The Saint’s Manual for Redemption - Chapter 36

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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 36
I’d witnessed this ceremony once before, watching from the shadows during the previous Saint’s Inauguration Ceremony.
When the Saint lifted the holy artifact, the greatest and oldest sacred relic of the church was supposed to resonate with her touch, acknowledging her as the chosen one.
That “greatest and oldest sacred relic” was none other than the Holy Grail.
Yes, that absurdly ostentatious cup glimmering between the cracked altar before me. Back in my day, I would’ve thrown a fit about squandering church funds on such a thing, wondering if we were drowning in money.
Our descendants have become so wealthy they’ve forgotten what it means to value coin.
For something purportedly the greatest and oldest sacred relic, I found it regrettable that I was meeting this Holy Grail for the first time.
Of course, this Holy Grail was a fake.
It hadn’t existed even back when I was the third Saint. It was the same situation as that nonsense about the Flames of Divine Judgment.
‘So they’ve rigged things everywhere to establish the authority of a false Saint and the church and the Holy Temple.’
There was a very high likelihood they’d set up some trick here too.
For instance, nothing might happen even if I lifted it—
‘Wait, I didn’t do anything?’
The transparent water began to tint gradually red. From any angle, it looked as though it was transforming into wine. I was flustered by how readily the Holy Grail responded.
Could it actually be a genuine Holy Grail? Had a new one emerged that I didn’t know about? Thoughts cascaded through my mind.
“The Divine has answered you.”
The Archbishop, smiling with satisfaction, made his proclamation.
“As the water of the Holy Grail has become wine, the Saint need only drink it to complete the Divine’s selection.”
Unable to hide my bewilderment, I brought the chalice to my lips. Then I tilted the cup slowly.
I understood the meaning behind the Archbishop’s contented smile the moment the wine touched my mouth.
It was poison.
And potent poison at that.
But I was well acquainted with toxins of this caliber.
Drinking this would destroy my insides before I could even detoxify. I could picture with stunning clarity the sight of myself spitting blood.
Even if I swallowed and healed, I couldn’t escape hemoptysis.
The reason I was so familiar with poisons of this strength was simple: during my time as the third Saint, I’d faced poisoning attempts countless times.
Back then, there were several other sects besides the Caritas Church. Of course, only we possessed genuine Divine Power.
As we divided the faithful’s resources among ourselves, our church had leveraged our unique Divine Power to expand. Naturally, the others saw us as a thorn in their side.
Why do you think I conducted the Heresy Inquisition? It was to root out the industrial spies and assassins the other sects kept planting in our organization.
The reason for the poison in the wine was obvious. Crystal clear.
If I drank the wine and spat blood, they’d make an absolute spectacle of it—claiming the Divine had rejected an unworthy Saint.
‘So contact with the underworld was to obtain this poison. And calling the physician was to have me examined before everyone, proving I died from lack of Divine selection, not from assassination.’
I gathered Divine Power to my fingertips as I held the Holy Grail, purifying the poison in the cup and simultaneously cleansing the wine in my mouth before swallowing.
Then I drained the remaining wine in one long gulp.
Even though I didn’t cough up blood and performed a one-shot right before their eyes, the church’s leadership showed no surprise.
Like actors from a theater troupe, they managed their expressions flawlessly despite the plan falling apart, not a trace of dismay showing.
“The Divine Response has been confirmed.”
The Archbishop, feigning composure, lifted the Holy Crown resting on the cushion.
“We shall now proceed with the coronation. The thirtieth Saint, Ciella Nomendes, kneel.”
Normally, the next step would be for the Archbishop to place the crown upon the Saint’s head.
“But how could the Divine’s regent, having received the Divine Response, kneel before anyone other than the Divine? Hmm, isn’t this a desecration?”
Since when did the Archbishop rank above the Saint, the Divine’s regent? In the old days, the Archbishop’s position was nothing more than a subordinate crawling beneath me.
Catching the Archbishop off guard with this unexpected response, I fixed my gaze on the Holy Crown in his hand. Its shape resembled a tiara—quite beautiful, in fact.
How times have changed. There was an era now when Saints wore tiaras, once granted only to royalty and grand duchesses.
During my time as the third Saint, royal authority still checked divine authority, so these minor shifts were rather novel to me.
In that moment, I snatched the Holy Crown from the Archbishop’s grasp. His lips twitched.
“There are proper procedures for all things, Saint.”
At his condescending tone, I looked directly at him and asked.
“I ask again: how could the Divine’s regent receive a crown ‘granted’ by you?”
“There are procedures, as I said. It has been less than ten minutes since the Saint swore before the Divine to respect the church’s traditions and order.”
I covered my mouth with my hand as I watched the Archbishop speak to me, his gentle smile still in place.
“I am the Divine’s regent—does that mean you stand above the one who represents the Divine? The only one above me is the Divine. For you to position yourself as my superior is to place yourself on equal footing with the Divine…… Isn’t that desecration? Are you confessing that you’ve been conducting desecration procedures every time?”
Nothing landed harder than dropping a desecration accusation before the faithful. The Archbishop’s grip on the Holy Crown weakened, slipping away.
To be safe, I thoroughly purified the crown and placed it directly upon my head with my own hands.
“My authority comes from the Divine, not from the church.”
At my bold declaration, the Square held its breath. The Archbishop’s lips began to tremble visibly. Yet he still said nothing.
Next came the investiture of the Guard Knights.
Arden, having drawn his sword from its scabbard and laid it upon the ground, knelt on one knee before me without a moment’s hesitation.
As I stepped before him, Arden lifted the sword from the ground with both hands and offered it to me. I carefully took the sword from atop his hands.
This was an entirely new experience for me, my heart racing. The only knight’s oath I’d ever received was a brief, joking one from my ex, a former mercenary and current hero.
It was her first time accepting a formal knight’s oath before so many people.
Arden’s voice, deep and resonant, rang out clearly across the plaza.
“I, Arden Hawelin, swear upon the name of Caritas and upon this blade.”
The Holy Temple fell silent.
“I shall guard Saint Ciella not as a symbol of authority, but as one person bearing the will of God.”
Arden spoke the words of his oath without hesitation, each pledge solid and deliberate.
“When you are right, I shall be the blade that stands foremost. When you err, I shall be the shield that bars your path.”
This phrasing left room for interpretation.
Did he mean he would protect her from attacks even if she were wrong, or did he mean he would block her way forward? Based on Arden’s character as she’d come to know it, the latter seemed far more likely.
Either way, that was the nature of the man.
“Should I break this oath, I accept that my honor and life as a Holy Knight shall be forfeit without reservation.”
As the words of his oath concluded, he drew his blade and touched it first to his right shoulder, then to his left. The sound of metal against armor rang out sharp and clear.
Finally, I presented him with the sword I had blessed earlier, and declared with deliberate formality:
“By this deed, I appoint Arden Hawelin as my Guard Knight.”
And that fact was resonating through this Inauguration Ceremony more powerfully than any ritual that had come before it.
“I trust you, Arden.”
As I smiled with narrowed eyes, he took the blade in both hands with reverence, and his mouth curved into an answering smile. His movement as he sheathed his own sword at his hip was economical, without a trace of wasted motion.
“I shall serve you gladly.”
The Inauguration Ceremony was over. Formally, it had been flawless.
Now only the Parade remained.
Since they had failed to poison me during the Divine Response ceremony, the church hierarchy would surely move forward with whatever they’d planned for the Parade.
I climbed into the Parade carriage, escorted by Arden, now my official Guard Knight.
The moment I sat down, I leaned forward and lifted Wilson Junior up from where I’d hidden him beneath the carriage seat.
Let them try to cause trouble during the Parade. Wilson Junior would handle it all.

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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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