"Then, have you ever seen an angel in person?"
The question came from a student whose eyes were shining like they'd just seen a holy vision.
Reasonable curiosity. After all, the myths say angels descend from their higher plane to hand out blessings and gifts—miracles so big they're still remembered centuries later.
For priests and theologians, meeting one is basically the jackpot.
And the truth? Yeah, it's not all fairy tales. Angels do exist. But of course, there are strings attached.
"Well, I've seen countless rituals and ceremonies during my duties," Madam Ophelia said with her usual gentle smile, "but never once has an angel appeared."
The student nodded, deflating a little. Understandable. Angels aren't vending machines where you throw in a hymn and get a miracle back.
…Though, honestly? It's a lot easier than people think.
'Easier than they'd ever want to believe, actually.'
That thought lingered as I quietly stood and walked toward Madam Ophelia.
"Excuse me, can I eat a little further away?"
She tilted her head, clearly wondering if my lunchbox was haunted.
"I just… feel a little uncomfortable eating here."
Realization flickered in her eyes, and she nodded.
Of course. Because to everyone here, I'm that guy.
The one who floored Elize with a single punch. The one who happened to be on the scene during Princess Lirielle's assassination attempt. The one who—apparently—let a dangerous opponent walk away during the entrance exam.
Rumors have a talent for mutating faster than plagues, and the people who believe them are always the ones who hated you in the first place.
So now, in their eyes, I'm not Adrian Merrick. I'm some no-name baron brat who lucked, cheated, or scammed his way into the spotlight.
Great reputation to have on day one.
"Just don't wander too far," Madam Ophelia said softly. "It's dangerous."
"Yes," I replied with a polite nod.
Of course, what they say or think is none of my concern.
On the contrary, I should probably thank them — their gossip made Madam Ophelia let me go without much fuss.
'Let's see…'
I walked until I was far enough that no one would bother me. There's nothing good about letting others see what I'm about to do.
Primarily in a theological sense.
"Alright."
I pulled out the items from my bag.
The Holy Expanse, along with the materials to light it.
Unicorn horn powder into the incense burner. Fire sparked from the phoenix feather. A careful flick of the coral fan to adjust the flame.
Smoke curled upward, drifting until it touched one of the floating light clusters — then clung, twisted, and began to take shape.
The Holy Expanse works like I said before: it's basically a phone, except instead of calling your mom, it lets you talk to things you normally can't.
To be exact, it drags beings from another plane into this one. That's the whole point of the Holy Expanse.
'If you think about it…'
The priests aren't wrong for making this place into their holy research site. The angelic presence here is ridiculously strong. After all, a Seraph built the barrier.
The problem is they've got angels all wrong.
In myths? Noble, divine, virtuous.
In reality?
Not even close.
The smoke-light mixture solidified — and several burly men appeared. White wings stretched behind them, golden halos floated over their heads. On the surface, it was textbook angel.
Then they opened their mouths.
"How the hell did these kids botch the prep work? Which unit screwed this up, Jinji's crew or Gary's?"
"Probably Gary's, sir."
"Those lazy bastards again? If Seraph-nim sees this, we're finished. Someone get their asses in line before I do it myself!"
I stared. Not exactly the hymn-singing paragons the bards like to gush about.
In the first place, walking around with hammers and shovels isn't exactly what you'd call dignified.
"…"
These angels looked less like holy messengers and more like… the military.
An extreme male-dominated society. Rigid ranks. Top-down hierarchy. A violent, suffocating atmosphere.
Basically, if a Seraph gave an order, everyone else jumped to carry it out — or else.
"We don't have enough holy water compound to plug the barrier! Can I borrow some?"
"You useless bastard. Hand me the brush, I'll do it myself. Kids these days can't do anything right. Back in my day—"
"…"
Listening to them, I was glad I came alone.
If a devout believer saw this, they'd collapse on the spot foaming at the mouth.
"Uh, Squad Leader… you see that human over there?"
"Yeah. Who the hell is he?"
"You mean the one staring at us?"
"It's probably nothing. At least he's quiet. Unlike those annoying bastards that pop up out of nowhere, screaming prayers until my ears bleed…"
Alright, let's be real here.
What meaning does a grand ceremony or ritual have in front of these guys?
They're dragged into manual labor they didn't ask for, working themselves raw, ready to snap at anyone who looks at them funny.
Now imagine dozens of priests swarming them, chanting scriptures on repeat.
It's not divine. It's harassment.
There's a reason angels don't "show themselves." It's not because they're mysterious or noble. It's because people are lucky one hasn't punched their collective faces in yet.
What angels actually want is… simple. Primitive.
I sighed and reached into my bag.
A bottle of harsh, high-proof alcohol — nothing fancy, just strong enough to burn. A cut of cheap market meat, greasy and heavy.
Basic stuff. Crude. Commoner's food.
But for workers sweating under impossible orders, it's the ultimate recovery set.
Pyeonyuk with a glass of makgeolli after breaking your back all day.
What more could anyone want?
"…This guy's got taste. Did he actually bring what we like?"
"…Should I go ask him for a little?"
"We cannot descend to the material world without the acknowledgement of the human who called us. The conditions aren't met, so what's the point of asking…"
"Ajusshis."
The noisy angels froze, like kids caught gossiping behind the teacher's back.
They realized I wasn't just staring blankly — I was paying attention.
I gave them the kind of smile you'd use when reminding someone of the obvious.
"If you keep working without eating, you'll wear yourselves out. Even heaven knows overtime without snacks is hell."
The angels' eyes flipped upside down.