Salvation of the Scum Fifth Prince

The God of Death.

They were an existence revered by many, but also feared. With the option of worshipping life, there were few who prayed for the dead. However, it was still one of the reigning religions alongside the Life God, also known as the Light God. 

For some, the bitter truth of death was much more sensible than the merry delusions of life.

When the Death Saint was revealed to be Celine Isda, a fight loving, wild priest, the religion only got stranger. 

She was free and unrestrained, unshackled by the bounds of the 'Saint' title, to the point the title seemed odd to begin with. She was indeed a 'holy person' and the one chosen by the Death God, with powerful abilities that far surpassed her peers.

Soren had actually found it interesting, after only seeing the title 'Saint' bestowed upon the Light God priests or people, when in fact, the Death God had done no wrong other than exist with its ominous name.

It was a common thing in stories, for the definition of a saint was indeed ill-suited for a worshipper of Death, yet suited all the same.

There was some prejudice, but the worshippers of the Death God were much freer than the rest.

Admirable, really.

Now, standing before the large, luxurious temple of the Death God, Soren felt the deep pressure stemming from the inside of the building. It was unlike that of the clean, elegant yet simple Light God temple, holding the same luxury, but also giving off a less restrained feeling.

There was no judgement for your every move, your every word; there was no right or wrong. 

Soren preferred such a place.

He had dressed in a tidy, simple outfit, followed by Damien, who wore a similar style, though less luxurious. There were still some manners to be kept, even in this relaxed place.

"Good morning, sir." greeted a priest, clad in black, as he walked through the doors. "Is there something you're looking to do today?"

Soren nodded. "I intend to pray."

"Pray? Then please follow me."

The priest turned around and entered the building, maneuvering through a few hallways and archways before entering an expansive room. Before him, in its full glory, stood an overwhelming statue made of the murkiest stone.

Damien looked up curiously and asked, "Is this a statue of the Death God?"

The priest nodded. "Several years ago, we were blessed with the opportunity to communicate with our Lord. Some glimpsed his noble jet robes, and magnificent figure, which allowed us to have a statue built after him."

Several offerings were stacked on a silver platter by the statue's feet, disorganized but bountiful.

Soren, too, looked up at the statue, which towered over him. 

A cloak hid most of the God, the carving thin over his face as if representing a fine piece of cloth. Long strands gently rested on their chest, each fine piece placed in an organized manner, while they spread their hands wide in greeting, or welcoming.

They seemed to have long hair, peeking from the hood as it rested on their chest in perfect strands, while they spread out their hands in greeting.

The priest left the room, and Soren moved forward to kneel respectfully. He wasn't sure of the proper methods of praying, but it would have to work. 

His prayers, while genuine, were not out of faith.

While on his knees, he casually thought, 'I pray that hippo can leave my life and remain in their own swamp. And that Soren's stupid brothers will stop dying, so I will not have to save them.'

He thought little while praying, just lazily thinking of a few random things before he felt his mind swirl. It was as if a pressure fell on his shoulder, forcing him to the ground. 

The splitting pain burned into his skull, and he furrowed his brows before his body felt light.

On the side, Damien, who had been wandering around the room to examine everything, turned. Through his forest-green eyes, he watched as his master fell to the floor in a swift thud, eyes closed tightly. 

Damien moved forward, pushing him onto the side as he observed the prince's face.

No signs of discomfort or illness.

It was as if he had taken a peaceful rest, breathing softly.

Instinctively, Damien looked back up at the statue, which seemed to be alive at this moment. He looked back down at the unconscious prince on the floor and stood up to move to the side. There didn't seem to be any danger at the moment — that was what Damien believed.

No, it was what he knew.

And in the vast emptiness of his mind, Soren drowsily blinked his eyes, staring at the darkness surrounding.

There weren't any signs of life or colour, only an endless void as he floated aimlessly. Or maybe he wasn't even floating, but touching some sort of space. It was hard to tell, like being in a hazy dream, not quite knowing but not quite asleep. 

[I've been waiting.] said a voice, in a familiar bland tone.

Soren looked around, but saw nothing. 

[I'm in the space that surrounds, existing but not existing. My form can't be seen by you.]

"Who are you?"

The voice said, [Isn't it obvious?]

It seemed to echo all around Soren, uncaring but powerful. It was an odd thing to describe, seeming to play right by his ear, but also far away at the same time. 

'But why does it sound familiar?'

[I take a part of your voice when I speak.]

Soren frowned. "You read my mind."

[I did.]

The prince closed his eyes, letting his body be adrift and said, "What do you want, God of Death?"

[I was waiting for you to go to the temple.]

"And?"

[Will you save the world?]

Soren paused. "You know of the ending to this world?"

[Yes.]

"And you want to save it?"

[Yes.]

Soren found it a little odd, hearing the familiar manner of speaking and tone — much like he was having a conversation with himself. Nevertheless, he rejected him. "I won't."

[Why?]

"Don't want to."

[Even if you will perish with the world?]

The voice seemed to ask a question, but Soren felt that the God already knew his answer.

"Don't care."

[I see.]

A bland response.

"Do you know a way to save the world?" asked Soren casually, enjoying the feeling of lightness as he relaxed his body. He even thought, if he God were not here to disturb him, he could’ve fully embraced this feeling, as if he were a balloon let loose. 

Although it bothered him.

The fact that the ending to the story was unknown, and for this God to ask him to save the world — for what reason did it have to be him?

If anybody, should it not be Raphael?

[He is…] the God seemed to mull over his words. [A being I cannot involve myself with. His existence in this world has nothing to do with me.]

Soren caught a loophole.

So slight, and almost invisible. Raphael’s existence had nothing to do with him and thus, the Death God could not converse with him.

Then…

“You brought me to this world?”

It was less of a question, and more of a statement.

There was silence that followed for a few moments before a reply came.

[There is a limit to what I can say.]

"Limit?"

[I may be a God, but I am bound by the rules of the universe. There is information which cannot be said. Including how to save the world.]

"You're asking me to save the world with a method you cannot say?"

[To be accurate, I'm uncertain of the method.]

"....." Soren felt this God must be quite ridiculous. Although he had no plans in interfering with the fate of this world, it was not as if he couldn't pass a message along to Raphael. To begin with, wouldn't the protagonist have been better suited for a conversation, since he was the justice-seeking sort?

It was understandable if they could not converse, but a message could be given.

"There is a hero in this world."

[I know.]

'What an annoying voice.'

Soren frowned. "Yet you asked me?"

[I have my reasons.]

"What reasons?"

[I am not obligated to tell you why.]

Soren once again thought that this God was rather irritating. If he had bothered to ask, of course he would want an answer. Then he remembered the God took on a part of his manner of speaking, and decided not to think about it anymore.

No need for self-insults, thank you very much.

“I won't save the world, send me back."

[There may come a day that you decide on a different answer.]

"No."

[Nothing is certain in—]

"No." repeated Soren stubbornly. "If it comes, then it will, but right now, I can't see it happening."

[...tsk. Isn't it unwise to argue with a God?]

"Isn't it unwise to ask a person who doesn't care to save the world?"

The God was speechless for a moment, before he said,

[Soren Rosenbaum.]

"What?"

[If you seek my help in the future, I’ll help you. If you change your mind, come back to the temple. In this world, your soul is best suited. You might realize that you don't want the world to end one day.]

"Then I'll find a way when that happens." said Soren bluntly. "Otherwise, don't care."

[Bothersome.]

"Unrealistic." retorted Soren.

[...in this life, don’t lose anything precious to you.]

"Okay, don't plan to."

There seemed to be a hint of mundane longing in the God's words.

[Nobody plans to.]

With the final, echoing words, the space around Soren once again shifted and changed, morphing into white, then the flurry of bland colours that made the temple. Soren was staring at the delicate ceiling on his back, the roughness of the floor making his body stiff and uncomfortable.

"You are awake, master."

Soren squinted. "...yes. I think I should convert to the Light religion."

“And why is that?”

“Wouldn’t that irritate the Death God?”

"...is that so?"

Soren closed his eyes again, feeling that the hard ground was surprisingly cool, and would make a great place for a nap once getting used to. At least a nap seemed to be less bothersome than the sudden appearance of the God of Death, or the wild Saint he planned to bargain with in a few moments' time.

The youth lacked the sense of amazement of being contacted or noticed by a God and treated the Death God as another troublesome person who entered his life.

Had the God of Death known his identity as a reincarnator?

Most likely, considering that they referred to Soren's 'soul' rather than self.

There was a sigh before the youth slowly stood up, brushing the dust off his clothes as he lazily turned. "Okay, let's find the Saint."

"How do you plan on finding her?"

"Asking."

"Will they allow you to visit the Saint so casually?" asked Damien with genuine curiosity. He knew little regarding humans, although there was a vast amount of knowledge stored in his head, he was not omnipotent.

There were some things you couldn’t understand from just reading.

If there was a story, Damien found it more fulfilling to watch it play out on the sidelines.

Soren glanced at him. "If not, then we explore." It was spoken as a simple, irrefutable fact that left even Damien speechless. Exploring a sacred ground, could that be done?

Whether it could be or not, Soren minded little. Who could stop him?

As he had stated, after being unable to find an answer from the few priests he ran into, Soren directly wandered around. There weren't many around the temple, or perhaps they were further into the building. 

After a while of observing, Damien moved in front of Soren, who had crossed the same passages several times without knowing. The teenager directed the exploration until Soren glimpsed large, double doors that seemed to stand out from the rest. 

"Wait." said Soren, as he approached. 

He knocked, and after receiving no reply, pushed the doors wide open. Damien didn't make a move to stop him, watching as his master carelessly entered the room. 

It was another prayer room.

Similar to the one Soren had been in earlier, but two times more luxurious. 

There was an even larger statue, carved of the purest gold, while offerings were placed in different baskets as the feet of the statue. At the feet of the God, a single person sat, one leg crossed over the other and a hand moving an apple to their mouth.

Upon seeing Soren, they froze.

"...hey?"

Soren blinked, then called, "Celine Isda."

The pink-haired woman raised a brow, her locks in a messy, jagged fashion as her eyes narrowed. "Whose asking?"

"Soren Rosenbaum, the fifth prince of the kingdom."

"Ha, and what does a prince want with the Saint?" asked the woman, crunching down on the apple with a grin.

"I want you to help the Second Prince."

"Wow~ He got injured? Didn't see that coming. Deimos, was it? I thought I heard he was a rather shrewd and skillful character — best at keeping himself out of danger."

Soren said, “Have you heard of me?"

"Spoiled, a complete and utter waste of space, useless," Celine grinned, counting the points with her fingers as she leaned back. "Should I continue?"

“Even if you do, I can’t agree with them. Regardless, that idi— Prince Deimos is injured and needs help."

"And why the hell would I help you, hm, prince?" asked Celine with a lazy wave, tossing the empty core into a spare basket at her side. Soren already knew of Celine's character — be it for a prince, or the emperor himself, she would not move.

It could be called reckless, but she was a highly respected person, even with all her quirks. One would think twice before daring to cross her.

Her amber eyes were bright with an undying flame, dangerous and hot to touch. Like her messy, lackluster appearance, her personality was similar. She wasn't unpredictable like Damien or Raphael, nor mysterious like Deimos, but her straightforward desire to fight was a bothersome thing on its own.

Soren could almost understand — he too enjoyed fighting those stronger than him, the feeling of sweat running down skin and the heaviness in the chest as one exerted themselves to their limit — but Celine was a different sort.

She just liked fights, of any sort. 

Unlike Soren, who appreciated them when they came or encountered them on his adventures, Celine actively sought them out.

In this way, she was the hardest person to persuade. Unless one had a bargaining chip.

Soren had exactly that.

“I can," Soren moved forward calmly. “Give you the location of somebody who would show you the fight of a lifetime."

"Oh?" She straightened her back, leaning forward with a curious grin. "And whose to say I can't find them on my own? You think too highly of yourself, Prince."

Soren's eyes seemed to glimmer under the faint sunlight that shone from the spaces in the wall, a careless yet knowing look on his face. He stood tall and lied without hesitation. "You can't." said Soren with certainty. "That person will only agree if I ask them."

Celine laughed loudly, brushing her hair cherry hair back. “If I attack them, then I’m pretty sure they'll respond."

"They won't. So long as I say the word, he has the strength to avoid you."

"What a curious guy!" She burst out laughing, even louder this time. When she calmed down a little, she covered her stomach with tears in her eyes and confirmed, "So there's no way I can fight him unless I help you? Ah, but, is it really worth it?"

Soren tilted his head. “It’s not my choice to make. I can find another healer, but you cannot find another challenger. After all, Celine..."

The Prince stood tall against all odds, his height seeming to tower over her despite her powerful physique. He stepped forward, and she watched with growing interest. 

"...aren't you bored with sitting still?"

Celine blinked once, then twice, then fell back into wild laughter, coughing as she did. She rolled over and jumped to her feet, walking up to Soren with a cheeky grin. "Well, well, aren't you full of surprises! I’m kinda curious, what would fighting you be like, huh?"

"I'm too weak." 

"Eh?"

"I can't even fight against my butler." said Soren calmly, gesturing towards the pale teenager at his side.

Celine squinted. "No way, seriously? You acted so ballsy, yet you're weak? There's absolutely no way."

"I'm not a liar." replied Soren with finality.

Damien was fairly powerful, after all, in more ways than one.

It wasn't as if he wanted to portray himself as a weak character, but it was really a hassle to be found out by the princes or Celine — or anybody who knew the original host at all. 

It wasn't as if he'd despair if they found out, but it would be better to keep his skills under wrap mostly, to avoid any trouble.

On the other hand, this unsmiling, stone-faced prince was a hard character for Celine to decipher — especially since she, unlike Damien or Raphael, had little interest in understanding others. 

She stretched out a hand. "Alright, Prince Soren. We have ourselves a deal."

Soren glanced at the pale, calloused hand that was missing its pinky finger, and shook it lightly. 

"I'll see you tomorrow," said Soren as he released the hand and turned to leave. "Celine."