The forgotten “god”

On that stormy night, after peering into the cold and proud heart of Pope Aurelia of the Holy Light, An Ran found herself immersed in an extremely complex array of emotions.

Anran felt like a founder who had just been acquired by a company and was now "retiring" in name only.

And Aurelia was the exceptional, highly capable, and nearly perfect professional manager (CEO).

She took over the "Glory Company" mess—after all, the original Holy Maiden had not spoken in thousands of years, effectively brain-dead, and no longer existed.

Then, relying on her wisdom, willpower, and beauty, she optimized the internal organizational structure, purged dissenters, and established absolute authority. 

Externally, she rebranded the company's image, consolidated market (follower) share, and targeted competitors (heretics and false gods). 

She did an excellent job. 

So well that the entire "company" continued to operate at a high speed and with stability, even more brilliantly than when the founder was in charge. 

The company's employees (clergy) now only recognize the orders of this beautiful CEO. 

The company's customers (followers) also prefer to believe that this CEO, who is visible, tangible, and regularly holds "new product launches" (presides over ceremonies), can solve their problems. 

As for him, the founder's statue enshrined in the "Mo Yu Exhibition Room"...

Who cares?

As long as the company's stock price (faith) remains stable and the annual financial reports (taxes) look good, who would bother to care whether the founder is alive or dead, male or female?

This realization gave Anran an unprecedented, absurd sense of "security." Aurelia's perfection was his best camouflage,

her overwhelming aura drawing everyone's attention to herself, allowing him, the "ghost in the statue," to hide safely in the shadows, unnoticed by anyone.

As long as he didn't act recklessly, as long as he remained a silent statue, he could continue to exist in this state indefinitely. He would never have to worry about anyone discovering that the flawless goddess in their hearts was, in truth, the soul of a disgruntled office worker from another world. From a survival perspective, this was undoubtedly the best possible outcome. 

But...

At this moment, Anran had shed the relief of having survived the ordeal,

and now felt a deeper, colder emptiness, like the pressure of deep-sea water slowly squeezing in from all directions.

Anran began to reexamine the prayers that flooded into his consciousness each day from a new perspective.

He discovered that the emotions and "signals" of the vast majority of believers during prayer were not truly directed at her—the Radiant Saintess Hylophia.

A centurion stationed at a border fortress knelt before the small shrine of the Saintess in the military during a lull in enemy attacks and prayed: Holy Maiden Hylophia, please protect us so that we may hold this fortress!"

However, Anran clearly "sensed" that the centurion's true trust and reliance lay in the military bishop stationed with the army by the Temple, renowned for his iron-fisted rule, and in the walls reinforced time and again each year with funds allocated by the Temple.

His prayer was more like a pre-battle ritual, a form of self-comfort.

The wife of a wealthy merchant donated a large sum of money in the church, praying, "Merciful Saint Hylophia, please let my son stand out in the selection process for the Knights Templar."

But her hopeful emotions were directed toward the bishop in charge of the selection process, and the more "substantial" gift her husband had already secretly sent. 

Praying to the statue was merely to make this "investment" seem more legitimate and to ease her conscience.

Even the most downtrodden of the people had equally pragmatic beliefs: 

"Please bless us, Holy Virgin, so that this year's harvest will be better, and I can pay the church's 'tax' without being sent to the mines." 

They feared the church's laws. 

They sought the church's forgiveness. The Radiant Virgin Hylophia Celestia was no longer the same as before.

She has become a symbol, a trademark, a cultural totem engraved in the hearts of all the empire's people. They believe in the order she represents, rely on the church she established, and revere the pope she authorized. They worship her legends but have long forgotten her existence.

Anran finally understood why, despite centuries without miracles, the empire's faith had not collapsed but grown even more solid.

Because Aurelia and her predecessors had successfully transformed faith in "God" into absolute obedience to the church.

She is the largest and most successful "IP mascot" in the world.

Anran is safe.

But... it's useless.

In his previous life, he lived like a high-speed machine part, chased daily by KPIs, with no moment to himself. He felt that such a life had no meaning. In this life, Anran had become a completely powerless "ghost CEO," doing nothing all day except observe. He discovered that such a "life" was equally meaningless.

From one extreme to another. 

A vast, eternal emptiness threatens to consume his consciousness. 

At this moment, Anran is like an emperor banished to the cold palace, sitting atop a nominal empire spanning ten thousand miles, yet without even a single palace maid to speak to. 

He can see everything beyond the palace walls, hear the voices of the people, yet cannot exert the slightest influence on that world.

Was he truly "existing"? 

If a person's existence cannot be perceived by anyone, cannot alter the world in any way, then what difference is there between his existence and that of a stone? 

A stone with thoughts? 

This thought sent a chill down his spine. He did not want this. 

He did not want to spend his life as an anonymous office drone, defined by a cold death report; in this life, to be a silent idol, completely buried under the heavy dust of history. 

A faint yet unwavering flame quietly ignited in the depths of his lifeless consciousness. 

It was not some grand ideal of saving the world or enlightening all beings, nor was it some ambitious desire to regain freedom or control one's destiny.

It was simply the simplest, most humble of thoughts. 

"I want... them to know that I am here. 

Anran wanted that devoutly praying mother to know that her voice had truly been heard, 

and that knight who upheld justice to know that his struggles were not solitary.

Let that stunningly beautiful "warden" know that this statue is not just cold stone. 

He wanted to add his own, even if only a trivial, punctuation mark to this silent, prewritten script. 

But he still didn't know what he could do. 

He didn't know how to do it.

But from this moment on, "observation" was no longer his only option. 

He, this forgotten "god," this imprisoned "king," for the first time, harbored an extremely dangerous thought—he wanted to remind his 'underlings' and his "warden." 

Your saint, your god, she is still here!!!