Father Columbia, a 30-year-old man with sharp black hair and neatly framed glasses, looked like a perfectly traditional priest pulled straight from a metropolitan cathedral back on Earth. The moment his eyes processed the jagged text on my note, the serene air of a preacher melted into the calculating focus of a man harboring a massive, cosmic secret.
He glanced toward the heavy entrance of the sanctuary to ensure the doors were fully shut, then turned back to my tall, blood-crimson silhouette.
"Come with me, sister, I have a word for you."
He gestured for me to follow, his flowing robes whispering against the stone floor as he led me past the altar and into a small, private side room. It was a classic sacristy. The narrow space was packed with rich cedar wardrobes housing ceremonial cassocks, rows of polished silver and gold chalices, stacks of unleavened communion wafers, and various holy items used to maintain his hidden ministry.
I took a seat across from him on a simple wooden stool, the three heavy firearms strapped against my compressed blood-wings clicking faintly beneath my trench coat.
Father Columbia leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk, his eyes locked onto the swirling black shadow of my Leech's Hollow Mask.
"Sister... let's conversate in English, like on Earth," he said smoothly.
The moment the foreign syllables left his mouth, a strange, jarring sensation rippled through my mind. English. It was a language I hadn't spoken or thought in for years… a distant, fading echo from my past life before I was dragged into this brutal fantasy world. Ever since my reincarnation, my mind had been forcibly rewired by the grueling reality of my upbringing.
Because my harsh parents had relentlessly forced me to become a high-level Appraiser, I hadn't been allowed the luxury of combat training like my siblings, who were groomed from birth to be elite soldiers. Instead, my childhood was an endless, grueling cycle of isolation and study. I spent every waking hour locked away in dim libraries, stuffed with nothing but training and books, forced to master the three complex languages of the Andromeda continent: Alatist, Dalon, and Carianese. I had become a flawless multi-dialect appraiser by blood and force, but the sheer volume of fantasy linguistics had nearly choked out my original identity. I had almost completely forgotten my own mother tongue.
I sat there in the quiet sacristy, closing my single jade-green eye beneath the mask as I forced my brain to dig deep into the dusty, forgotten corners of my Earth memories. Word by word, syntax by syntax, I slowly rebuilt the structure of the English language in my head, pulling it to the surface through sheer willpower.
But remembering how to form the words didn't change the agonizing physical reality of my body. I was completely, permanently tongueless.
Moving with deliberate care, I pulled out my notepad and my fresh, unbroken pencil. I pressed the graphite to the paper and carefully scrawled a short, grammatically raw sentence in the language of our old world. I tore the sheet away and handed it directly to the priest:
Father, I am mute.
Father Columbia leaned back slightly, a look of profound, melancholic understanding washing over his features as he read the English words on my note. When he spoke next, the familiar, comforting cadences of the old world flowed from his lips, striking a chord deep within my chest. My mind, still stiff from years of analyzing Alatist, Dalon, and Carianese texts, struggled for a fraction of a second to process the syntax, but the meaning hit me with absolute clarity.
"I understand, sister, my name in this world is Columbia Kiev. But my past name... I was Bishop Carnaby Purtelus. I lived and served in Vatican City. My earthly life ended because I chose to donate my heart to an orphaned child who desperately needed a transplant to survive. When I closed my eyes in that hospital, I woke up here, tasked with spreading His word in this cold metropolis. And you, sister... what is your past name? Who were you before you became this hunter?" Columbia said softly in English, his voice echoing gently off the rows of cassocks hanging in the sacristy.
A sharp, electric shock rippled straight through my spine beneath the compressed lining of my crimson trench coat.
A Bishop from the Vatican.
I stared at him through the swirling shadow of the Leech's Hollow Mask, my single jade-green eye widening in complete, unadulterated awe. He hadn't died from a disease, an accident, or a violent crime… he had willingly surrendered his own life, giving away his very heart so an orphaned child could have a future. It was a staggering, beautiful act of pure self-sacrifice. And it mirrored my own tragic end so closely it made my throat ache with phantom tears. He had given his heart; I had given my entire body to shield the boy I loved.
With my right hand trembling slightly, I pressed the fresh pencil against my notepad. I dug deep into my memories, pulling out the English spellings of the city, the country, and the boy that used to be my entire world. I wrote out my true confession, tore the page away, and handed it to the Bishop:
My name is Eirene Rynd, but you can call me Roxanne Albatross. I lived in Manila, Philippines. I died because I threw myself in front of a speeding van to save my crush, Marcel.
Father Columbia adjusted his glasses as he read the note, his eyes tracking the words Manila, speeding van, and Marcel. For a long moment, the sacristy went completely silent. Then, a deeply emotional, bittersweet smile broke across his face, and he looked up at my formidable, weapon-laden silhouette with immense reverence.
" Manila... a beautiful, faithful city, It seems the Lord works in truly mysterious ways, Roxanne. Both of us... we did not end our earthly lives out of malice, greed, or despair. We died in imitation of the ultimate love… by laying down our lives for another. You threw yourself before a rushing iron beast to shield the one you cherished, and I gave a piece of myself so a lonely child could breathe. It is no wonder we were brought here with our memories intact."
He leaned forward, his gaze dropping to the heavy alchemical crate at my feet and the unmistakable outline of firearms resting against my spine, though his tone remained entirely devoid of judgment.
"You have been given a heavy, violent path in this world, Eirene, but a soul that is capable of throwing itself in front of a speeding van out of pure love... that light does not simply vanish, no matter how many monsters or cartels try to drag you into the dark. Tell me, sister, what brings a heroic soul like yours to my doorstep today? How can this humble priest help you on your crusade?"
I reached into my pocket, the words of the Bishop echoing deeply within my chest. Hearing him mention Manila brought a sudden, vivid wave of nostalgia… the humid air, the sound of jeepneys, and the crowded parish churches of my youth. I pressed my pencil down, the graphite moving smoothly over the paper as I wrote out my next response in English:
I was an altar server back then. I wanted to know the truth. Are there other reincarnated beings in this world?
Father Columbia took the note, his eyes tracing the words "altar server" with a look of fond, paternal warmth, before his expression shifted into a deeper, theological gravity. He set the paper down on his cedar desk, resting his chin in his hands as he looked at the swirling darkness covering my face.
"An altar server... you truly were close to the sanctuary, even then, well, sister, God gives us mysteries. To be completely honest with you, this is the very first time I have ever encountered another reincarnated soul like you. For years, I was completely alone in this city. I even began doubting myself, wondering if my mind was playing tricks on me. I kept asking, 'Is this truly God's divine intervention, or am I trapped in some grand illusion?' But I couldn't just sit idly by. I began to investigate, to observe, and to piece together how we fit into this strange realm."
The priest leaned back, his eyes distant as he looked up at the racks of black cassocks, folding his hands over his robes.
"Right after I died in that Vatican hospital, I didn't appear in these streets as an adult, I reincarnated as a helpless baby, born into a minor noble family. And just like you, Eirene, I could not understand a single word of their language at first. It was terrifying. I had the mind of a grown theologian, but the body of an infant, surrounded by people speaking a tongue I had never heard in all my years of study on Earth. So, I had to adapt. I spent my early years silently watching, listening, and learning to read their texts until I could speak Carianese and Alatist perfectly."
He paused, a shadow of profound grief crossing his face behind his glasses as he gestured toward the Christian Cross visible through the open sacristy door.
"As I grew older and began studying the history of this land, the truth became painfully clear. I realized that this world's religion is entirely different from Christianity. There is no concept of Christ, no gospels of grace, and no salvation as we know it. The people here bow to power, to mana, and to arbitrary gods of war and status. That is why I built this sanctuary in the 7th District. I realized my purpose wasn't to fight with steel, but to preserve the light of the true God in a wilderness that has completely forgotten Him."
Father Columbia sighed softly, his fingers tapping a slow, rhythmic pattern against the polished wood of his desk.
"So, because of this stark difference in religion, I decided to investigate the local theological texts myself, and as I dug deeper into the ancient lore of Caria and the surrounding nations, I noticed something fascinating. The pantheon, the tales of arbitrary wrath, the demigods… it shares striking similarities with ancient Greek mythology. Tell me, Eirene, did you ever take an interest in the Greeks back on Earth?"
I lifted my right hand and quickly scrawled a response, shaking my head firmly in the negative before holding up the paper. I simply declined. Back on Earth, my family… the Albatrosses… had been devout, deeply rooted in the Catholic faith. That was the environment that had nurtured me, the place where I had proudly worn the white robes of an altar server, dedicating my weekends to the sanctuary.
But this fantasy world was a dark, unholy inversion. The Rynd family, the noble bloodline I had been forcefully reborn into, were cold, pragmatic non-believers. They didn't bow to gods, grace, or mercy; their only "specialty" was the ruthless appraisal of magical value, raw power, and linguistic data. I had been raised in a spiritual vacuum here, surrounded by a family that viewed faith as a weakness.
Father Columbia read my answer and nodded understandingly, his eyes reflecting a deep, historical gravity behind his glasses.
"I see. It makes sense given the house you were raised in, but listen closely, sister. Because my investigation into this world's origins uncovered something far more grand… and far more terrifying… than mere localized mythology. Based on the rarest, most restricted history books I could scavenge across the districts, the world we are standing in was completely rewritten one thousand years ago."
He adjusted his glasses, his expression darkening.
"One thousand years ago, a catastrophic, apocalyptic war erupted between three distinct factions: the humans, the demi-humans, and the demons. The conflict reached such a horrific climax that the apex heroes of each faction unleashed a synchronized, world-shattering attack. Before that strike, this entire world was a single, unified landmass… much like the Pangea of our Earth's ancient history. But the sheer, localized density of that magical impact literally tore the crust apart, shattering the Pangea and separating it into three distinct continents."
The priest gestured broadly with his hands, tracing imaginary borders in the air.
"The natives here named these continents after astronomical bodies they observed in the night sky. First is Andromeda, the human continent where we currently reside. Second is the Milky Way, the demi-human continent. And third is the Triangulum, the desolate continent of the demons. According to the ancient records, the humans are passive, structural creatures driven by order and hierarchy. The demi-humans are largely neutral, inherently kind, and peaceful creatures who simply wish to blend into human civilization without conflict. And the demons..."
Columbia paused, his gaze dropping significantly to the sleek, compressed back panels of my blood-themed crimson trench coat. He knew exactly what lay hidden beneath the fabric.
"The demons were classified as inherently aggressive, apex predators driven by a biological urge for violence and dominion. Because of the lingering trauma of that thousand-year-old war, the laws of the Andromeda continent are absolute and draconian. If a single demon is discovered breathing here on the human continent, they are not captured, questioned, or shown mercy. They are immediately hunted down and killed on the spot by the Bureau and the mercenary guilds."
A cold, heavy silence settled over the sacristy. The words hung in the air like a death sentence, perfectly explaining why the entire kingdom wanted the head of the "Crimson Phantom" for a staggering sixteen gold pieces. To them, my folded blood-wings weren't just a physical mutation… they were the ultimate symbol of the ancient enemy, a walking declaration of war standing right in the heart of their city.
Father Columbia leaned forward, his hands clasping together on the cedar desk as his eyes locked intensely onto the dark, swirling shadow of my Leech's Hollow Mask. The academic tone vanished, replaced by the sharp, burning curiosity of a theologian standing on the edge of a cosmic revelation.
"Tell me, Eirene, what was the very first thing you heard before you reincarnated into this world? Right at the boundary between your death on Earth and your birth here?"
A cold, vivid shudder rippled straight down my spine beneath my compressed crimson trench coat. The question forcefully dragged my mind back to that fateful, terrifying sunny day in Manila. I could vividly remember the blinding glare of the headlights, the horrific screech of tires, and the agonizing impact as I threw my body forward to push Marcel out of the way of the speeding van.
Then, the pain had suddenly vanished. My vision had faded into a vast, suffocating abyss of absolute blackness. And right there, in the silent void between life and death, an eerie, echoed voice of a woman had vibrated directly into my soul.
[Human Skill Obtained: Blood Curse, Inspect]
I reached for my notepad, my right hand moving with frantic precision as I translated that haunting memory into English text, ensuring I detailed the exact mechanics of the divine traits I had been branded with at birth:
I heard the voice of a lady. She granted me two human skills. First, Blood Curse… which allows me to consume and biologically process raw blood without suffering from fatal hemochromatosis or iron overload. Second, Inspect… which allows me to view the exact stats and attributes of people and items.
Father Columbia pulled the note closer, adjusting his glasses as he read the descriptions. A look of sudden, profound realization flashed across his face, his eyes widening behind the lenses.
"The voice of a lady… Based on the deepest mythological research I have conducted here, I finally know exactly which entity the humans of this continent truly worship. It is not a nameless force. They bow to Elpis, the God of Hope… a direct figure lifted straight from ancient Greek mythology. She is the one orchestrating the distribution of these innate human skills."
He leaned back, a bittersweet, serious smile touching his lips as he gestured toward his own chest.
"Elpis was the one who spoke to me at the boundary as well, she granted me a unique human skill called Soul Tracking. It allows me to sense and trace the specific, otherworldly soul-signature of a reincarnated being. For years, it was a useless curse because I was completely alone. But the moment you stepped into my sanctuary today, my soul flared. I can track your kind, Eirene."
To confirm it, I used inspect on Father Columbia.
Columbia Kiev
Skill: Soul Tracking
Vitality: 100
Strength: 200
Defense: 100
Agility: 100
Mana: 1000
Soul Tracking- able to track souls from far away with the same kind.
He leaned across the desk, his eyes burning with an intense, calculated desperation as he looked at the heavy alchemical crate at my feet and then back to my masked face.
"But there is a catch to my divine skill, the tracking ability requires a physical, biological catalyst to lock onto a target. It does not work on my own blood because my soul is already tethered to my own body. But it will work flawlessly with yours. Eirene... if you give me just a single drop of your blood, I can use my Soul Tracking skill to locate every single other reincarnated being currently breathing on this continent. We can find our people. We can finally uncover the true purpose of why we were brought to this violent world."
Without hesitation, I raised my right hand to my face, sliding my fingers beneath the lower rim of the Leech's Hollow Mask just enough to expose my mouth. My lips parted, revealing the sharp, predatory fangs that came with my demonic biology. With a slow, deliberate pressure, I pressed the tip of my index finger against one of my razor-sharp canines, piercing the skin until a thick, rich bead of crimson blood welled up from the small wound.
I extended my hand over the cedar desk. Father Columbia bowed his head and began to whisper a solemn, intense prayer in Latin, invoking the grace of the true God within this forgotten sanctuary. Once his prayer concluded, he reached out and took a single drop of my blood, letting it touch his fingertips to channel his divine human skill.
The moment the physical catalyst made contact with his skin, a sudden, blinding flash of ambient mana erupted within the small sacristy. A massive, complex field of spiritual information flared to life behind Father Columbia's eyes. His glasses caught the reflection of a translucent, glowing grid of soul-signatures that only he could see, mapping out the vast geometry of the entire Andromeda continent. His breathing hitched, his face turning pale as the raw data flooded his consciousness.
"Eirene… It is true... it's all true. There are other reincarnated beings out there."
He looked up at the swirling shadow of my mask, his hands shaking slightly as he held onto the edge of the desk.
"But it's far more complicated than I ever imagined, the reincarnation cycle isn't exclusive to the human continent. The tracking data shows souls from our world scattered across all three factions. There are humans, there are demi-humans... and yes, there are even demons whose bodies are currently possessed by a reincarnated Earth soul. The true God has cast His net across this entire shattered world."
He stood up, his flowing ecclesiastical robes rustling as he stepped closer to me. The weight of his 30 years of isolation in this fantasy world seemed to lift, replaced by a burning, unshakeable sense of holy purpose. He looked at my imposing, weapon-laden silhouette… the custom Death Chant Shotgun and dual Tommy guns hidden beneath my blood-themed trench coat… and spoke with absolute conviction.
"You, Eirene... you are an S-rank hunter, you possess the raw combat lethality and the physical strength to traverse the darkest corners of this realm. And I am a priest. Our true mandate in this world has finally been made clear to me. Our job is to guide these lost souls back to God. No matter what faction they were born into, no matter if they wear the skin of a human, a demi-human, or a demon… we must track them down, protect them from the factions that want to exploit them, and let them feel safe. We are going to build a sanctuary for our people, sister. And you are going to be the shield that guards them."
Father Columbia looked at me, his eyes burning with a brilliant, newly rediscovered fire behind his glasses. The revelation of the scattered souls had transformed him from a lonely, isolated priest into a man with a divine, continental mission.
"So, we will play as the messengers of God, I will be the tracker, using this blood to map their locations across the continents, and you will be the sender… the one who goes out into the field to find them, to reach them, and to bring them hope. They will not feel alone in this world. Our job is to guide them home."
The division of labor was flawless. He had the vision; I had the firepower. With the Leech's Hollow Mask guarding my mind against psychic terrors like Victor Katt, and Olive's crimson trench coat concealing my devastating three-gun arsenal, I was the perfect instrument to cut through the dangers of Caria City and beyond to secure our people.
I reached out my single right hand, the fresh wound on my finger already beginning to close due to my demonic vitality. Father Columbia met my grip, and we shared a firm, unshakeable handshake… a sacred covenant struck between an altar server and a bishop from a world that felt just a little bit closer now.
With our alliance forged and the grand blueprint of our crusade set, I broke the grip. I reached down, scooped up the heavy wooden crate of titration equipment and chemical supplies in my right arm, and adjusted the weapons strapped tightly to my wings beneath my coat. Turning on my heel, I followed Father Columbia as we stepped out of the narrow, cedar-scented sacristy and back into the quiet, candle-lit sanctuary, ready to face the neon shadows of the districts.