"Why am I here again?"

Luther asked flatly, his face an expression of pure confusion and regret.

He was seated on a polished brown chair, a wide wooden desk before him. On the desk lay two thick history books—one open, one still untouched—and behind Elder Haro stood a massive white board cluttered with maps, drawings, and notes that looked like a mix between a geography lesson and a conspiracy theory.

And of course, surrounding them were endless rows of books stacked to the ceiling. The smell of parchment and old paper filled the air.

A library. A really big, boring library.

Luther groaned and slouched lower into the chair, staring blankly at the glowing board. The demonic sword, currently disguised as a black necklace, lay around his neck like a smug reminder of how ridiculous his life had become.

"The Aoriphian Empire," Elder Haro began, his thin hand tapping the map with his cane, "was built upon the ruins of the small village of Emir and has prospered ever since."

He circled the map dramatically, his cane almost stabbing through it.

Luther blinked once.

Then twice.

Then sighed.

"Elder Haro," he raised his hand lazily, "is it really necessary for me to know this?"

The elder froze mid-step, slowly turning to face him with sharp eyes that gleamed behind his round spectacles.

"Yes, dear Saint—very necessary!" he declared with the seriousness of someone revealing the secrets of the universe.

Luther inwardly rolled his eyes.

Here we go again…

Elder Haro began pacing up and down like a general before battle. "As the Saint of the Land, your mission—your only purpose—is to heal the sick, aid the weak, and bring light wherever darkness lingers! But you, my dear boy," he jabbed the cane at Luther, "are still far from those heavenly saints sung about in books and fairy tales."

Luther lazily flipped through his open book, pretending to listen.

He says that as if I ever asked to be a fairy-tale saint. If I had a coin for every speech I've heard that started with 'your only purpose,' I'd have retired by now.

Elder Haro continued dramatically, "How can a Saint help people when he doesn't even know them? Are you expected to just walk into a town and heal everyone you see?"

"Yes," Luther said without hesitation, his tone completely deadpan.

The elder's mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. He looked like a fish gasping for air.

"If a Saint is tasked to help everyone but doesn't because of status or rank," Luther continued, tapping his ear where the holy mark faintly glowed, "then isn't he dishonoring his own name? A Saint bears a god's mark, not a crown. Shouldn't he be willing to heal even criminals?"

There was silence.

Elder Haro blinked twice, his confident expression crumbling.

"Well—yes, yes, that is… true," he stammered, clearing his throat. "But the Aoriphian Empire is different, you see."

"Of course it is," Luther muttered under his breath, flipping another page.

"This is a place divided into three," the elder continued, ignoring the sarcasm. "The royals—our king and his noble family. The nobles themselves—those who serve as elders, generals, or merchants of influence. And lastly…"

"The commoners," Luther said, already sounding bored.

Elder Haro smiled proudly. "Ah, it seems you are following along."

Following along? Does he not realize I was literally born a commoner? Or does the title Saint just erase your past now?

Elder Haro went on and on about how the Empire's founding principles were rooted in unity and divine blessing, but Luther's brain had already checked out. His eyes drifted down to the book on his desk.

The chapter heading read: The Founding of Aoriphia.

He began reading half-heartedly.

"The Aoriphian Empire was built on the ruins of Emir Village, destroyed by a dragon attack. Though the village lacked magic, it was renowned for its warriors. Its young leader, Yieli, survived the fall and later became the first king of Aoriphia."

Luther's lips twitched upward in amusement.

"Well, would you look at that," he whispered to himself. "I never thought I'd see that name again."

He leaned back, tapping the edge of the book thoughtfully. "Yieli, the first king of Aoriphia."

"Saint Luther!" Elder Haro's voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

"Yes?"

"Are you reading something useful or daydreaming again?"

"Actually, both," Luther said honestly, earning a sigh from the old man.

He raised his hand. "Why isn't Yieli called Asme like the next generation after him?"

Elder Haro blinked, looking momentarily thrown off.

"Well… we don't actually know," he said after a pause. "The records never mentioned why he refused the title. He simply allowed his children to bear it."

Luther frowned. "Isn't that stupid?"

The elder choked. "S-Stupid?!"

"Yeah. If he knew his descendants would take the name anyway, why not accept it himself? A god's name is supposed to be holy, isn't it?"

Elder Haro gave him a nervous smile. "Well, yes, but that's a question historians have debated for centuries."

"Then they must be really bad historians," Luther muttered.

Honestly, this whole lesson feels more like a punishment than enlightenment. If this keeps up, I might just heal my own ears to stop listening.

Elder Haro coughed and pointed his cane again. "Moving on! Now, as for the Holy Staff—"

But before he could continue, Luther leaned forward, curious for once.

"Yes, the Holy Staff. I've been meaning to ask—what exactly is it?"

The elder froze.

His eyes darted left, then right, then to the ceiling, as if hoping divine intervention would save him from the question.

"Well… ah… the Holy Staff is, um… very holy," he stammered, already backing toward the exit.

Luther's brow arched. "That's not an answer."

"I—I believe we're out of time for today's session!" Elder Haro said quickly, clutching his cane like a lifeline. "We shall continue tomorrow, yes, yes—tomorrow will be your last lesson!"

"My last lesson?" Luther tilted his head. "Why tomorrow?"

The old man hesitated. "Because… because as a Saint, you must see the world, not just read about it! And, ah—there's been a request from a village near the Enferi Forest that requires healing."

Luther blinked. "...What?"

Elder Haro smiled nervously. "Yes, yes! The Church has already accepted the request. The High Father has assigned you to go there."

"Wait. Without asking me first?"

"Well, the Father said Saints don't get to choose their duties—"

Luther stood, his chair scraping back loudly. "Oh, for the love of—! You're telling me I sat through this entire boring lecture just to find out I'm being shipped off to some random forest?!"

Elder Haro began inching toward the door. "You'll do wonderfully, I'm sure! Excellent field experience!"

Luther's left eye twitched. "Elder Haro."

"Yes, dear Saint?"

"Run."

"What—"

"RUN!"

The old man yelped and bolted out of the library, his robes fluttering behind him as Luther shouted threats about burning the lesson notes and feeding them to the demonic sword.

The necklace on his neck snickered.

"You really do scare old men for fun, don't you?"

"Shut up," Luther grumbled, dragging his hand down his face. "I'm surrounded by idiots."

But as the sound of Elder Haro's hurried footsteps faded down the hall, Luther sighed and slumped back in his chair.

"Enferi Forest, huh…? Just what kind of mess am I walking into this time?"

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