Chapter 40
The battle priests and holy knights of the White Order, and investigators from the Black Fortress, the imperial intelligence agency, arrived at the scene less than 10 minutes after I had beaten the Collector to death with my belt.
"It was all for my personal gain! I was just a bastard son of an insignificant baron family when they asked if I wanted to believe in the evil god! They said if I believed in the evil god, power, and money would all be mine! I thought I had nothing to lose, so I agreed! Then one morning, my father and brother were found dead without anyone knowing! That's how I inherited the baron title!"
"You're spilling it all so well! Good! Keep talking! That's how much more firewood will be piled under your feet!"
"Hueeurgh!! Spare me! Spare me!! I didn't stop even though I knew this would happen if I got caught!! But who would refuse when they could get whatever they wanted!! I don't care about the factory workers who burned to death!! Those beggar bastards can burn or whatever…! Aaaack!!"
"The Silent Order of the Pantheon and the investigators from the Black Fortress will treat you very, very nicely. I'll make you wish you were never born!"
"Ahhhhh!! P-please!!"
Baron Hanson was dragged away screaming his death throes like that.
The fat factory manager followed behind him.
"N-no! I don't know anything!! Baron Hanson was a devil worshipper? I-I didn't know! I didn't know! Please have mercy!"
"If there had been stories of you often fighting with Baron Hanson or even complaining about him at drinking parties, we wouldn't be doing this. Testimonies that you followed him very enthusiastically poured out in just 10 minutes of investigation. You followed what he did enthusiastically even though you're not a devil worshipper? Your mental state is highly suspicious."
"Ahhh! Please!! Please!! Saint!!"
The factory manager reached out his hand towards me.
At that sight, I smiled sweetly.
"Even if he's not a devil worshipper, his mental state is no better. Make sure to burn him at the stake right next to the baron."
"N-no!! Ahhh, please! Grace!! Grace!!"
There's no grace for you, you bastard.
After the baron and factory manager were dragged away squawking, only then could I relax.
I was tired from using too much mental power.
What's all this fuss in the middle of the night?
I should quickly go back and rest...
"Saint Amael."
"Saint of Healing."
"Mr. Amael. Mr. Amael."
An enormous number of people who had gathered at some point were filling the main gate of Baron Hanson's mansion.
Eyes of reverence.
Eyes of surprise.
Eyes brimming with tears.
Some were even kneeling.
"Thank you."
A bereaved family member.
A woman who had been shedding tears while holding the charred remains in front of the factory just now came forward, carefully grasped my hand, and bowed her head.
I could feel teardrops falling to the ground.
And it wasn't just that woman.
Dozens of poor and sick slum dwellers came forward trying to touch my body.
They held my legs, my hands, my arms and shoulders, my waist and sides, with expressions as if they were trying to receive some miraculous energy.
I didn't feel unpleasant.
"What are you doing!? Get away from the Saint..."
Police officers rushed to stop the people, but I raised my hand to stop them.
Anyway.
These are people I won't be able to see soon.
I had to help them as much as I could while I was still here.
Just as I was about to raise my hand to heal the sick people.
"Why is life so hard!?"
The bereaved mother holding my hand cried out in a voice of tearing anguish.
"Why did my daughter have to die at the hands of such wicked people!? Is this also the will of the Goddess? Then isn't it too cruel? Why doesn't suffering disappear from life, Saint…?"
The mother collapsed on the ground and asked that while continuously pouring out cries that even a beast probably couldn't cry like that.
Everyone became solemn.
And they looked at me.
They seemed to want me to say something.
I looked around at the people.
Thin bodies from not eating properly.
Tired faces.
Dry, damaged skin from being injured somewhere.
People with hollow eyes were looking at me with an emotion called hope.
I couldn't refuse their gaze.
What does it matter if I'm impersonating a saint?
What does it matter if I'm a fake?
Can't I at least comfort these people who look so troubled?
In this difficult world.
This shitty world, if they can find even a moment's comfort...
I'm already hated by Goddess Lilia anyway, so why not play the fake saint for a bit?
Jesus.
I'm sorry.
I'm going to plagiarize again this time.
I climbed onto the roof of the car that the factory manager had used to bring me here.
Naturally, everyone's attention focused on me.
I raised my hand.
And I threw out a line.
"Blessed are they who mourn, for they shall be comforted."
***
An era where children labor.
An era where 3-year-old children were used as money-making tools for capitalists and entrepreneurs instead of happily playing.
"Blessed are the merciful, for they shall receive mercy."
An era where when workers' fingers were cut off, arms and legs were twisted, bodies were injured and broken, they were just thrown away and new ones were used.
"Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they shall be satisfied."
An era where young girls slept hanging from rotting ropes with faces distorted by burns and chemical poisoning.
"Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see the Goddess' grace."
An era where entrepreneurs tour slums and naturally think, "How can those bastards be so vulgar and stupid? Aren't they just a different species that only looks similar?"
I was saying that those who suffer the most pain and hurt are blessed.
"Blessed are those tired of a purposeless life, for they will find a reason to live. Humans cannot create this. Only the Goddess can make it so. The best grace She shall bestow upon you is peace of mind."
I sold out the Goddess a bit too.
I'm going to Korea anyway.
I sold her out openly without hesitation.
"Today. There was an unfortunate incident. You may have lost someone, been miserable, despaired, and felt frustrated. But even so, you are alive. Those who have left are no longer by your side. They will now be guided by the hand of the Goddess, not humans."
I looked at the mother who had lost her child.
"What was your daughter's name?"
"Ellie. It was Ellie, Saint."
"Remember Ellie. Recall all the scenes of her dressing, speaking, and chattering as usual."
She started to sob again.
"I remember, Saint. I remember. So vividly... vividly I remember."
"Now imagine her resting peacefully in the Goddess' embrace. Imagine her smiling. Imagine her finding peace in a world without any pain or unhappiness."
Wailing cries flowed out from here and there.
"Did Ellie go to heaven? Did the Goddess of Grace take pity on her?" the mother asked, shedding tears.
I didn't know.
How would I possibly know that?
I had never spoken a single word with the Goddess.
So I lied.
"Surely she has. The Goddess will never abandon those who are sick, weary, and sorrowful."
I was trying to tell these people to live on.
But for those immersed in deep sorrow, it took a long time to explain reasons to live, and it was difficult for their wounded hearts to be comforted.
So I employed religion.
Possible because it was religion.
I comforted them with an act that only religion could do.
"Ellie will be resting in the Goddess' embrace. All those who died today will be. They will all be resting peacefully with Ellie in a place without any more pain or sorrow. So don't be sad anymore."
The mother collapsed.
I slowly came down from the car roof I had been standing on and approached her.
I hugged her.
"Ellie is at peace now. So now focus on making yourself at peace. Cry when you're sad. Laugh when you're happy. You should try to eat well, sleep well, and be happy. You should live your life. That is what remains for you to do now."
"Saint!!"
I helped the woman crying in my arms for a long time to pour out all her emotions.
Many people saw those tears and cried together.
"Damn it. The dust is fucking…"
Some of the police officers who had come out for crowd control were taking off their police caps and wiping away tears.
I let them all cry.
And I did what I could do.
I healed those who were injured among the people gathered in front of me.
"Yodel."
"Yes, Saint."
I made one request to Yodel, who had been standing silently by my side since before I gave my sermon on the car.
"Please provide compensation to all those who lost family members in today's factory fire. Generously enough to be comforting. Physical abundance may not completely remove mental sorrow, but it can at least alleviate it. Please do so in the name of grace."
"I will follow. I will speak to Jonathan Karma."
Yodel's eyes were brimming with tears as he bowed his head respectfully.
I smiled bitterly.
I'm sorry, Grandpa Yodel.
I'm a fraud.
I'm going to get hit by a curse and go to Korea soon.
But the words I said.
Don't forget them.
They're pitiful, aren't they?
If you have the ability to help, you should help.
As I was trying to drag my tired body back to the Magic Tower temple, many factory workers who had heard my sermon followed behind me.
As if on a pilgrimage, many workers slowly started walking behind me.
When I slightly turned my head back, everyone was following me silently, shedding tears.
It looked like a struggle to digest their sorrow, remove their emotions, and send off those who had left.
This was a funeral.
How could I tell them to leave after seeing such a sight?
I just walked on with them following behind me.
Until we reached the Magic Tower temple.
They walked and walked behind me.
***
The value of the name "saint" was indeed great.
Jonathan Karma didn't just provide compensation and end it there.
"There are two options. Either raise the treatment of workers to the level of the three slum districts and receive cheap elixir needed for factory operation from Karma Company, or face a long trial at the Pantheon on charges of abusing workers to supply resentment for the evil god. Which will you choose?"
When he met with the business owners operating factories on the outskirts of the capital, Jonathan Karma was smiling, they say.
But I heard that the faces of the priests and holy knights standing to his left and right were twisted like Mozgus from the underworld.
As a result, all factories on the outskirts of the capital accepted Jonathan Karma's conditions.
"An evil god worshipper came from a baron family? What a disgrace!!"
His Majesty the Emperor was also greatly angered.
As a result, Baron Hanson's baronetcy was revoked at ultra-high speed. He ended up being burned at the stake in front of everyone.
They say all the workers in the capital felt satisfaction hearing his screams.
***
"The Collector is dead."
"Dead?"
"She was one of the most powerful in the order except for the Chosen One. How could such a being be defeated so easily?"
"It's said that the Saint of Healing himself revealed her hideout. She met her death at his hands."
Everyone in the room fell silent at once.
It was fear.
The Collector's residence would have been thoroughly protected by the miracle of concealment.
How on earth did he find it??
He must have the ability to see through the miracle of concealment.
There was no other explanation.
And naturally.
One conclusion came to everyone's mind.
"The Chosen One is in danger."
"The One with a Thousand Faces is also likely to be discovered soon."
"As long as the saint frequents the separate palace where Princess Iomene is, he will eventually be discovered. He will surely realize his identity."
"We need to come up with a countermeasure."
Various opinions were exchanged, but there was no clear solution.
The Saint of Healing.
A huge obstacle that suddenly appeared and was ruining all their plans.
He wasn’t like any enemy they had faced prior.
He clearly had all sorts of impossible abilities and fraudulent detection skills, and was trying to destroy the evil god cult.
How should they deal with him?
They couldn't come up with countermeasures because they had no information about the opponent, while the opponent seemed to know them too well.
"We can't risk exposing the Chosen One any further. Bring the plan forward. Awaken the fragment of the evil god planted in Princess Iomene's body."
"If we do that, the fragment's abilities will be much weaker than originally planned."
"Moreover, the fragment will become extremely unstable. It's likely to break at even the slightest shock."
"Still, this is the best option we have now. We must prevent the Chosen One from clashing with the saint."
An opposing opinion was raised to that.
"The Chosen One was selected by the evil god and has multiple lives. Even if he dies, he doesn't completely disappear."
"Your point?"
"I think we should have the Chosen One continue to assist the growth of the fragment by staying near it as he has been, even at the risk of dying to the saint. Think about how much sacrifice we made to obtain the fragment of the evil god. If we awaken it half-heartedly and fail, that would be too great a loss."
"The saint of the Grace Order is a saint whose miracles have not yet been revealed."
The saint of the White Order.
The holy woman of the Sun Order.
The saint of the Silent Order.
And so on.
The evil god cult knew very well what powers most orders' saints and holy women could use.
But this was the first saint of the Grace Order.
The first saint to appear.
There couldn't be any information.
"What if the Saint of Healing is a being who can simultaneously shatter all of the Chosen One's multiple lives? Moreover, according to the Chosen One's report, it seems he's trying to transfer the fragment of the evil god to his own body, doesn't this mean he has a way to deal with the fragment of the evil god?"
If they weren’t careful, they could lose both the Chosen One and the fragment of the evil god in vain.
When everyone reached this conclusion, no objections were raised.
In the end, the conclusion was set.
"As a price for recklessly bringing the plan forward, the fragment will be severely unstable. Its abilities will also be much weaker than we planned. But even so, we have no choice but to do this."
Everyone was silent.
It was agreement.
"For the Blood Drinker..."
After the weak slogan was shouted.
The candle went out.