Chapter 115: SUN-YOUNG: Sleeping A Mile

“Ngh…”

Sun-young slowly opened her eyes, blinking against the harsh brightness. Confusion swept through her as she tried to piece together the last memories she had. The sharp pain she’d felt moments ago was now replaced by a soothing calmness that enveloped her entire being.

Sun-young glanced down at herself, expecting to see bubbling acid erupt from her stomach, but to her astonishment, there wasn’t a scratch on her. It all came crashing down on her. The memories. The healing. The desperation.

“Heavenly Resurgence!”

“C-Commander?! It’s not working—”

“I know! Supreme Magic—”

She closed her eyes again. She couldn’t remember much after that. Commander Cedric hurled a ball of white magic into her wound and…that was it. That was the extent of her memory.

She checked her surroundings and noticed she was lying on a comfortable couch in what seemed to be a classical office. Green-brown walls ripe with Christian imagery, from paintings to carved walls. All of a sudden, Sun-young was reminded of her grandparents and the stories they told. They were staunch Christians, unlike her parents, and were adamant in Sun-young not turning out like them.

On one side, there was a mural illustrating the Good Samaritan parable. Adjacent to it was a smaller but detailed painting capturing the moment when Moses split the seas. Next to the door, a series of framed prints narrated the story of the Prodigal Son, depicting his departure, struggles, and eventual return. Sun-young never considered herself particularly religious. Today, however, she seemed to be nostalgic about it.

Blinking, judging each of the paintings, she was caught by the sudden opening of the door. Not a single strand of hair adorned his scalp while a strange circle of white hair wrapped around his head. From head to toe, he was covered in white, his robe long and meaningful.

“Yoon Sun-young. Excellent to see you in good health.” The aged man glanced at the paintings and smiled at her. “Beautiful, are they not?”

“Where… am I?” she murmured, her voice still raspy.

“My office.” Sleeves together, he strode forward. Sun-young tensed. “Commander Cedric said to sent you to the barracks but I thought that was inhumane.”

“…barracks? Like dorms?”

“Something like that.” The old man sat down beside her, his smile refusing to die down. “Onto more important matters, is everything different with you? Or the same?”

“The same,” she replied.

“So you’re feeling alright?”

“I’m feeling…great.” Better than ever, in fact. She eyed the older gentleman, though for some reason, she wasn’t able to remember his name and settled with, “Chaplain.”

As if reading her mind, he introduced himself, “You might be feeling dazed. I’m Phillip, remember? Philip, rhymes with give lip.”

“Right.” Sun-young hid her embarrassment well, courtesy of her dazed state. “Sammy…and Ella, right? I should thank them.”

“Samuel and Emma,” Phillip corrected. “They are down training. Either that or fooling about. They talk more than a preacher at Easter,” he joked. “I am sure they will appreciate seeing you in good health. Although I would like you to speak to you before that.”

Sun-young blinked twice. His expression was awfully grave.

“Are you…Catholic?”

Sun-young tried not to react. ’Don’t tell me…’

“Just kidding!” Phillip was smiling again. “Do not worry, we Templars welcome all. Did I get you? Did I?”

“…yes.”

Really yes. For a moment, Sun-young thought she was going to have to fight for her life.

“Great! Now that I have a bit of your trust…” Wait, was that what that was? “The last time you came here, you mentioned a Wendigo. As one of ten Chaplains in the Templar Order, I am privy to information that most are not and…how to put this kindly? Neither I nor the Marshals have heard of such a thing on Gate 5.”

Sun-young remained silent. Philip’s smile softened and he asked kindly, “Were you telling the truth? Did you really fight a Wendigo? There’s the matter of your current injury too. I don’t understand how you could have experienced magic of this level.”

“What are you trying to say?”

Phillip took a deep breath. “I am saying that if a former player is taking advantage of your party, then please, let me know. We Templars can help.”

Sun-young gave a blank stare, then drifted to the floor. ’What? How in the world did he come to that conclusion?’

“The bite on your friend William was thick with dark magic and so was your injury. I do not believe it could be from the works of a monster in the current gates. I heard Commander Cedric’s remarks—both you and William experienced Third Class magic.”

’So he’s suspecting abuse?’

Sun-young shook her head. “No.”

“No…no what?”

“It is nothing like you said it is. The Wendigo does exist. As for me…” Sun-young inhaled. “I was not hurt by a former player, but a current player. A man by the name of Jack.”

“Jack did this to you? No, that’s impossible. He can’t be here. No player could possibly be this strong this early. It has to have been damage accumulated overtime.”

“You saved my life and William’s. I wouldn’t lie. It was a player.”

“A Class Three player already?” Philip put a shaky hand to his mouth. “Lord, have mercy. Don’t tell me this is a repeat of the Golden Days…?”

Golden…days? Like the Golden Generation everyone kept yapping about?

“But…that still doesn’t answer the question about the Wendigo,” Philip said.

Sun-young shrugged. What more could she say to convince him? “Maybe it was a glitch.”

“The Heavenly Tower does not glitch. It’s impossible. How do I put this…?” Phillip trailed off, muttering. “Ah! There was this man, Arturo Toscaninithe, the greatest maestro of his time. He would do something called…sponsors.”

“I know what a sponsor is.”

“Oh. Oh, I see.” He sounded super disappointed. It looked like he wanted to talk about the maestro more. “Ahem! Then that makes it simpler to explain. The gods are sponsors and the workers of the Heavenly Tower are their architects. They build the vision of the gods via their divine power.”

“So?”

“So, the Architects would never allow a glitch as you put it. Glitches do not exist. Either the Wendigo was made by the architect or the god.” Philip turned silent and laughed. “Perhaps I am overthinking it. Maybe it was just a one-time monster for a specific gate. I suppose that isn’t out of the realm of possibility.”

’But it is out of the norm,’ Sun-young realized. ’So what we fought…we really weren’t supposed to fight it. If I hadn’t gotten the Majin-ken and Kazi wasn’t Kazi, then we would have died. No, if it was anyone but us, the players would have died.’

“You should go and see Emma and Samuel. I have some work to do.”

Knock, knock! A voice followed: “Padre? Are you available?”

“Hear that? That guy is a piece of work.” Philip winked at her. “That is my cue; or your cue, rather.” He went to the door and opened it up. Immediately, he patted the shoulder of the incomer. “Marshal Lucas! My friend! My comrade! Come in, come in! I was just welcoming a guest!”

The Marshal, the highest rank of the Templar Order underneath the Grand Master. The moment he stepped in, Sun-young felt it. An indescribable power that she was unable to gauge. Stronger than the Wendigo. Stronger than Kazi. Maybe even stronger than—

“Hm? A guest?” Blue eyes fell on her and she suppressed the urge to shiver. Standing tall and confident, the Templar Marshal cut an impressive figure. His striking bright brown hair cascaded in gentle waves, framing a chiselled and determined face. His piercing blue eyes held soft compassion, with the redness of the red cross on his black tunic its sharp contrast.

“A woman whom the rookies helped,” Philip explained.

“A Joseon woman? Or Nipponese?” The Marshal smiled down at her. She attempted to correct him, annoyed to no end, but he spoke over her. “Regardless! I am happy our men helped you! It is the way of the Templar, after all.”

Sun-young pursed her lips and gave a silent nod. She immediately knew his type. Powerful, influential men that, while not cruel, were tone deaf. Give them an inch and they will take it a mile.

“Know this, my lady, no other guild other than the Templars would offer such services.” Marshal Lucas nodded with vigour. “It is in our teachings. It is in our Lord’s grace. Romans 8:28 reassures us, ’And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.’”

’Yep, taking it a mile.’

“It’s in these words that we find solace, understanding that even in the midst of trials, there’s a greater plan at work, woven by our Lord’s grace. You were destined to get hurt, and so we were destined to meet.”

’Great.’

Apparently, the Marshal didn’t know when to stop talking. “I know perhaps it sounds strange. Even I waver at this notion, but always remember—Psalm 23:1: ’The Lord is my shepherd, I lack nothing.’ The comforting truth that we are always given what we need. We are given pain because it is exactly what we deserve.” Marshal Lucas jammed a finger in her direction. “For you, my dear lady, it is here, with us. Perhaps you will join us, perhaps not. Nevertheless, you have learned from this experience. You have learned of our ways and grown to appreciate it, and that is for the best.”

“Mm.”

The Marshal blinked, slightly taken back from her blank response and her lack of eye contact. He straightened up to clear his throat. “Ahem, ahem. The Padre and I have important matters to discuss.”

“Do we?” Phillip wore the expression of a jokester. “I presumed you were here for tea.”

“No, no, we most certainly have an important matter to discuss.”

“Not true,” Phillip told Sun-young. “The Marshals most of their time drinking wine and eating bread. Training? That’s really just a way to lose the extra pounds.”

Sun-young didn’t wait for the back and forth to finish. She got off the couch and headed for the door. Along the way, she gave Philip a thankful nod, who winked in return.

The outside world was familiar. She was standing among the various cone-shaped castle-like buildings of the Jacques Sanctum. Below were hundreds of Templar Knights and the many divided sections of the training facility. There was a lot to take in, but it didn’t matter; it was time to find Emma and Samuel.

’…what did they look like again?’

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