalâ¦."
"â¦â¦Ha."
A relentless stream of reports, one after another. Raphael could feel a headache creeping in.
"Your Holiness!"
"â¦Iâm not the Holy King."
"Ah! Bishop!"
"Mmâ¦."
At this point, he had given up correcting them.
He wasnât sure if his brothers in faith were doing it on purpose, but they kept calling him either the Holy King or the Bishop.
It made him uncomfortable.
But he couldnât bring himself to scold them.
Because, in truthâ
"âYouâre the only one they have left to rely on."
"Oh, Brother Roen."
"Donât call me brother. Iâm neither a follower of the God of Light nor someone who tolerates the Temple."
"Then shall I call you Young Master instead?"
"â¦Thatâs even worse. Just use my name."
"Heh, very well, Roen."
"â¦â¦."
Roen Dmitri de Lionel.