"Hey, kids! Don't make trouble for our princess, Serena!" Jester spoke playfully.
"Hey, hey, Captain!"
"That's good. If you behave, I'll buy you all some sweets soon."
He smirked. "It'll be a surprise."
As they walked toward the main church, it took them around twenty minutes from the orphanage, with the smaller chapel standing quietly beside it.
When they entered through the main gate, Jester froze.
In front of him stood a massive church — dark and majestic. Its walls were carved from black stone that shimmered faintly with shades of deep blue. The tall spires pierced the clouds, and the stained-glass windows glowed with an eerie light that made the air feel heavy.
The huge doors, engraved with symbols he didn't understand, looked like they could crush a man flat if they closed. One look was enough to tell it cost far more than ordinary money for a church.
The only question was, why spend that kind of wealth in a city this dark?
"So that's how they use the money," Jester muttered. "People can't find food or medicine, the city's filthy and full of corruption, yet they build a massive church right next to another one. Even the kids in the orphanage barely get decent food."
He clicked his tongue. "And according to my information, they're only responsible for one orphanage. Heh… what a joke. And people still believe in them."
He sighed, then turned to Serena.
"I'm excited, Serena. It's my first time being here. May I ask you a favor?"
She looked at him curiously. "What is it?"
"I want to walk around and see the place, but I don't want to bother you. So, may I ask you to let Moriarty show me around? We can get to know each other a little."
"Okay," she said softly. "I agree."
"Hey, Moriarty," Jester called. "You're coming with me."
"Moriarty," Serena said gently, "please don't make trouble for Mr. Jester, alright?"
"Okay, Serena. I'll follow your orders."
Serena knelt down, lowering herself to Moriarty's height, and kissed him on the forehead. After that, Jester took Moriarty with him to look around, leaving Serena behind.
As they disappeared from her sight, Moriarty spoke quietly.
"I'll continue alone. I'll explore and gather some information. You can help me by doing the same… or just enjoy looking around."
Jester nodded and turned to Velmoro. They walked off in another direction, away from Moriarty.
"Hey, Jester," Velmoro said. "You're really going to follow his orders?"
"For now, yeah," Jester replied. "We're no match for him. The smartest thing we can do is stay out of his grasp."
He glanced toward the church.
"And besides… we can't be sure he'll even keep his promise. Our priority now is to get stronger by completing our procedures. So we can finish the Ritual."
Jester stood near the courtyard, his eyes wandering between the people kneeling before the massive church doors.
Poor, tired faces.
Dirty clothes.
Hands lifted toward the sky, begging for a miracle that would never come.
He exhaled sharply.
"So this is faith, huh? Praying to walls while your stomach's empty."
He chuckled dryly. "Humans really are experts at lying to themselves."
"God gave us everything… and in the end, we're the ones who created the idea of possession — that's mine, that's yours."
He shook his head. "Then we start fighting each other out of greed, killing one another for it."
"As a logical guy, people should worship God because He deserves it — not because they expect to gain anything. But people use God's name to chain and deceive each other."
"They blame Him for being unjust, for making some rich and others poor. This beautiful and this ugly, this strong and this weak. If we talk about equality in the definition of humanity… people should all have the same face, the same power, the same height, the same gender, the same abilities," Jester said with a dry grin. "That's the only way to reach true equality, right? We should all be clones of each other. Because the moment one person is slightly different, humans start screaming about unfairness."
He let out a small laugh. "Equality, huh? What a fragile belief. But maybe… He already knows what choices we'll make. And in the end, we'll judge Him by our own broken morals — morals that bend whenever it benefits us."
He sighed deeply. "If people had simply fed the hungry, their faith would've grown stronger than any sermon."
"God wrote your fate… but you must walk to see it."
He paused, then spoke quietly, almost to himself:
"It's like any place in the Kingdom … Two boys were born with the same rare talent — the power to control fire. Both carried the same mana seed, the same potential, the same destiny written in the ancient records of magic.
The first woke up at dawn every day to train. He burned himself many times, lost control, nearly died, but he never stopped. Years later, his name echoed among the great sorcerers — they called him The Flame of Dawn.
The second boy, however, said, 'If power is my destiny, it will awaken on its own.' He waited… and nothing happened. Then he grew angry. 'God has not been fair to me. He has forgotten me.'
But the truth wasn't in God — it was in his own hands, which never moved.
Fate had written that both would become great mages. But only one walked the path to open that door. The other simply stood before it, complaining it was locked."
He looked back at the praying crowd and muttered,
"So that's the moral ground of humans?"
He clenched his jaw. "I hate them… even if I may be one of them."
Velmoro glanced around nervously.
"You should lower your voice," he whispered. "Someone might hear us and think we're infidels."
Jester ignored him. His gaze shifted to a large painting hanging beneath the archway — a woman in pure white robes, surrounded by blinding light. Her hands stretched outward, and beneath her feet, people knelt in the shadows, faceless and small.
At the bottom, a line was carved:
"Through suffering, we are cleansed."
Jester frowned. "What kind of sick joke is that?"
"That's the Saint of Purity."
A calm voice spoke behind him. He turned to see a young priest — nineteen, maybe twenty at most. His hair was pale silver, and his eyes… blue, but too cold, too calm to belong to someone that young.
The priest smiled softly. "You seem troubled, my child."
Jester scoffed. "Child? You're barely older than me."
"Age doesn't matter in faith," the priest replied. "Only devotion does."
Jester crossed his arms. "Devotion, huh? Tell that to the starving people outside your holy walls."
The priest didn't flinch. "Suffering is part of the divine plan. Those who endure it are the purest in the eyes of the Saint."
"That's easy to say when you're the one eating well."
The young priest simply smiled. "You misunderstand. Pain cleanses us. Poverty, loss, despair — they strip away the false self. Only through pain can one truly see."
Jester's smirk faltered. For a moment, something in the priest's tone felt real. Heavy. Almost convincing.
"Okay," Jester said, voice low. "I'll agree with that — if we all suffer equally. Then maybe God made us suffer. But when one man drowns in misery while another dines in gold? That's not divine. That's human."
His head throbbed — thoughts twisting and colliding like waves in a storm.
He looked up at the priest.
"Pain cleanses us, huh? Then tell me — why does it choose some and not others? Why does a beggar rot in the streets while a noble eats off gold?"
The young priest's eyes softened. "Because trials differ for everyone. Some are tested by hardship, others by abundance."
Jester let out a quiet laugh — sharp, bitter.
"So one suffers because he's weak, and the other sins because he's full? Sounds like a perfect circle of excuses."
He stepped closer, his grin faint but cutting.
"If your one who claims to be God wants balance, why not make everyone equal from the start? Same hunger, same pain, same joy — no reason to envy or hate."
The priest's calm cracked slightly; his voice trembled.
"Because without difference, there's no choice. And without choice, there's no faith."
Jester tilted his head, eyes narrowing.
"Faith built on uneven pain… what a cruel game."
He smirked. "Tell me, Father — if this is His way, who's the real jester? Me… or your one who claims he is God?"
Jester continued, his voice dropping cold as his eyes opened wide.
"The answer is no one. No one alive can claim to understand God… or to be one."
He took a step back, his gaze unwavering.
As he passed the priest, his voice trailed behind playfully, yet laced with venom.
"You should review your perspectives, priest… before you regret it."
The priest stayed silent, lips trembling but faith unshaken.
Jester chuckled softly.
"Morals? Just a rod humans forged to beat down anyone who dares to disobey.
As for me, good or bad — those are just beliefs. I don't follow them from anyone's perspective but my own."
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Don't forget to leave some comments and read my best work, Shoujo Hater — it has 43 chapters, and it's better than Jester.