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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Mod7
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News spread through the empire like wildfire. Faster than a horse without legs, as the saying goes.
A human, favored by the Goddess, had appeared.
That single, unsubstantiated rumor sent shockwaves through the empire. The Goddess was known for her impartiality, never showing favoritism.
The fact that a mere symbol on my forehead could cause such a stir spoke volumes about the Goddess’s carefully crafted image. An unwavering faith, bordering on fanaticism, seemed to grip the nation.
Fortunately, the church hadn’t made an official statement yet, so most people dismissed the rumor as nonsense.
“Ah, if it isn’t the Saint! Hahaha!”
“Greetings.”
Of course, those within the church knew about the mark. I’d shown it publicly.
Some had already started calling me “Saint,” treating me with excessive deference.
It was clearly an attempt to make me feel welcome, to subtly encourage me to join their ranks. The intention was obvious, though I didn’t know who was behind it.
And so, I endured their unwanted attention.
“Saint, would you care for some of this?”
“Hahaha, Saint!”
“Saint—”
‘Fuck! I told you I’m not joining!’
If they harbored any ill will, I wouldn’t hesitate to react. But their intentions were pure, their actions fueled by genuine faith. That made it harder to respond.
If they were hostile, I could simply kill them.
Unlike at the academy, where I lacked backing, here, I was the Goddess’s chosen one. Killing a few overzealous believers wouldn’t cause much trouble. They’d be the ones at fault for disrespecting me.
But I avoided conflict whenever possible.
My past lives—assassin, mad scientist conducting human experiments, slave enduring constant beatings—had instilled in me a deep distrust of others, a disregard for life.
To counteract this, I’d established a rule for myself: Treat others with basic respect, unless they attack first. I didn’t want to become a mindless killer.
So, I could tolerate this. They meant no harm.
Even if they constantly sang hymns in my presence.
Even if they extolled the virtues of the Goddess statue.
Even if they recited prayers, clutching their rosaries.
Their actions stemmed from devotion, not malice. They didn’t know the true nature of my relationship with the Goddess. Their behavior was understandable.
Even the Saintess’s actions were understandable. Her faith was deep, unwavering. It was natural for her to disapprove of my attitude.
As long as her piety didn’t interfere with my plans, I had no reason to be hostile towards her.
“Ah! Don’t sit there! The statue…!”
“Always be grateful to the Goddess…”
“Let us pray together…”
She was annoying, yes, but there was no malice in her words, no ill intent.
Unlike the man standing before me now.
“Ahem, Saint, may I borrow a moment of your time?”
The portly bishop, the one who’d been reprimanded by the Pope. Rignil, I believed his name was.
He approached me openly, making no attempt to hide his intentions. A repulsive aura clung to him, and his smug smile suggested he was confident in his plan.
“What is it, Bishop Rignil?”
“Oh! You remember my name! I’m honored, hehe.”
How could I forget the man who’d publicly tried to discredit me?
“You made quite an impression. Why have you sought me out?”
“Ah, I simply wished to have a conversation with the Saint.”
He offered a supposedly friendly smile, but it reminded me of a fly rubbing its hands together, plotting its next move.
“A conversation about what?”
“Well… a man-to-man chat, you see. Hahaha!”
He nudged me with his elbow, and I barely suppressed the urge to break his arm.
This man was a bishop? Like Goddess, like bishop, I suppose.
He acted as if we were old friends, throwing his arm around my shoulder, whispering promises of taking me to “heaven” tonight.
He must have been waiting for my conversation with the others to end.
His proximity was repulsive. His breath reeked of stale food, and his hands, which had likely touched a woman moments before, rested on my shoulder.
I subtly pulled away, wiping my shoulder with a handkerchief, then discarding it.
His brow furrowed slightly, but what did I care?
“Oh? You dropped this.”
“Ah…”
The Saintess, who’d appeared behind me, picked up the discarded handkerchief and handed it back to me.
I wanted to tell her it was dirty, but explaining the circumstances would likely anger her. She wouldn’t understand why I found his touch so repulsive.
The handkerchief was useless to me now. And I still felt a slight twinge of pain from where she’d healed me earlier. I decided to tease her a bit.
I took the handkerchief and placed it back in her hand.
“A gift for the Saintess. It suits you.”
“Uh… wh-what?!”
“I hope you like it.”
“Uh… yes?!.. Yes…”
Her face flushed slightly. Perhaps it was just my imagination.
As our hands parted, I felt her fingertips linger against mine, but I dismissed the thought. A scandal involving the Saintess and the supposed “Saint” was the last thing I needed.
I turned to leave, but her voice stopped me.
“Ah! There will be an official announcement from the church soon.”
“I know.”
“Afterwards, if you meet with the Pope, you should be able to return home.”
“Do I have to meet with him?”
“He wants to discuss the church’s support.”
“I’ll see him as soon as possible.”
“I’ll deliver the message!”
She called out, then hurried away, clutching the handkerchief to her chest as if it were a precious treasure.
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Time passed, and the church prepared for the announcement. Everyone bustled about, including the Saintess.
Hildegarde walked quietly through the corridors of the grand cathedral, her mind in turmoil.
‘What… did that mean?’
She clutched the handkerchief Jenison had given her, the one he’d called a “gift.”
‘I haven’t done anything to deserve a gift…’
In fact, she’d done the opposite. Her actions, though guided by her faith, had likely angered him.
His disrespect towards the Goddess had been blatant.
She’d encountered people who hated the Goddess before, blaming Her for their misfortunes. It was easy to resent a distant, unseen being.
But Jenison was different.
He didn’t deny the Goddess’s existence, nor did he simply resent Her. His feelings were closer to contempt.
He treated sacred objects with indifference, even disrespect. He sat on the Goddess statue as if it were a common chair.
“I need to talk to him again…”
“Saintess.”
“Hmm? What is it, Bishop Rignil?”
“Haha, I just wanted to speak with you for a moment…”
Bishop Rignil appeared beside her, seemingly out of nowhere, beads of sweat trickling down his forehead.
“Is something wrong? You’re sweating…”
“Haha… Just nervous, I suppose.”
“…Well, this announcement is quite significant.”
“Y-Yes, it is.”
She tried to ease his tension, but his eyes darted nervously, looking past her, towards something behind her.
Suddenly, a shadow lunged from behind, clamping a hand over her mouth. Another shadow snapped a strange bracelet onto her wrist.
“Mmph?!”
“…”
She lost consciousness before she could react, her last sight the image of Bishop Rignil yelling at the shadows, his face contorted in anger.
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Hildegarde will now be referred to as ‘Saintess’ instead of ‘Saint’
