No, How Can an Atheist Become a Saintess!?

No, How Can an Atheist Become a Saintess!? – 42

EP.42

Chapter 4

Escape and Service (8)

“What if—just hypothetically,” Ria began cautiously, “even if your life were truly in danger, would you still refuse to use your divine power?”

“……”

I fell silent, lost in thought.

To be honest, I wasn’t entirely sure. I’d never faced a life-threatening situation that extreme… had I?

Probably not.

At least, according to my memories, I hadn’t. In my previous life, it seemed like I’d sent some support to the author of this novel and somehow ended up transported into its world… or so it felt. But when I think back on it now, I can’t be certain.

A novel only portrays the surface of a world. No matter how meticulously an author fleshes out their setting, they can’t possibly account for every detail of every event in a world.

In this story, even unnamed extras who never appeared on the page would, in reality, be living their own lives as the protagonists of their own stories. People who experienced love and heartbreak, joy and sorrow, all while carrying on with their lives.

Each person, unique in their own way, held a life no less valuable than the protagonist’s.

How had I appeared in the eyes of the author in my previous life? Had I just been one of those nameless extras?

And yet, why had someone like me ended up as a character in this novel? If anything, wouldn’t writers or readers of transmigration stories often hope for such an experience? I hadn’t particularly wished for it. I didn’t even think such a thing was possible to begin with. If it really was some kind of cosmic prank, and if I was meant to be placed in the position of a saintess—

I’ve pondered this during my years in this world. Would an entity with such a nasty personality, who treats human lives as toys, lend me power to save dying people?

If their goal was simply to mock me, wouldn’t it have been more efficient to place me in the body of an extra fated to be slaughtered by a monster? If I were dragged before the Saintess while bleeding out, with my limbs torn apart and my insides spilling out, maybe I would start pleading for divine intervention.

Where I stood now, the situation seemed inefficient from every angle.

Could there be memories of my past life that I’d forgotten? Had god really dumped me here without a word, without any explanation?

“……”

“Anna?”

“Oh, uh, yes. Sorry… what were we talking about again?”

“I asked if you’d use your power if you found yourself in danger.”

Ria reminded me.

I took a moment to organize my thoughts before responding.

“To be honest, I’m not sure. I guess I won’t know until I’m in that situation.”

“I see…”

“You’re not going to laugh at me?”

“Laugh? Why would I?”

“Well, not long ago, I was saying I’d never use my power for myself, but now I’m saying something different. Isn’t that kind of hypocritical?”

“Why would I laugh at that?”

Ria let out a small chuckle, as if I’d said something ridiculous, and took a sip of water.

“If someone I’m supposed to protect says they’re going to protect themselves, that’s a reason to celebrate, isn’t it?”

“Well, if you’re around when the time comes, I’ll just leave everything in your hands.”

I said with a smirk, hoping to tease her a little.

Ria simply shrugged and flashed a confident grin.

“I may not look it, but I’m a hero candidate. Sure, the title sounds grand, but it’s just a specialized job, isn’t it? I always see my tasks through to the end.”

“Oh, how impressive.”

I replied sarcastically.

When Ria ruffled my hair with an exasperated sigh, I tapped her lightly on the head in return. She pulled back awkwardly, looking a bit flustered.

Oh, this works, huh?

Of course, I didn’t plan to use this tactic often. Overuse would only make her get used to it, leaving her unfazed—just as I was slowly adapting to Ria’s antics, becoming less and less affected by them.

“Atheists only have one life, you know. If kneeling and begging could grant me a second chance, I think it might be worth doing.”

“What? Atheists only have one life? What does that even mean?”

“Atheists don’t believe in an afterlife.”

It wasn’t really something I was in a position to say. After all, I was someone living proof of an afterlife.

But still, I know surprisingly little about that god. There’s no status window, and I can’t hear any voice responding to mine.

Wasn’t that odd? Did they expect me to prove something?

Did they simply want me to affirm their existence? Or was there something deeper, some more profound intention at play?

“Without belief in a god, there’s no heaven or hell after death. This life is all there is. When it ends, there are no second chances.”

“……”

“I do hope for an afterlife. I don’t want to die. I don’t want my thoughts to stop. You know, after I became an atheist, I couldn’t sleep properly for days. I was terrified that when I woke up, I might not actually be me anymore.”

“Not be you anymore?”

“If a person is nothing more than a collection of cells, wouldn’t the cessation of consciousness be the same as death? After a break in continuity, any new consciousness might just be another set of electrical and chemical signals. At least, that’s what I felt back when I was younger.”

“……”

“You’re not laughing.”

I remarked.

“It’s not funny.”

Ria’s response was sharp, her expression serious.

“Not funny? Everyone else who’s heard this story has laughed, like it was absurd.”

“Well,” she said, “since you’re being honest, I’ll be honest too. When I first heard you say there’s no god, I thought, ‘What a strange kid.’”

“Most people think that.”

I admitted.

“It wasn’t even a deep thought. You know, there are plenty of people like that. Some of them rant about killing gods. I’ve even met someone who claimed they’d grow strong enough to kill a god themselves.”

“……”

“Most of it just childish bravado. Call it a side effect of living in a world where gods actually exist.”

She wasn’t wrong.

It’s easy to see how someone at a self-absorbed stage of life could react that way. Even in worlds without tangible gods, people talk about killing or defying them.

If gods existed here, they might have limitations. Maybe their inability to give everyone power equivalent to mine was one of those limits.

“Those kinds of people are usually drunk on their own power,” Ria continued. “As they grow older, they let go of those thoughts pretty easily. Almost everyone who swore they’d reach the gods’ level eventually gave up. They weren’t seriously contemplating it; they just liked the sound of it.”

“Everyone has phases like that,” I said. “They just express them differently.”

“Exactly. So when I first met you, I thought you were still stuck in that phase. Like you’d convinced yourself to just reject everything outright.”

“…I can see how it might look that way from the outside,” I admitted.

Atheism in this world was akin to claiming the Earth was flat. Unless god themselves came down and explicitly said, I’m not a god, people would keep believing otherwise.

“But you’ve actually put thought into it, haven’t you?” Ria said. “You made a choice about what to believe. Even though it scared you, you stuck to it in the end.”

“……”

“How could I laugh at that? Sure, some people might. But not me.”

The character of Lee Chae-eun had once harbored genuine resentment toward the gods. Even now, that bitterness likely lingered.

With such immense power, why couldn’t they protect good people?

Why did the kindest people always die first?

Anyone who had lost someone precious would inevitably ask those questions.

The atmosphere grew heavy, the weight of the conversation pressing down on us.

To lighten the mood, I decided to share a story from my “edgy phase.”

“Still, the reason I started helping people wasn’t entirely because of that. As a child, I was far more self-centered because of it.”

After I decided to abandon the faith ingrained in me since before I could remember, I threw away the binding doctrines and thought, ‘Let’s live freely.’

“And then?”

“Someone told me I’d end up in hell for it.”

“……”

“They said that humans without faith were no better than beasts, that no matter what I did, I was a soulless creature. Even if I had a soul, it didn’t love the entity above, so I’d end up in hell anyway. That no matter how good I thought I was, it would all be for nothing.”

I let out a laugh, hugging my knees and exhaling softly.

The person who said those things probably meant it sincerely. It must have pained them to see their only child refuse to follow the faith they believed had saved them.

But without any other way to persuade me, they resorted to threats.

“So, in my childish stubbornness, I thought, Fine, I’ll live as the best person possible!”

“……”

“I’d live so well, so virtuously, that no one could ever find fault with me. And if I ever did meet that so-called god—though I firmly believe they don’t exist—I’d stand before them and say, ‘The only wrong I ever committed was not believing in you.’”

Maybe, deep down, I wanted to believe.

I’ve always been terrified of dying.

So terrified that I even wished hell could exist—because at least that would mean there was something beyond death.

If there truly were a god who punished people, I imagine they’d choose to erase my existence entirely. That’s what I fear most.

…Though it seems the entity above us isn’t like that.

At first, it was just a rebellious thought. With that single purpose driving me, I signed up for volunteer work, donated blood, and threw myself into various activities.

And, as it turned out, I seemed to have a knack for it.

By the time I reached adulthood, it had become my way of life. It felt good when even one person said “thank you.” Eventually, it stopped being just unpaid volunteer work and turned into an actual career.

“…..”

“Well, it’s not much of a story. That’s why I don’t really like talking about it in front of others.”

Still, Ria’s lack of reaction made it impossible to lighten the mood.

“It’s silly, isn’t it?”

When I turned to her and asked, Ria simply looked at me quietly.

“Not at all,” she replied.

And just like that, the heavy atmosphere remained until the end.