The Saint’s Manual for Redemption - Chapter 4

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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 4
The second morning at the Holy Temple began with a parade of garments, jewels, precious metals, and ornaments flowing into my chamber in endless streams.
“I am Rillet Karillos, a deacon temporarily assigned to attend upon the Saint Candidate.”
The Holy Temple had proven remarkably diligent—following the guard, they’d now appointed an attendant as well.
Whether it was mere theater to show they didn’t slight the Saint Candidate, or whether he was truly a spy, only those who assigned him to me would know.
Upon taking a Lifetime Vow, one abandoned one’s family name and the surname of the secular world, receiving instead a surname from the Religious Order—ordinary clergy took the surname Karillos, high-ranking priests above that took Benedio, and the most exalted clergy of cardinal rank and above took Nomen Dis.
Thus, merely by hearing a clergyman’s surname, one could immediately discern his position within the Religious Order.
The system of relinquishing one’s former name and receiving a new surname from the Religious Order upon taking a Lifetime Vow had been instituted during my time as the Third Saint.
I’d introduced it because I was disgusted by the sight of nobility-born men who’d fled to the Holy Temple, taking hasty Vows to escape losing power struggles within their houses—they’d strut about with stiffened necks, boasting of their noble lineage and looking down upon other clergy as though they were still in their ancestral halls.
Yet I was certain I’d standardized everything under the single surname Nomen Dis, which means “One Who Receives God’s Command”—I had no idea why there were now three surnames in circulation.
It seemed they’d wanted to play at hierarchy within the Temple, as though it were some noble title.
The fact that Nomen Dis, the very first surname, was now reserved only for the highest clergy made the answer clear enough.
After I finished dressing, I was guided by Arden to the Holy Sanctuary.
The Archbishop and the cardinals, along with the priests, had already assembled. The Other Saint Candidate and I advanced side by side to stand before the Archbishop.
The Archbishop, who had been smiling with a benevolent expression, opened his mouth.
“We have reviewed all historical records, and there has been only one Saint per generation. The Religious Order has decided to make no exceptions to this unprecedented circumstance. There cannot be two Saints.”
The Archbishop made the sign of the cross and continued.
“This too is not a trial, but rather a blessing to deepen your understanding of God’s will.”
How fond they were of their blessings.
What God desires is that all of you come to your senses. Why can’t you grasp this simple and clear truth?
“Therefore, to prevent confusion, and to discern which is the true Saint whom God cherishes more… though I am aware this is unfaithful before God’s will, we must of necessity hold a Competition.”
From what I could see, this Competition had only one true purpose.
A trap designed to cast me—not their chosen candidate—from Saint Candidate to charlatan before all eyes, publicly humiliating me and silencing my voice.
Caritas, I beseech you—God watches even now—strike lightning upon these corrupted generations of deceivers who would cover their eyes and pretend ignorance.
Of course, no sudden thunderbolt ever descended from the clear sky.
God had never involved himself directly in the world’s affairs. That was why Divine Power-blessed Saints existed as His proxies.
The only time I heard God’s voice directly was when I died in a truck accident in my previous life and was transported here. Usually, communion happened through revelation and dreams.
So it seemed I’d been forcibly reincarnated once more, and here I was, witnessing this mess.
“Both Saint Candidates must prove through the trials God has sent that you possess the qualifications of a Saint.”
There was no choice. I would simply have to demonstrate directly that I myself was the trial and tribulation God had sent.
That, at least, was always my specialty.
After all, Caritas had chosen only me as a Saint, so God would have no reason to send trials.
This meant that the “trial sent by God” the Archbishop spoke of was obviously already rigged in favor of the predetermined candidate—a fixed game from the start.
They’d probably just have us pull a Mace from the chapel or something simple like that. Then in one second, the real Saint and the false Saint would be unmistakably revealed.
A paradoxical struggle: making the real Saint appear false to elevate the false Saint as genuine.
A paradoxical situation—those gathered to serve God and receive His will, now acting against that very will, pursuing only their own interests.
What made it all the more infuriating was the expression on the Other Saint Candidate’s face, watching me with guarded wariness. She of all people must know better than anyone that she was not the true Saint who’d received God’s revelation.
“To ensure fairness in the Competition, the details of the challenge will be announced four days hence.”
At the Archbishop’s solemn words, I let out an internal scoff.
Fair? Hardly. The mere fact that they’d appointed to her side a Holy Knight who was considered a leading candidate for the next Commander of the Holy Knight Order made it abundantly clear how weighted the scales truly were.
An elite among elites, so renowned that even I—who’d taken no particular interest in the Holy Knight Order—had heard his name mentioned. Word had it he came from an excellent family as well.
I wondered if perhaps my lack of interest in the Holy Knight Order meant the Temple had actually shown me favor by appointing such a promising figure, and I simply hadn’t recognized the gesture.
So after the Competition announcement ended, I returned to my chamber and cautiously asked my attendant Rillet.
“Do you know of Arden Hawelin?”
The deacon Rillet, pulling jewelry from my hair with an indifferent hand, didn’t even pretend to hear me—he simply continued his work with an unfeeling touch.
He’d inserted the ornaments so roughly that morning, pricking my scalp, that I’d already found him curt, but now it seemed my suspicion that he resented me was not merely my imagination.
Still, I understood well enough.
He’d climbed the ranks through proper procedure, step by step—and now suddenly some orphan girl, not even a Saint but a Saint Candidate, had tumbled in and was his mistress, demanding his service. He must have been thoroughly displeased.
But even so, ignoring someone’s words entirely seemed uncouth. A simple yes or no would have been sufficient answer to my question, wouldn’t it?
When I spun around sharply, the deacon Rillet, his expression unchanging, held his thumb and forefinger together—the universal gesture for money.
Yes, when the upper waters are so murky, how can the lower waters stay clear?
I fished out a few gold coins from the chest piled with precious metals and handed them in a cloth pouch, which he snatched greedily, shoving the money purse into his clerical robe’s sleeve before answering with brazen ease.
“Couldn’t say. There are so many Holy Knights at the main Temple.”
His eyes didn’t seem to be lying.
I couldn’t decide whether I should feel dismayed at the Temple’s open discrimination in assigning guards, or dismayed that the answer I’d just received was worth a commoner’s weekly living expenses.
Only the second day back at the Temple and already this—I dreaded to imagine what further absurdities awaited me.
***
Four days later, the Competition’s details were finally announced.
“The task of this Competition shall be to save a plague-stricken village according to God’s will.”
For a Competition meant to discern a Saint, the challenge seemed far too straightforward and unremarkable.
As long as one possessed sufficient Divine Power, it wasn’t particularly difficult at all — so much so that I found myself wondering why such a straightforward, easy task had been chosen as a Competition event in the first place.
Delheim Village in Noarel County.
That was the village assigned to me in this Competition.
Given how simple the event proved to be, there was a good chance that some trap or interference had been planted in the village assigned to me.
After all, the structure was such that failure in even a single village would mark me as eliminated.
If I made even a single mistake or failed, regardless of how difficult the other tasks were, the predetermined Other Saint Candidate would become ‘the sole one to succeed,’ and with just that one Competition victory, she could easily seize the crown.
After gathering modest traveling expenses and supplies, I set out toward Delheim Village with Arden himself, just the two of us, a mere day after the Competition tasks were announced.
Moving quickly was the better course if I meant to spot the scheme and devise countermeasures or solutions.
Noarel County was close — or at least, close enough — from the Holy Temple.
It took less than a day to reach a nearby village not far from Delheim Village.
We had set out near noon, and though the carriage wheels clattered relentlessly over the unpaved road, by the time we arrived at the nearby village the sun was already sinking beyond the hills in long, drawn-out rays.
“The horses look rather worn as well. What do you say we rest here for the night?”
I nodded at Arden’s suggestion. There was no time limit imposed, so a day’s delay hardly mattered.
The village was small enough that it boasted only a single inn.
As I stepped into the modest, humble establishment, the rich, savory aroma of beef stew struck my nostrils.
“What am I to do? We’ve only one room left in the inn at the moment…….”
The innkeeper, who had rushed out the moment he spotted guests, spoke to us with an embarrassed expression.

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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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