Chapter 40
The Honor of a Lesser Saint
The White Order’s battle priests and holy knights.
The investigators from the Black Fortress, the Imperial Intelligence Agency.
They arrived on the scene less than ten minutes after I had beaten the Collector to death with my belt.
“I did it for my own selfish gain!”
Baron Hanson sobbed, his voice cracking as he spilled his confession.
“I was nothing more than a bastard son from a useless noble house! Then one day, someone asked me—Why not place your faith in the Evil God? They promised me power, wealth—everything could be mine! What did I have to lose?! So I said yes! And the next morning, my father and older brother were found dead—silently, without a trace! That’s how I inherited the barony!”
“You’re spilling secrets so easily! Good! Keep talking! The more you confess, the higher we’ll stack the wood for your execution!!”
“Hkk—!! Please! Spare me! Spare me!! I knew what would happen if I was caught, but I couldn’t stop! How could I?! Everything I wanted was handed to me! What kind of idiot would refuse?! Those factory workers who burned to death—why should I care?! Those filthy beggars could burn or rot for all I—GRAAAAHK!!”
“The Silent Order of the Grand Cathedral and the Black Fortress investigators will love getting their hands on you. You’ll be begging to have never been born!!”
“AAAAAH!! P-Please!!”
Baron Hanson let out a bloodcurdling scream as he was dragged away.
Right behind him, the obese factory manager stumbled after.
“N-No! I swear! I didn’t know anything!! The Baron was a devil worshipper?! I-I had no idea! Please, have mercy!!”
“If there had been any reports of you fighting with the Baron, or even just complaining about him at a drunken feast, we might’ve given you the benefit of the doubt. But after ten minutes of investigation, we’ve already found countless testimonies that you eagerly followed his orders. A non-worshipper who enthusiastically helped a devil worshipper? We’re seriously questioning your mental state.”
“NOOOO!! Please!! Please!! Saint!!”
The factory manager reached out toward me in desperation.
In response, I simply flashed him a bright, cheerful smile.
“You may not be a devil worshipper, but your mind is no better than theirs. Burn him at the stake next to the Baron.”
“N-NO!! AAAAAH! PLEASE! A BLESSING! A BLESSING!!”
There’s no blessing for you, you son of a bitch.
And so, with their pathetic screams ringing through the night, the Baron and the factory manager were dragged away.
Only then did I finally allow myself to relax.
I was exhausted.
I’d burned through way too much mental energy.
What a mess, in the middle of the damn night.
I just wanted to go home and rest—
“Saint Amael.”
“Saint of Healing.”
“Amael. Amael.”
A massive crowd had gathered at the mansion’s front gates.
Their gazes were filled with awe.
Shock.
Tears.
Some had even fallen to their knees.
“Thank you.”
A mother stepped forward, her body trembling.
Just a moment ago, she had been at the factory ruins, sobbing over the charred corpse of her child.
Now, she carefully reached out, grasping my hand as she lowered her head.
Her tears dripped onto the ground.
She wasn’t the only one.
Dozens of poor and sickly people approached, desperately trying to touch me.
My legs, my hands, my arms, my shoulders, my waist, my sides—
They clung to me as if they could absorb some kind of divine energy just by making contact.
It didn’t make me uncomfortable.
“Step back from the Saint at once—!”
The city guards rushed forward to stop them, but I lifted my hand, signaling them to stand down.
After all—
Soon, I wouldn’t be here anymore.
I had to help as many of them as I could while I was still around.
I raised my hand, preparing to heal the sick—
But then.
“Why is life so cruel?!”
The mother holding my hand suddenly let out a gut-wrenching wail.
“Why did my daughter have to die at the hands of such wicked men?! Is this truly the will of the Goddess?! Then isn’t it too cruel?! Why does suffering never disappear from this world?!
Saint…!!”
She collapsed to the ground, her grief overflowing in screams so raw and painful that even an animal could not weep like that.
And all I could do—
Was stand there.
I Am Asked.
Everyone fell silent.
And then, they all looked at me.
They wanted me to say something.
I glanced around at the people surrounding me.
Their bodies, thin from malnutrition.
Their exhausted faces.
Their bruised and cracked skin, barely healed wounds.
Their hollow eyes—now staring at me, filled with a fragile flicker of hope.
I couldn’t reject that look.
So what if I was a fake saint?
So what if I was a fraud?
At the very least—
I could offer these tired, suffering people some comfort.
If, even for a brief moment, in this miserable, fucked-up world, they could feel some relief…
Then fine.
The Goddess of Lilia already hated me anyway.
What harm was there in playing the fake saint just a little longer?
Jesus.
Forgive me.
I’m going to plagiarize you again.
I climbed onto the roof of the car the factory manager had used to bring me here.
All eyes naturally turned to me.
I raised my hand.
And I spoke.
“Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.”
A world where a three-year-old does not run around happily—
But instead, becomes a tool for capitalists and industrialists to make money.
“Blessed are the merciful, for they shall receive mercy.”
A world where a worker’s severed fingers, twisted limbs, and broken bodies are discarded like waste—
And simply replaced with fresh ones.
“Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for justice, for they shall be satisfied.”
A world where young girls sleep hanging from rotting ropes, their faces scarred by burns and chemical exposure.
“Blessed are those whose hearts remain untainted, for they shall witness the Goddess’s grace.”
A world where wealthy industrialists visit the slums as if they were tourist attractions,
Laughing, wondering—How could these creatures be so vulgar, so ignorant?
Surely, they must be a completely different species.
I was speaking of blessings to the most wretched, the most broken among them.
“Blessed are those weary of a purposeless life, for they shall find a reason to live.”
Humans cannot create such meaning for themselves.
Only the Goddess can grant it.
Among all her blessings, the greatest of them all—
Is peace of mind.
I even sold the Goddess’s name to them.
Not that it mattered.
I was leaving for Korea soon anyway.
So I shamelessly, unapologetically used her.
“Today, a tragedy occurred.
You lost someone.
You suffered.
You despaired.
You were left in ruin.
And yet—
You are still here.”
“The ones who have left… will never return to you.
They are no longer of this world.
They have been taken, led away—by the hand of the Goddess.”
I turned to the mother who had lost her child.
“What was your daughter’s name?”
“…Elli. It was Elli, Saint.”
“Think of Elli.
Recall her voice.
The way she spoke.
The way she laughed.
Every memory of her—bring them to the surface.”
The mother began to weep again.
“I can see her, Saint… I can see her so clearly… So vividly…”
“Now—”
“Imagine her resting peacefully in the arms of the Goddess.
See her smiling.
See her in a place where there is no more pain, no more suffering.
A world where she has found peace.”
From all around me, sobs and wails erupted.
“Do you think… do you think Elli has gone to heaven?”
Tears streaming down her face, the mother looked up at me and asked.
Did I know?
Of course not.
How the hell would I know?
I have never spoken to the Goddess in my life.
So—
I lied.
“I am certain of it.
For the Goddess will never abandon those who suffer, those who have endured pain and sorrow.”
I wasn’t telling them to move on.
I was telling them to live.
But explaining why they should live would take too much time.
And no words would ever truly comfort their broken hearts.
So—
I used religion.
Because only religion could do this.
Because only religion had the power to console them in this way.
“Elli is at peace in the arms of the Goddess.
And so are all those who have perished today.
They are resting—in a place where there is no more pain, no more sadness.
So please—
Do not grieve any longer.”
The mother collapsed to the ground.
I slowly stepped down from the car and approached her.
And then—
I embraced her.
“Elli is at peace now.
So now—focus on finding peace for yourself.
Cry when you are sad.
Laugh when you are happy.
Eat well.
Sleep well.
And strive to be happy.
You must live.
That is what you must do now.”
“Saint!!”
I held the grieving mother in my arms, letting her cry until she had nothing left to spill.
Many others, seeing her tears, began to weep as well.
“Damn it… this goddamn dust…”
Even some of the officers sent to control the crowd discreetly took off their hats, wiping their eyes.
I let them cry.
All of them.
And then—I did what I could.
I healed the wounded among the people gathered before me.
“Yodel.”
“Yes, Saint.”
Yodel, who had been silently standing beside me even before I climbed onto the car to speak, turned his gaze toward me.
I had one request for him.
“Ensure that all those who lost family members in today’s factory fire receive compensation.
Enough to truly support them, not just as a token gesture. Wealth alone cannot erase grief, but it can at least ease some of the pain. Let this be done in the name of the Goddess’s grace.”
“…I will do as you ask. I will speak with Jonathan Karma.”
Tears welled up in Yodel’s old eyes as he bowed deeply.
I gave him a bitter smile.
Sorry, old man.
I’m a fraud.
Pretty soon, I’ll get cursed and go back to Korea.
But please—
Remember what I said.
They deserve better.
And if you have the power to help them—then you should.
Dragging my exhausted body, I turned to head back to the Temple of the Mage’s Tower.
But behind me—
A procession of factory workers silently followed.
Like a pilgrimage, they walked behind me, step by step.
I turned my head slightly.
They didn’t say a word.
They just followed—tears falling freely down their faces.
As if this was their final act of mourning.
Their funeral march.
…How could I tell them to stop?
So, I let them follow.
And I just kept walking.
Until we reached the Temple of the Mage’s Tower.
They walked.
And walked.
And walked.
The title of Saint carried immense weight.
Jonathan Karma didn’t stop at merely handing out compensation.
Instead, he cornered the factory owners with a simple choice:
“You have two options.
One: Improve worker conditions to at least match those in the third district slums, and in exchange, Karma Company will provide your factories with essential elixirs at a discount.
Two: Refuse—and the Pantheon will put you on trial for torturing workers to harvest their resentment for the Evil God’s miracles.”
“So, which will it be?”
They say Jonathan Karma smiled as he spoke.
But the priests and holy knights flanking him?
Their faces were twisted into the visage of death itself.
In the end—every factory owner on the outskirts of the capital accepted Jonathan Karma’s terms.
“A baron consorting with an Evil God?! What an unforgivable disgrace!”
The Emperor himself was furious.
The verdict was swift.
Baron Hanson was stripped of his title.
And in front of the entire capital—
He burned at the stake.
Every worker in the city listened to his screams.
And for the first time in a long, long time—
They felt satisfied.
***
“The Collector is dead.”
“Dead?”
“She was one of the strongest in the cult, second only to the Chosen. How could someone like her be killed so easily?”
“They say the Saint of Healing personally uncovered her hiding place. She met her end at his hands.”
The entire room fell into silence.
Fear.
The Collector’s hideout had been thoroughly protected by the Miracle of Concealment.
How in the world had he found it?
There was no explanation—except that he possessed an ability to see through the Miracle of Concealment.
Nothing else made sense.
And naturally, there was only one conclusion that came to everyone’s mind.
“The Chosen is in danger.”
“The One with a Thousand Faces may also be discovered soon.”
“As long as the Saint continues visiting Princess Iomene’s palace, it’s only a matter of time. He will figure it out.”
“We need to come up with a plan.”
Various suggestions were thrown around, but no one had a real solution.
The Saint of Healing.
A sudden and unpredictable force that had appeared out of nowhere—utterly destroying every carefully laid plan they had.
He was not an opponent like any they had faced before.
A man with absurd abilities, a broken detection skill, and an obsession with wiping out the Evil God’s cult.
How were they supposed to deal with him?
They knew nothing about him.
Meanwhile, he seemed to know everything about them.
There was no way to form a counter-strategy.
“We cannot risk exposing the Chosen any further. We must advance the plan. Awaken the Evil God’s Fragment inside Princess Iomene.”
“But doing so prematurely will greatly weaken the fragment’s abilities.”
“Not only that—it will become highly unstable. Even the slightest shock could cause it to shatter completely.”
“Even so, this is our best option. We cannot allow the Chosen to come into direct conflict with the Saint.”
A voice opposed the idea.
“The Chosen was chosen by the Evil God. They possess multiple lives. Even if they die, they will not be permanently erased.”
“And your point?”
“I’m saying that even if the Chosen is at risk of being killed by the Saint, we should keep them close to the Evil God’s Fragment. Their priority must remain the growth of the fragment.
Think about the sacrifices we made to acquire the fragment in the first place. If we force an incomplete awakening and fail, the loss will be catastrophic.”
“The Saint of the Grace Order is a complete unknown. No one has figured out what miracles he can use.”
The Saint of the White Order.
The Saintess of the Sun Order.
The Saint of the Silent Order.
The Evil God’s cult had detailed information on almost every other Saint and Saintess in the major religious orders.
But this Saint of Healing?
He was the first of his kind.
There was no prior data on him.
“If the Saint of Healing has the ability to destroy all of the Chosen’s lives at once, what then?
Not only that—according to the Chosen’s report, he intends to absorb the Evil God’s Fragment into his own body.
That means—he has a way to deal with it.”
If things went wrong—
They wouldn’t just lose the Chosen.
They would lose the Evil God’s Fragment as well.
As that realization settled in, no one could offer a counterargument.
The conclusion was inevitable.
“If we force an early awakening, the fragment will be dangerously unstable. Its abilities will be far weaker than we originally planned.
But despite that—
We have no choice.”
Silence.
A grim acceptance.
“For the One Who Drinks Blood…”
A lifeless chant echoed in the dark.
And then—
The candlelight went out.
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