The Saint’s Manual for Redemption - Chapter 71

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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 71
At first, I thought I was mistaken.
But I wasn’t. The paint was definitely moving. The damp streak grew longer and longer, and finally a drop fell with a soft plop against the floor.
Plop.
In the silence, the sound rang out unnaturally loud.
I held my breath and looked up at the portrait. The late Norbaldt Marquis still wore a solemn expression within the frame.
Yet something felt off.
Until just moments ago, it had looked like nothing more than an aging nobleman’s portrait, but the instant the paint began to run, I felt as though something else entirely was lurking beneath the surface.
Paint infused with Holy Power streamed down beneath the frame, leaving behind sinister traces that resembled veins of blood.
I knew well enough that oil paint takes time to dry.
But it doesn’t melt like this from a light touch. And it certainly shouldn’t be melting now, hours later—not under normal circumstances, anyway.
“So it wasn’t just a painting after all.”
Looking at that sight, I was certain.
“Arden, do you have a handkerchief?”
At my question, Arden immediately patted his pockets. The fact that he offered what was needed without asking, even in a situation like this, showed he was worth his salt as a bodyguard. The handkerchief he handed over was neatly folded.
I took it and paused for a moment.
“There’s nothing precious or deeply meaningful tied to this handkerchief, is there?”
“No, it’s Temple supply stock.”
“Good.”
Then I could use it without worry.
I took the handkerchief Arden gave me and wiped the face of the late Norbaldt Marquis hard. The oil paint came away more easily than I expected. Dark color smeared across the dampened cloth.
And beneath the wiped-away paint lay an identical face.
I narrowed my eyes for a moment. Had they painted the same image over the first one?
Then.
Roll.
The eyes in the painting rolled. Directly toward me.
An icy sensation crawled down my spine. At the same moment, the paint began to drip and flow.
The paint infused with Holy Power on the surface streamed away, revealing another hidden image beneath it, slowly coming into view.
Now that I thought about it.
Yesterday, I hadn’t sensed any Demonic Energy in this corridor, but today there was a subtle presence.
Right now, that energy was seeping out of the portrait in abundance. Beneath the layer sealed with Holy Power, something ancient and murky churned like a rotted well. The corners of the late Norbaldt Marquis’s mouth in the painting writhed, then tore wide open.
Teeth—savage and vicious—were bared. They weren’t human. They resembled the fangs of a Demon Beast.
“Mm, this is new even for me.”
I murmured without meaning to.
Had those Heretics invented something novel? My first suspicion was naturally the Ecclesia Sect. They always had a knack for drawing revulsion from people in ways that defied common sense.
The portrait of the late Norbaldt Marquis, his mouth gaping so wide it seemed to reveal the abyss itself, slowly began to emerge from the frame.
The canvas surface swelled and softened, and something like fingers pushed out from within. I heard the sound of wet hide peeling away from the wall.
Squelch.
I reached out again and brushed the surface lightly.
It wasn’t canvas. It was human skin.
“What in the world have these bastards done?”
At that moment, a stifled sound came from the far end of the corridor.
“What are you doing there!”
It was the Butler.
The Butler rushed forward with a shout, and when he caught sight of the Norbaldt Marquis’s portrait jutting halfway out of the frame, he froze on the spot. The color drained from his face.
“No, no, no…….”
The Butler’s voice crumbled as he murmured.
“The young lady was supposed to have painted over it yesterday…… Why…… I hoped it would just hold until she left, but why…….”
Hoped it would hold—that meant the Butler knew what this was.
Arden drew his Blessed Sword toward the neck of the Norbaldt Marquis that was half-emerged. The blessed-enchanted blade glowed faintly in the darkness.
There was clearly a wound, but what fell from it wasn’t blood. Only thick, dark-red paint.
It turned its head slowly as though unharmed. Its torn mouth opened wider. Wet paint dripped steadily below its chin.
And the next moment, it crawled fully out of the portrait and lunged at Arden. The wound Arden had inflicted was already healing.
Arden raised his blade to block its attack.
With a screech, its nails scraped across the sword edge. The sound wasn’t that of metal, but rather like a wet brush scraping against stone.
Arden immediately countered, but again his blade only parted paint. The creature’s body scattered the moment it was cut, then reformed.
Physical force wasn’t working.
And that condition was overwhelmingly disadvantageous for Arden alone. If even Johan would join in, but as the saying goes, there’s no such thing as useless; yet Johan was nowhere to be found precisely when needed.
“Butler, what exactly is that?”
No answer came back.
The Butler was gripping the Silver Candlestick.
Though his face had gone pale with terror, the next moment he lunged toward something wearing Norbaldt Marquis’s face.
No—that was my mistake. The Silver Candlestick in the Butler’s hand was aimed not at Norbaldt Marquis, but at Arden.
I hastily tore down a Portrait hanging on the wall beside me.
The framed portrait was surprisingly heavy in both my hands. I hurled it with all my strength at the Butler’s back of the head.
Thwack!
The corner of the heavy framed portrait struck the Butler’s skull with perfect precision. A dull cracking sound accompanied the impact, his body lurched forward, and the Silver Candlestick slipped from his grasp, clattering across the floor.
I rushed forward and snatched up the Silver Candlestick.
The Butler nearly collapsed outright, but before he could fall completely, I grabbed his shoulder. Blood began seeping from his scalp.
It felt strange to say it after striking him myself, but it would have been disastrous if he’d actually lost consciousness here. This man was one of the few who knew the most about the current situation. If he died or passed out and stopped talking, I’d lose several more pieces of the puzzle.
I gathered Holy Power in my palm. A warm light touched the Butler’s wound. The split flesh knitted back together, the ruptured blood vessels sealed, and the flowing blood stopped.
The Butler’s eyes wavered unfocused as he experienced both the impact and the healing simultaneously. His expression was dazed, but he remained conscious.
I prodded his ribs with the Silver Candlestick and opened my mouth.
“I need to know why you were keeping an unusual Demon Beast at the Norbaldt Marquis Manor.”
Crash!
A wall collapsed behind us with a thunderous sound.
Arden was still engaged with whatever had erupted from the painting of Norbaldt Marquis.
Unaware that he’d nearly had his head caved in by the Silver Candlestick, Arden continued to block the creature’s advance toward me.
To spare him that effort, I needed to extract information quickly.
“But first, tell me how to deal with that thing.”
Arden’s Blessed Sword passed through the creature’s shoulder, but what flowed from the wound was not blood—only a viscous, blood-red pigment.
The creature showed no sign of pain as it reformed itself. Its melted face twisted into a grin toward Arden, and its elongated fingernails raked across his arm as it passed.
The Holy Knight Order uniform tore, and blood seeped through. Arden’s body was accumulating more and more wounds.
Arden remained unshaken. Yet holding back a creature immune to physical damage with nothing but a sword was no simple task.
Each time the Blessed Sword made contact, the creature’s form collapsed momentarily, only to gather itself again—like spilled paint on canvas being reshapen into human form by some unseen will.
Watching this, I gripped the Butler’s collar more forcefully.
“Talk. How do I stop it?”
The Butler couldn’t open his mouth. I brought the tip of the Silver Candlestick to his throat.
“Time’s short. There won’t be any healing this time.”
Only then did the Butler’s lips part.
“The Marquis…….”
The words leaked out almost like a whisper. The Butler squeezed his eyes shut.
And then, at last, an answer tumbled from his mouth that departed wildly from expectation.
“Feed it a person, sir……!”

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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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