The Saint’s Manual for Redemption - Chapter 22

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Chapter 22
The priest sprawled awkwardly beneath Wilson Junior tried desperately to wrench his trapped arm free, but the mace didn’t budge an inch.
Eventually, two of the larger priests joined the effort to lift it. Or rather, they attempted to.
“This… this won’t budge…?”
Even with both of them straining, the mace remained motionless—and the weight of their failure settled on them in scathing glances. I simply observed from the sidelines, pretending ignorance.
The priests gathered themselves again, their faces flushed with determination. They shifted their grip on the handle like weightlifters, dropped their stance, gritted their teeth, and threw every ounce of effort at lifting that stubborn mace—the full theatrical production of desperate strength.
Still, the mace clung to the floor as if it had taken root.
When a few more priests joined in, making six in total, the result never changed. Watching them sweat through their robes, writhing and straining with such fervor, had begun to feel almost pitiful.
“Stand aside. I’ll lift it.”
Johan, Calianna’s escort, stepped forward. The priests released their grip and scattered.
Johan grasped the mace firmly with both hands. He tensed his entire body, ready to lift—
“Huh…?”
His face flushed crimson, but Wilson Junior didn’t rise even 0.1 millimeters from the ground.
I couldn’t tell whether that reddened face came from the strain itself or from shame at matching the failure of the rest—his pride thoroughly shattered alongside theirs.
Arden, apparently curious as well, sidled closer and tried to hoist the mace by its shaft.
Arden had once carried Wilson Junior from my carriage to the Orphanage on my orders, so the sudden refusal of the mace to budge seemed to fascinate him.
When even two of the Inquisitors—whose profession demanded considerable strength—failed to lift it, all eyes turned toward me, the one who had held it so effortlessly in a single hand moments before.
I finally opened my mouth.
“Ah, I forgot to mention this earlier. Not just anyone can lift it.”
I approached Wilson Junior, still pinning the priest’s arm to the ground, and grasped the handle. Then I lifted it with ease.
“As you can see, only I can lift this. It’s a gift, so naturally it has an owner, doesn’t it? Why would it be a gift otherwise? If you really want to take it, I won’t stop you—help yourselves.”
For effect, I twirled the mace through the air in broad circles, and those who had touched it stared at me with expressions of dawning reality.
The mace they couldn’t lift—as heavy as a thousand pounds—I spun in one hand as casually as a wooden staff. Their reaction was justified.
The reason they couldn’t lift Wilson Junior was remarkably simple.
I had cast a Blessing upon Wilson Junior, binding it so that no one I hadn’t authorized could lift it.
For reference, Wilson, currently lodged in the Inquisition Chamber of the Main Temple, carried the same restriction. That’s why I could leave behind this Sacred Relic—once the main weapon of three generations of Saints—in the chamber without worry.
In any case, once the Church hierarchy realized it was a Sacred Relic only I could wield, they lost all interest in storing it in their vault. They stopped bothering me about retrieving the Sacred Relic altogether.
As the attempt to claim Wilson Junior fell apart, the Archbishop cleared his throat and spread his arms wide with a benevolent smile.
“Both Saint Candidates have proven their abilities admirably.”
It was absurd.
By any measure, I had won decisively.
So this is what they meant about competing on someone else’s home ground.
Ask any random person on the street, and ten out of ten would say I’d won the contest outright—yet the Archbishop treated Calianna and me as virtual equals.
Was this how the figure skating emperor felt when the light-loving moth stole his gold medal…?
Calianna’s eyes, which had dimmed upon hearing of my accomplishment, reignited with confidence. The Archbishop spoke with what he clearly intended as sympathy.
“It seems the choice between you two is no longer our concern. The decision now rests entirely with Caritas.”
Caritas chose me, you bastards.
Are you really going to ignore the will of God? You gather to serve the Divine and yet you can disregard His will so completely?
I had half a mind to swing Wilson Junior right here and now, to deliver the divine retribution that Caritas wouldn’t send. Let this place see justice—the wrath that the heavens themselves should have poured down.
“Tomorrow, in the Main Temple Central Plaza before the faithful, I shall announce the will of God. May Caritas’s blessing and glory shine upon you both.”
I could only wonder what kind of farce they’d concocted for the Central Plaza. They seemed serious enough, summoning the congregation itself.
***
“Wait, Saint Candidate Ciela!”
Calianna called out to stop me as I left the grand cathedral. Expecting another plea for me to withdraw, I turned sharply and raised an eyebrow—only to find her approaching with careful steps and a request.
“Would you spare me some time?”
Gone was the arrogant tone from before when she’d demanded I step aside. It was clear that the miracle I’d displayed had humbled her, and she’d finally come to understand her place.
“Candidate, meeting alone with another candidate when only a day remains before the choice is made… it could be seen as risky,” Johan warned, his handsome face creased with concern.
The blonde knight’s beautiful features were shadowed with genuine worry—an expression worth witnessing.
When I glanced at Arden, our dark-haired knight of icy composure, he neither protested the private meeting nor showed any particular concern. Either he trusted Wilson Junior in my hands, or he was simply neglecting his duties.
“It’s fine, Johan. I can reach my chambers alone, so please withdraw for tonight.”
“I’ll go with Arden. Safe travels,” I said, effectively dismissing Johan while pairing him with Arden, who didn’t guard me anyway.
Arden, quick to catch on, spirited Johan away. Only once he had disappeared did Calianna’s shoulders relax, and she looked directly at me.
“Would you come to my chambers? There’s something I need to discuss with you. This isn’t something we should talk about in the corridor.”
Calianna’s voice was soft as she extended the invitation. Curious about what she’d say that required us to retreat indoors, I nodded my assent.
The moment I stepped into Calianna’s chambers, the wealth gap became strikingly apparent.
From the grand doors themselves, the contrast with my own shabby room was immediate and obvious—and the interior only emphasized the disparity.
This chamber was nearly identical in size and layout to the one I’d inhabited during my time as a Saint three generations ago. Perhaps slightly smaller, but honestly, such a difference barely registered.
It was the kind of room you’d believe belonged to a Saint. In fact, by any reasonable standard, this was unmistakably a Saint’s chamber. I’d wager what little independence allowance I’ve managed to save that this was where the impostor Saints of past generations had lived.
Housing a Saint Candidate in such quarters was tantamount to treating her as a Saint already.
The message was unmistakable: in their eyes, she was already the chosen one.
Someone locks them away in a room no bigger than a bathroom, one with no windows.
Heat flared through her chest.
The room was attended by several Deaconesses, a stark contrast to Ciela’s own retinue—only Donmissae Rillet served her personally.
“All of you, leave.”
Calianna dismissed them with a wave of her hand, and they withdrew without protest. The moment the door closed behind them, she spoke plainly.
“Give it up.”
“Do you understand what happens to me if I show any sign of surrender here?”
Calianna nodded gravely at the question.
“I do. I know exactly what it means. But I’ll find a way to keep you from facing an Inquisition Trial, I promise you.”
Her voice rang with sincerity—not pity, not calculation, but a genuine desire to save my life.
“You could be dead by tomorrow.”
Whether warning or threat, Calianna’s words carried an edge, her gaze hardening with resolve.
What shone in her eyes was, remarkably, an unwavering sense of justice.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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