The Saint’s Manual for Redemption - Chapter 24

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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 24
Sir Arden, who stood before the door, startled when he caught sight of Wilson Junior in my hand.
As though I were about to strike him down with it. If he were an assassin sent by the Church’s higher-ups, I’d made peace with the idea of doing just that.
Though, thinking about it now, if I hadn’t attempted to flee, the Church wouldn’t have needed to kill me tonight at all.
Tomorrow, they would gather everyone and announce to all under heaven that I was a false Saintess.
“Sir, what brings you here?”
I asked him, bewildered as to why he’d knocked on a lady’s door in the dead of night. He dropped his usual smooth smile and turned the question back on me.
“Might I come in for a moment?”
Was this man also in league with the Temple? Had he come at the Temple’s behest to test me, to sway me with false hope?
I still couldn’t be certain whether to trust him.
True, Sir Arden had helped me considerably, but he remained a Holy Knight of the Main Temple nonetheless.
“Come in.”
I stepped aside slightly to let Sir Arden enter. Even if he turned on me, I could easily subdue him with the Mace.
After all, I’d run the Demon King Raid—I wasn’t about to be bested by a single Holy Knight.
The moment he stepped inside, Sir Arden affixed Soundproofing Talismans to the door and windows, then looked at me with grave eyes.
“My offer still stands.”
His offer—he meant hiding me in his domain, didn’t he? Sir Arden clearly knew that I was meant to be dragged to my execution tomorrow.
No, actually—if I, who have no informants in the Main Temple, know of this, then surely everyone in the Temple knows.
“Do you wish me to leave the Temple, Sir?”
When I asked directly, he nodded.
“Why do you insist on saving me?”
“At first it was a matter of conscience, but now… you’ve become someone I cannot afford to lose.”
So he’s fallen for me in such a short time?
The moment I decided he was rather susceptible despite his appearance, Sir Arden indirectly denied it.
“I cannot allow someone of your Holy Power to perish. Even without the Saintess title, there will always be opportunity as long as you live.”
There will always be opportunity as long as you live. I’d heard that somewhere before, but I couldn’t quite place it.
“Surely the Main Temple has sealed every exit to prevent my escape.”
“I’ve carved out a route. Remarkably, there’s nothing in this Temple that money cannot buy.”
Not particularly surprising. They’d corrupted themselves thoroughly. Money enough, and they’d sell Temple secrets to Heretics.
“Sir, might I ask you a favor?”
The words that left my mouth were not acceptance.
I didn’t know how far I could trust Sir Arden, but the spirit of sacrifice he’d shown in Delheim Village and his earnest efforts to pull me free even at the end—that was trustworthy enough.
“There will certainly be a device in the Plaza.”
Where the Flames of Judgment will ignite, and where humanity’s machinery—masquerading in God’s name—will lie waiting.
For live performance, someone would undoubtedly be operating the device in real time from somewhere.
“Would breaking it suffice?”
At his serious question, I shook my head.
“No, the opposite. I need you to protect the device so it doesn’t break.”
Faced with a request he couldn’t comprehend, Sir Arden searched my eyes, trying to gauge my intent.
“Do you trust God so much?”
Sir Arden asked quietly. When I neither affirmed nor denied, he let out something rather like a blasphemy, tinged with cold laughter.
“God merely observes. He grants no miracles.”
This one I could place immediately.
It was something I’d said constantly when I was the Third Saintess. That another soul had grasped this truth astonished me.
Truth be told, though I am God’s proxy, Caritas simply never interfered in human affairs.
Rather, He was a god who instilled a human-driven mindset.
From what I’ve seen, that’s partly why the later generations went haywire. No matter the nonsense they perpetrated, God would turn a blind eye, so they thought, “Oh, this works?” and kept reaching until they ended up sprawled here like this.
And our Caritas shifted all that responsibility onto me alone. It was grievously unfair.
“You’ve lived a difficult life, it seems. Few who serve the Temple manage to hold such a mind.”
I covered my mouth and patted Sir Arden’s shoulder lightly. He managed a bitter smile.
“I realized it far too late. I didn’t understand before…”
It seems our Caritas has ignored someone’s desperate prayers again. I keep telling Him, if a prayer seems earnest enough, at least answer it sometimes. It’s the surest way to prevent the loss of believers.
While I was reproaching Caritas, Sir Arden, who’d been murmuring bitterly, slowly raised his head.
“I will protect the device as you wish. Please, do come through this safely.”
“It will be fine. God’s honor will be with me.”
“God’s honor, you say—yet Caritas has done nothing for you thus far.”
Honor, not blessing, fool. If I lose to a fake, how can Caritas keep His honor? My victory is Caritas’s honor.
***
At last, morning broke.
The light filtering through the window was piercingly clear.
The door opened, but it was not Rilette the Deaconess who entered as she did every other day to help me dress.
A group of unfamiliar figures in deaconess vestments filed into my chamber.
“Where has Rilette gone?”
No one answered my question.
Their role today was not service. I could tell at once from the way they twisted my hair without braiding it, simply jabbing in hairpins carelessly.
When I felt a sharp pin dig in roughly, I came to appreciate how professional Rilette had actually been. There was truth to the saying that experience cannot be faked.
I found myself missing Rilette terribly—the kind of deaconess who softened into capitalism’s gentle touch whenever you pressed coins into her palm.
These people would not change their manner for money, so I decided there was no point wasting my precious funds on them.
Once they finished dressing me carelessly, they pulled not a gown from my wardrobe but clothes they had brought themselves, and dressed me in those instead.
The fabric was thick, heavy, and—most troublingly—seemed as though it would catch fire at the slightest spark. It felt like the kind of material that would ignite the moment I drew near a flame, burning me along with it in a blaze of glory.
Oh, Caritas, surely before such creatures ascended to lead the Church, you might have struck them down with lightning and spared us all this ruin!
“It is time for you to go.”
They seized my arms from both sides, as though fearing I might run.
I was dragged along as if I were a prisoner being escorted, my arms gripped firmly on both sides. Though my feet touched the floor, there was no sensation of walking.
I knew that resistance would only exhaust me, so I relaxed my body and surrendered to their grip. Why refuse when they were providing transport service of their own accord?
As we passed through the corridor, I looked up at the temple’s vaulted ceiling.
It was I who had laid the foundation to make it possible to raise the ceiling this high, and yet these ungrateful descendants repay my benevolence with clothes that burn easily?
When we arrived at the Central Plaza, my field of vision opened wide.
It resembled a colosseum in structure.
The circular galleries surrounding the space were packed with believers. The murmur of their voices had transcended mere noise and become something closer to anticipation.
For them, this was Judgment, spectacle, the will of God.
And I was dragged into the center of it all.
Though I tried to walk forward with dignity, these wretched men would not release me, dragging me along instead.
Then my eyes met those of Kalianna.
Dressed today in a manner that made her look so thoroughly like a Saintess that one might have proceeded directly to her coronation, she gaped at the sight of me.
‘So you did not run after all.’
Silent emotions passed between us without need of words.
That pity in her gaze was so vivid that I nearly laughed. As if she were the one most deserving of pity today.
At last, the final act of this interminable, tedious Saintess competition began—the hour of Judgment.

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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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