My Family in the Novel?

"Please do give this old man a moment of your time, dear Hero"

Tristan hesitated for a moment, skeptical about following the bishop's invitation. The notion of being referred to as a hero had stirred a blend of curiosity and caution within him.

However, the bishop's unspoken insistence left him with little choice but to trail behind, a tinge of curiosity guiding his steps as they ventured through the hallowed halls.

"Take a sit"

As they reached the bishop's office, a space steeped in quiet reverence, the bishop gestured toward a chair, his tone carrying a jovial yet mysterious air. Tristan, resigned to his current circumstance, took a seat as invited, his eyes attentively scanning the room for clues to the purpose of this unexpected encounter.

The bishop, seemingly attuned to Tristan's unspoken questions, anticipated the inquiry that hung in the air. Tristan couldn't help but voice his confusion, seeking clarity in the midst of the enigma that surrounded him.

"Excuse me… But why did you bring me here?" Tristan inquired, his voice a subtle blend of politeness and genuine curiosity.

The bishop, a figure of wisdom and humor, chuckled in response. "Well, you followed me right? Fufu," he chuckled again, his demeanor both affable and mysterious.

Unsatisfied with the evasive answer, Tristan pressed further, determined to unravel the mystery. "You know that's not what I meant, and why did you call me a hero?"

The bishop's laughter subsided, replaced by a more somber expression.

"Haha, excuse my rudeness. I just wanted you to get comfortable with a joke, but it seems it backfired, huh? I guess I should take into account what young people nowadays consider as funny."

As the bishop continued to brew tea, an unexpected ritual in the midst of this serious conversation, Tristan observed the proceedings with a mixture of bemusement and curiosity.

The young priest accompanying the bishop, initially flustered by the uncharacteristic change in atmosphere, was discreetly dismissed, leaving Tristan and the bishop in a semblance of privacy.

The air hung with a certain gravity, the usually easygoing bishop now bearing a serious countenance. The young priest, sensing the shift, nodded in acknowledgment and gracefully exited the room, closing the door behind him.

As Tristan settled into the chair, a small table appeared before him, carrying the weight of two cups.

The bishop gracefully took his own seat, fixing his gaze upon Tristan with eyes that bore the weight of experience.

A subtle, otherworldly glow enveloped the bishop's eyes for a fleeting moment, causing a shiver to run down Tristan's spine.

It was as if the bishop had glimpsed into the very core of his being, leaving Tristan with a disconcerting sensation of vulnerability.

"What are you doing?" Tristan questioned, unable to conceal the unease that lingered within him. The momentary radiance from the bishop's eyes had left an indelible impression, making him feel exposed and laid bare before the seasoned clergyman.

"Huhu, it seems I was right," the bishop remarked, his smile revealing a blend of amusement and affirmation. "I did have my suspicions, but the amount of divine power you have is off the charts. If you exclude me and the saintess, you would have the most amount of divine energy at this church. I guess I found the right guy."

Tristan's confusion deepened, his quest for answers only met with further cryptic revelations. He implored the bishop to address his questions, seeking clarity in the midst of the unfolding mystery.

"Can you please answer my questions?" Tristan pressed, a hint of urgency coloring his words.

"Ah, sorry, young man. I even forgot to introduce myself." The bishop, bowing slightly, extended the courtesy of an introduction. "I'm Bishop Austin, assigned by the pope himself to oversee the cathedral here at Estelle Academy. It's nice to meet you, Mr. Tristan." The formality of the introduction was accompanied by an outstretched hand, an invitation for a handshake that Tristan, albeit reluctantly, eventually accepted.

As their hands met, Tristan couldn't shake the lingering sense of peculiarity surrounding the bishop's demeanor. The revelation of his role as the overseer of the cathedral added a layer of authority to Bishop Austin's presence.

'Mater told me to be careful around, people associated with the holy nation and now I get what she means, these guys are so creepy, except for the saintess are all clergyman like this?'

'I guess what master told me about, people of the holy nation being slightly loose in the head wasn't entirely untrue huh?'

"Regarding to as to why I called you the hero, you could just say I was a bit curious you see…."

"Curious?"

"Young man what do you know of the hero?"

Tristan considered the question, drawing upon the tales and legends passed down through the ages.

"According to the stories of old, the hero was someone who cleansed the world from impending malice and darkness, someone who saves the world, and brings peace, justice, and prosperity for the days to come."

A faint nod of acknowledgment came from the bishop.

"Well, you aren't wrong about that. The hero is literally someone who is burdened with all of that. But that is only what the stories of old say. There's even a children's tale and novels regarding the hero's journey. But none of them actually foretells where the hero started, as every story about him starts at his journey. Young man, aren't you curious if the hero was born or made? Was he destined by fate, or was it a choice he could've denied during his time?"

"Even with all the powers and blessings provided for the hero" the bishop continued, his tone tinged with a subtle humor, "I'm not sure an ordinary man would've accepted the role and burden of saving the world. Even I myself honestly can't see myself saving the world for the sake of others. Haha."

The bishop's laughter, though light, carried a certain depth—a recognition of the complexities that defined the hero's journey.

"What are you trying to get at here?" Tristan pressed, his curiosity mingling with a hint of apprehension. The bishop's gaze remained steady, offering no immediate answers but inviting further contemplation.

"Aren't you curious as to why you have an insane amount of divine energy, even though you haven't been faithful throughout your life? I can even guess that you haven't even prayed once sincerely" the bishop posited, his words probing the depths of Tristan's understanding of his own existence.

Tristan, struck by the accuracy of the observation, conceded with a thoughtful acknowledgment.

"Well... That's true."

The enigma surrounding the origin of Tristan's divine energy had always been a lingering question in his mind.

He possessed abilities that surpassed the boundaries of conventional faith, wielding blessings that seemed incongruent with his own perceived lack of devoutness.

The ability to discern lies, see through illusions, heal himself and others—his repertoire of divine gifts surpassed even seasoned priests and, in some cases, certain bishops.

As Tristan admitted to the truth of the bishop's words, a smile crept across the cleric's face. Encouraged by Tristan's honesty, Bishop Austin delved deeper into the intricate nature of the hero.

"The hero is someone both made and born, someone who is both destined and made to have a choice"

"He is someone that will save the world yet destroy the world of others, someone who saves people yet kills another"

"He is blessed by the divine yet cursed by its burden"

"His presence brings peace, yet also impedes upcoming destruction"

"The hero is someone so paradoxical, yet somehow works. That's what a hero is" the bishop expounded, his words painting a portrait of complexity and contradiction.

"Tell me, young man, have you ever felt paradoxical your whole life?"

"…. N-no…" Tristan's hesitant response hung in the air, laden with the weight of self-awareness. The admission, though reluctant, unveiled a tapestry of questions that had woven through the fabric of Tristan's life. The bishop's inquiry had struck a chord, unearthing the paradoxes that defined the young man's existence.

Tristan's internal struggle with denial surfaced as he grappled with the recognition that his life had been a series of enigmatic occurrences.

From a young age, he had been marked by an innate sense of difference—a feeling that he stood above others, yet not destined to rule them.

A paradoxical blend of strength and weakness, goodness and a willingness to mete out justice through lethal means when necessary—Tristan had always embodied contradictions.

As a child, he had sensed the dichotomy within himself, questioning why he was bestowed with blessings and talents that set him apart from his peers.

His inclination towards righteousness coexisted with a pragmatic acceptance of the necessity to eliminate threats, demonstrating a dual nature that puzzled even Tristan.

A man of virtue who wouldn't hesitate to kill bandits encountered on his path, he offered them a choice, yet, when pushed, he could unleash deadly force without a moment's hesitation.

The paradoxes within Tristan's personality had persisted, raising questions that lingered like shadows over the trajectory of his life.

Despite his awareness of these conflicting aspects, Tristan found solace in the fact that, lately, he had been actively working to mend and refine those aspects of himself that he considered.

"Bad habits."

"Are you saying I'm the hero?" Tristan finally voiced the question that had been lingering in his mind, a glimmer of understanding in his eyes as he grasped the bishop's implication.

"Hmm, no…," the bishop responded, injecting a note of mystery into the conversation.

"Huh?" Tristan's confusion mirrored his curiosity, prompting him to seek clarification.

"Don't get me wrong, young man. Everything about you indicates that you have the makings of a hero, but you only have the hero's blessings, not his authorities," the bishop elucidated, unveiling a layer of distinction within the divine gifts bestowed upon the hero.

"Authorities?" Tristan echoed, his interest piqued by the mention of these enigmatic powers.

"In our old scriptures, the records regarding the hero always foretell the hero having authorities directly given by the goddess herself. Different from the blessings the hero naturally has, you could say authorities are gifts directly given by the goddess to aid the hero on his journey. The records say that the hero had the authority to turn light into a sword, to turn fear into courage, to turn light into a white veil that protects others, and blast light to destroy the wicked. I'm guessing that you don't have those peculiar abilities, do you?" the bishop explained, revealing the distinctive powers that set the hero apart.

"….Yes," Tristan admitted, a mixture of disappointment and relief washing over him. The revelation that he lacked these specific authorities tempered the notion of him being a hero, leaving him with a sense of unresolved mystery.

Tristan sighed, his breath mingling with the steam rising from his tea.

The bishop's cryptic answers had provided insight into the nature of divine blessings and authorities, yet Tristan found himself still yearning for direct answers about the origin and purpose of the extraordinary gifts woven into the fabric of his existence.

"Although I said you aren't the hero, I'm also quite certain you're the hero or at least connected to the hero"

"What do you mean?"

"I can't confirm whether you're the hero or not, or what connections you have with the hero. Well, if you really want answers, you just have to do one simple thing," the bishop teased, his expression holding a knowing glint.

"Which is?" Tristan pressed for clarification, eager to unravel the mysteries that surrounded him.

"Make the saintess fall for you," the bishop stated with a calm smile, leaving Tristan to stare at him in bewilderment.

"Huh?" Tristan's disbelief was palpable as the unexpected proposition settled in.

Suddenly, the door swung open, revealing the saintess as she entered the room.

"Bishop, you called for me? Oh, Brother Tristan, you're still here?" she greeted, unaware of the cryptic conversation that had transpired.

The bishop's smile widened in satisfaction, his plans already set in motion