### Chapter 119: Faith and Deity
The first class of the afternoon was theology.
Theology, being a required course, was the first lesson for the new students in the Royal Academy, and the girls from class 1504 were buzzing with excitement. Nobody wanted to take a lunch break, fearing tardiness, so they all showed up early in front of the teaching building.
The teaching building was a massive square structure that somewhat resembled ancient Babylonian architecture but was even more grandiose. The first floor featured enormous stone beams supported by stone pillars, and on either side of the gigantic open stone doors stood two lifelike lion statues, each over three meters tall. The outer layer of bluish-white stone bricks was nearly two meters thick, with unknown green plants growing in the cracks, extending up to the top and giving the whole building a vibrant, living feel.
I counted the floors—there were a total of nine. Each floor showcased rows of gigantic floor-to-ceiling windows that looked like arches, which probably connected to each classroom.
Although there weren’t traditional classes in the academy, the four dormitory towers had distinct classrooms for the same courses, different scheduling, and even different teachers. So the towers could be viewed as large classes, and I was part of the “Cilano Lakeside” first-year group… Seemingly makes sense, right?
Anyway, our classroom was on the fifth floor.
I trudged up the stone steps, following the directions on the course schedule, and finally arrived at a large stone house. The interior was quite as I had imagined—rows of wooden desks and chairs to choose from, and a podium made of smooth stone steps, although there wasn’t a blackboard.
After a quick look around, I chose a desk in the middle by the window, plopped my books “God and Faith” and “History of Gods” down on it, casually opened one to a random page, rested my chin on my hand, and waited for class to start in boredom.
At that moment, Sarah leaned over and whispered, “Peilo, Peilo… they’re all looking at you, heehee.”
She spoke like she’d just uncovered a massive secret, grinning with pure glee.
I gave her a puzzled glance.
Wait… they’re looking at me, not you. What’s with the smugness?
And do you think I enjoy this?
It’s torture, for crying out loud!
So I scrunched my face and pouted at her, “Annoying.”
Due to my acute sensitivity, I really dislike being stared at, especially when many people are doing it. It drives me nuts, but walking over and poking each of them in the eye wasn’t an option, so I had to bear it every single time.
But the gazes of the students around me were exceedingly “enthusiastic,” some even dripping with lewd intentions. What irritated me the most was that I could overhear a good lot of their chatter.
“Hey, look… that black-haired miss…”
“Dude, is she from our tower?!”
“Wow, she’s pretty…”
“Should you go introduce yourself?”
“…why don’t you go?”
“What if she ignores me…”
That was the polite version of their discussions. Some lower-tier jerks were huddling together whispering things that were downright unbearable, making me want to grab one by the collar and toss him out the window.
But there were far too many of these incidents. If I were to reckon with each one, I’d have no time left for anything else—just stuck dealing with this all day. So I forced myself to ignore them, treating them like cattle; let them say what they want.
Not long after chatting with Sarah, the teacher arrived. He looked to be in his forties, donned in the church’s light golden robes, with a friendly face and a smile that could melt stone.
As he stepped onto the stone platform, the students quieted down for a moment.
Then whispers started again.
“What’s going on?”
“Isn’t theology supposed to be taught by Sister Teresa?”
“Wasn’t she just here this morning?”
“Who is this teacher?”
“Cough, cough.” The robed man cleared his throat, and just like that, the atmosphere settled again.
He surveyed the classroom and said, “I bet most of you don’t know me. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Father Morgan from the Galahad Church in the Royal City, and I’ll be your theology teacher from now on. Starting today, I’ll shed light on the enchanting aspects of theology and faith.”
Clap, clap, clap—sporadic applause quickly swelled into a warm welcome. Father Morgan waved his hands to quiet them down, then broke into a broad grin.
“I know you’re all curious, right? You saw Sister Teresa this morning; why isn’t she teaching theology?”
“Yes, Father Morgan, why not?” someone asked.
Father Morgan stepped down from the podium.
“Quite unexpectedly, Sister Teresa isn’t the theology teacher due to some special reasons, but she will be engaging with you in another elective class. She has a busy schedule, and handling all those classes might be a bit much. I hope you’ll understand… Now, enough chit-chat.” He clapped his hands, “Let’s get to the point… but don’t open your books just yet. For this class, we won’t discuss the book’s content; instead, I’ll start us off with a story.”
…I gently closed my books, adjusted my posture, and focused my gaze on him.
Father Morgan began to share.
“First off, this story may be familiar to some of you, and unfamiliar to others. However, I’m sure everyone here has heard of Patrick, right?”
Someone in the back responded quickly, “Patrick is the first hero of humanity!”
Morgan snapped his fingers.
“Exactly! The story I have for you begins with our initial hero. Over a thousand years ago… well, even the great deities might struggle to specify the exact time…”
Despite being a clergyman, he was anything but stiff. His storytelling was lively and engaging, eliciting laughter from the audience.
Even I found myself unwittingly drawn in.
The lesson was simple; he told one long story about a young man named Patrick who met a deity and received a blessing.
That was the origin of faith.
Back in that time, there were many strange races inhabiting the world. There was the Immortal Race hidden deep within the Amigil Mountain Range, not only living forever but supposedly able to move mountains with sheer will.
And then there were the Fairy Clan, known for their exceptional brewing skills, sporting long, pointy ears that could hear wildlife cries from kilometers away, and with the ability to freely command trees and water, dubbed the children of the forest.
Yup, definitely elves.
Plus those gigantic dragons soaring through the skies, possessing powers of light and flame, formidable and unmatched… and so on. To humans, these races were all favored by the deities.
To them, humans lacked claws or fangs, couldn’t fly or even climb trees, were slow, weak, and barely lived for a hundred years. We were a species so wretched that mere existence seemed like a struggle; even a little wolf could rip us apart, and even a fungus could finish us off.
So pitiful.
So utterly weak it was like the world was playing a cruel joke.
Thus, humanity found itself on the brink of extinction until that young man named Patrick encountered a deity by sheer chance.
Patrick knelt and prayed to the great deity, telling them his kin faced annihilation. The deity, moved, lamented over humanity’s tenacity in the face of such overwhelming adversity.
“My child. Your sincerity has touched me. I will grant you the Fire Seed of faith, so your race may endure.”
And so, humanity received the newfound power—Faith’s power—bestowed by the deity.
This was the fledgling form of the Holy Church. Although back then, they were simply referred to as a group of “those favored by the deities.”
