After the Saint of Healing was imprisoned in the Pantheon’s underground cells, the Pantheon summoned Yodel, the High Priest of the Lilia Order.

“It’s been a long time, Yodel. You rarely leave the southern region, so it feels like I’ve nearly forgotten your face.”

Representatives from 23 of the 24 churches seated around the round table turned their eyes toward Yodel, who stood silently in the center of the room.

“Rules are rules, so we must ask. If the Saint of Healing is a fraud, how should we identify him?”

“He is not a fraud! He is the Apostle of Grace! I swear it on my faith!”

“We understand, Yodel. But surely you also know the procedures. When an accusation of heresy is raised, we must act decisively. If he is a true saint, this investigation will only serve to prove it.”

“Precisely. A saint recognized by the Heresy Inquisition will have their name inscribed in the official Pantheon registry. He would be the first new saint in 300 years.”

“Not only that, but he would be the first-ever Saint of Healing to emerge since the founding of the Lilia Order.”

Yodel sighed deeply, bowing his head in resignation.

“...This, too, must be the guidance of the Goddess. Very well. Based on the Scriptures of Grace, I will explain how to identify a fraudulent saint.”

The scriptures were engraved in Yodel’s mind. Since childhood, he had devoted himself to the church, reading the sacred texts daily without fail.

“If he is a false saint, he will act as follows.”

Slowly and deliberately, Yodel explained to the 23 representatives how to discern a fake saint.

The click of Tuidel’s heels echoed cheerfully in the lobby of the Magic Tower.

Erfa  was finished.

A saint who couldn’t even use divine power?

How ridiculous.

It was said that Saint Biddelberg, one of the most famous saints, constantly radiated a golden light so dazzling it was hard to look at him directly. His divine power was immeasurable and served as a symbol of his sainthood.

But this so-called Saint of Healing had none of that? How could anyone believe such nonsense?

The verdict was obvious.

The saint would be declared a fraud, and once that happened, Erfa, who had been saved by his “miracles,” would be dragged back by the White Order.

That wretched spider woman as the next Tower Master? Over my dead body.

As Tuidel walked happily, someone blocked her path.

The four arms were unmistakable, now revealed without any attempt at concealment.

Though the wide brim of her witch’s hat obscured her face, there was no mistaking who she was.

Only one witch in the Magic Tower had four arms.

Tuidel burst into laughter.

“Oh my, isn’t this the spider? Were you waiting for me—ugh!”

Her words were cut off as her neck was suddenly gripped tightly.

In one of the lower right arms, a wand gleamed.

Slowly, Tuidel’s body was lifted into the air.

“W-What are you doing?! K-Kaahk!”

“Tuidel.”

Erfa’s  voice was calm, quiet, and chilling.

Her body radiated mana waves that trembled with terrifying rage, all of it focused solely on Tuidel.

“S-Someone… help me!” Tuidel choked out, thrashing as she desperately looked to the witches and wizards in the lobby.

But no one moved.

The next Tower Master.

And the witch who openly despised and conspired against her, even dragging in the White Order to ruin her.

It was clear whose side they should take.

Tuidel tried to resist, but her magic was no match for Erfa’s.

“You can insult me, and I might forgive you. But insulting the Saint? That I will never forgive. Do you understand? Regardless of the inquisition’s outcome, don’t ever go near him again. Got it?”

Tuidel was overwhelmed by terror.

The mana radiating from a witch of such unparalleled talent, brimming with genuine rage and murderous intent, was unbearable.

Her skirt grew damp without her realizing it, the yellow liquid trickling down her legs and pooling on the lobby floor.

“Y-Yes! I understand! Please, just…!”

The magic holding her in place was released, and Tuidel collapsed to the floor, clutching her throat as she coughed violently.

“Clean up your mess,” Erfa said coldly before turning and walking away.

Tuidel couldn’t muster any anger or defiance.

Instead, she trembled with fear—fear, and a jealousy that burned hotter than anything else.

I’m happy.

Though the room was barely 2 pyeong, with just a cramped bed and a tiny bathroom, I couldn’t be happier.

I couldn’t help but smile.

Meals arrived on time, and despite being an underground prison, the temperature and humidity were perfectly regulated. No one bothered me, and there were no noisy beggars crowding around, shouting for healing.

The fake saint act, which I’d originally started to handle that “walking nuclear witch,” had gone on far too long. Now, after the trial, I’d only need to rot here for a year before disappearing into the world.

Ah, I’m so happy.

So, so happy.

“Saint.”

A guard stood stationed outside my cell, watching me around the clock. Perhaps it was because they wanted to give me some special treatment as a so-called saint. Dressed in the Silent Order’s robes, the guard cautiously called out to me.

I waved at him.

“I’m not a saint. Just call me by my name.”

Since the inquisition would reveal I wasn’t a saint anyway, I figured I might as well make that clear upfront.

The guard hesitated before continuing.

“I believe you are the true Saint of Grace.”

What nonsense is this?!

I’m not! I’m just some idiot born with powers fit for an adult game!

“I’m not that. As I said, I’m no saint. I don’t have divine stigmata, and I can’t use divine power. Everything Tuidel accused me of is true. I’m not a saint.”

“But the countless miracles you’ve performed… aren’t they real?”

“Well, yes, they are, but that doesn’t make me a saint. You’ve misunderstood. Please, just call me by my real name, Jericho Amael.”

I smiled brightly as I spoke, but the guard suddenly knelt down, looking at me with cautious eyes.

“Can you… help me?”

“…What?”

“I know this goes against regulations. But I am desperate. The god I serve—R’Nery, the god of darkness and secrets—is not a god who grants grace. My god only deals with eradicating the scum that festers in humanity. I need your grace.”

What now? Why does everyone keep bothering me?

I’m not a saint! And I’m going to reveal that during the inquisition anyway!

I was about to yell at him to leave me alone when his sorrowful voice stopped me.

“My daughter… is sick.”

His voice cracked.

“She’s only three months old. She was born with a malformed heart, and the doctors say she won’t live long. I just want her to see the light of this world for a little longer. Saint… my wife cries herself to sleep every night. Please, I beg you. I heard you cured Abominations and Rotting Disease. Please… save my child…”

The sound of his sobs seeped through his mask.

Damn it.

What do I do now?

If I heal her, he might spread rumors that I’m a saint.

Wait… no, this might actually be a good opportunity.

“Bring your child to me. I will heal her.”

“R-Really?”

“Yes, but on one condition.”

“Anything! I’ll do whatever you ask!”

“Observe carefully as I heal. Later, when I stand trial for heresy, testify that I didn’t use divine power. Testify that I’m not a saint.”

The guard paused.

“…But that could harm your case. If they declare you a fraud, you could spend nearly a year in prison.”

That’s exactly what I want!

“I don’t care. Just speak the truth. Can you do that?”

The guard fell silent, visibly conflicted, before nodding.

“If that is your wish, I will do as you ask, Saint.”

After saying this, he melted into the shadows.

The miracles of the Silent Order were rarely seen—because seeing them meant you were involved with the Heresy Inquisition.

Before I could recover from the shock of watching him vanish, he reappeared moments later, rising from the floor of my cell. In his arms, he held a crying infant.

“This is my daughter, Saint… please.”

“I’m not a saint. Hand her to me.”

I took the tiny baby into my arms. She squirmed weakly, her cries faint but insistent.

She was so small and adorable.

But her malformed heart wouldn’t let her live long. I couldn’t let that happen.

Placing my hand on her head, I activated my skill.

The guard was right—her heart was grotesquely twisted, unable to pump blood properly.

I carefully manipulated her heart, straightening what was compressed, shrinking what was stretched, and patching up the holes.

After some time, I finished.

The system notification confirmed it, and I smiled, stroking the baby’s head.

Once it’s revealed that I’m not a saint, I won’t be able to do this anymore.

I wondered if stepping down as a saint would mean fewer people I could help.

No, no. Get it together!

Do you want a divine punishment frying a hole through your head?

This is the right thing to do! I need to survive first!

“It’s done,” I said, carefully handing the baby back to the guard.

Though his face was hidden behind his mask, the trembling of his hands and the crack in his voice made it clear he was crying.

“Is she… okay now?”

“Take her to a doctor to confirm it, but yes, she should grow up healthy and strong.”

“Thank you… thank you, Saint.”

As he sobbed, I waved my hand dismissively.

“Did I use divine power while healing?”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Make sure to testify to that during the inquisition. Testify that I’m not a saint. Understood?”

“…But aren’t you truly a saint?”

No, I’m not! I’m really not! Please, just stop!

“I don’t want to be called a saint. I’m not worthy of that title. I want to abandon it. Help me do that. Testify that I can’t use divine power, that I’m not a saint.”

After a long pause, the guard nodded.

“I will do as you ask.”

“When is the trial?”

“Since it concerns determining whether or not someone is truly a saint, representatives from major churches, the Magic Tower, the Senate, and the Supreme Court must all gather. It will take place in two months.”

“Be sure to testify then.”

The guard bowed deeply and disappeared from the cell.

I stretched out on my bed, feeling satisfied.

Another witness secured. This should seal the deal on my saint status being revoked.

This underground prison is so comfortable.

I smiled happily, lying on the bed as sleep overtook me.

It was a peaceful slumber.