This Isn’t an E*otic Game?

After the Healing Saint was imprisoned in the Pantheon’s underground jail, the Pantheon summoned Yodel, the High Priest of the Grace Church.

"It’s been a long time, Yodel. You rarely come to the capital since you’re usually in the southern regions. It’s been so long that I nearly forgot your face."

The representatives of 23 of the 24 sects within the Pantheon sat around a round table, silently observing Yodel, who stood alone in the center.

"Rules are rules, so we must ask you. If the Healing Saint is a fraud, explain how we might determine this."

"He is not a fraud. He is the Apostle of Grace! I can swear it on my faith!"

"We understand, Yodel. But you’re familiar with the procedures. Since an accusation of heresy has been made, we must proceed thoroughly. If he is truly the saint, this process will ultimately be beneficial."

"That’s correct, Yodel. A saint officially recognized by the Inquisition would have their name entered into the Pantheon’s registry. It would mark the first time in 300 years that a new saint has emerged."

"Not only that," another representative added, "he would also become the first Healing Saint of the Grace Church since its founding."

At these words, Yodel sighed deeply and bowed his head.

"...This too must be the guidance of the Goddess. Very well. Based on the Scriptures of Grace, I will explain how to determine if he is a false saint."

Yodel’s mind held every word of the scriptures.

From childhood, he had devoted himself to the church, reading the scriptures daily without fail.

"If he is a false saint, this is how he would behave."

Slowly, Yodel began to explain to the representatives of the 23 sects how to identify a false saint.

*****

Tuidel’s brisk footsteps echoed sharply through the lobby of the Mage Tower.

It was over for Erfa now.

A saint who couldn’t even use divine power?

What kind of nonsense was that?

The famous Saint Videlberg, a quintessential saint, was said to have constantly been surrounded by a radiant golden glow, so bright it could dazzle.

An immeasurable amount of divine power.

It was the very symbol of sainthood.

Yet someone claiming to be a saint without possessing any of that? It was absurd.

The outcome of the inquisition was clear.

The saint would be declared a fraud, and once that happened, Erfa, who had been saved by the so-called miracles of that fake saint, would be reclaimed by the White Church.

That damned spider woman as the next Tower Master?

Not as long as Tuidel had anything to say about it.

Humming happily, Tuidel’s path was blocked by someone.

Four arms, now openly revealed.

Her face was hidden under the wide brim of a witch’s hat, but there was no mistaking it—there weren’t two witches with four arms in the Mage Tower.

Tuidel let out a laugh.

"Oh my, isn’t it the spider? Were you waiting for me...?"

Her words were cut off as she choked, clutching at her neck.

One of the lower right arms held a wand that hadn’t been there a moment ago.

Slowly, Tuidel’s body rose into the air.

"You... what are you... doing...?"

"Tuidel."

Erfa’s voice was calm and measured.

And that made it all the more chilling.@@novelbin@@

The mana radiating from her body was filled with a terrifying amount of rage.

And all of it was directed at one person—Tuidel.

"S-someone, help...!" Tuidel gasped, struggling and flailing as she looked to the witches and wizards in the lobby for assistance.

But no one stepped forward.

The next Tower Master.

And the witch who openly despised and envied her, even going so far as to involve the White Church to ruin her.

It was obvious whose side they would choose.

Tuidel tried to resist.

But her magic wasn’t enough to break free from Erfa’s.

"I can forgive you for coming after me. But coming after the saint? That, I will never. Ever. Forgive. Do you understand? Regardless of the inquisition’s outcome, stay away from the saint. Forever. Got it?"

Tuidel was terrified.

The overwhelming mana radiating from the witch’s genuine anger and murderous intent was far beyond anything Tuidel could endure.

Her legs betrayed her, and she felt warmth spreading down them.

A yellow liquid trickled down her legs and onto the lobby floor.

"I-I understand! Please, stop...!"

The magic binding her dissipated.

Tuidel fell to the ground, coughing violently and clutching her throat.

"Clean up your mess," Erfa said coldly before turning and walking away.

Tuidel couldn’t even summon the anger or hatred to respond.

"Hic..."

Terror.

And something even more consuming—jealousy—boiled within her, erupting like a volcanic fury.

*****

I’m happy.

Even though this was a cramped room, barely large enough for a bed and a toilet, not even two square meters in size, I was unbelievably happy.

A smile crept onto my face without me realizing it.

Meals arrived right on time, and contrary to my expectations of what a dungeon might be like, the humidity and temperature were perfectly maintained.

No one was bothering me. There were no mobs of noisy beggars clamoring to be healed.

The fake saint act I’d started to deal with that witch and her nuclear-like presence had gone on far longer than necessary.

Now, after the trial, I just needed to spend one year rotting here and then leave the world behind.

Ah.

I’m so incredibly happy.

I’m so, so happy.

"Saint."

Perhaps because I was receiving special treatment as the so-called saint, there was a guard stationed outside my cell, keeping a constant 24-hour watch.

The guard, dressed in the robes of the Silent Order, cautiously looked at me and called out.

I waved at him casually.

"I’m not a saint. Just call me by my name."

After all, once the inquisition started, I was going to reveal that I wasn’t a saint.

At my words, the guard hesitated for a moment before continuing.

"I believe you are the true Apostle of Grace."

What nonsense is this?!

I’m not!

I’m just some idiot with eroge abilities, that’s all!

"I’m not anything like that. As I said, I’m not a saint. I don’t have stigmata, and I can’t use divine power. Everything Tuidel accused me of is true—I’m not a saint."

"But aren’t the countless miracles you’ve performed real?"

"Yes, but even so, I’m not a saint. It’s a misunderstanding. Just call me by my real name—Jericho Amayel."

Smiling broadly, I said this, but the guard suddenly knelt before me with a serious expression.

"Will you help me?"

"...Pardon?"

"I know this violates protocol. But I’m desperate. The god I serve—Le-Neril, the god of darkness and secrets—is not a deity who bestows such blessings. He only eliminates the filth of humanity from the shadows. I need your grace."

What now? Why does this keep happening?!

I already told you I’m not a saint! Why does everyone insist on treating me like one?!

I was about to snap and yell for him to leave me alone when he spoke again, his voice trembling.

"My daughter... is sick."

The guard’s voice was filled with sadness.

"She’s only three months old. She was born with a malformed heart, and the doctors have said she won’t live long. I just want her to see the light of this world for a little longer. Saint, my wife cries herself to sleep every night. Please, I beg you. I’ve heard you healed abominations and the rot plague. Please... save my child too."

From behind his mask, I could hear the sound of stifled sobbing.

Hearing this, I couldn’t bring myself to yell at him.

Damn it.

What do I do?

If I heal her, won’t he spread rumors about me being a saint again?

No.

Wait.

Isn’t this actually a good opportunity?

"Bring me your child. I’ll heal her."

"R-really?"

"Yes. But on one condition."

"Anything! Whatever you ask, I’ll do it!"

"After observing me heal her, testify during the inquisition that I didn’t use divine power. Make it clear that I’m not a saint."

The guard fell silent for a moment.

"...If you do that, it will hurt your case. If they decide you’re guilty of heresy, you might spend nearly a year in this underground prison."

That’s exactly what I want!

That’s the whole point!

"It doesn’t matter. I just need you to tell the truth. Will you do that for me?"

"But, Saint..."

"There’s nothing more disgusting than living a lie. I want the truth to come out. Will you do this for me?"

The guard was silent for a long time before finally nodding.

"If that’s what you wish, I will do it. Saint."

After speaking, the guard melted into the shadows and disappeared.

It’s rare to see the Silent Order’s miracles in action.

If you see them, it usually means you’re involved with the Inquisition.

While I stared at the spot where the guard had vanished, he suddenly emerged from the shadows of my cell floor.

In his arms, he held a wailing infant.

"This is my daughter. Saint... please."

"I’m not a saint. Hand me the child."

I carefully took the baby into my hands.

The tiny, wriggling bundle let out faint cries.

She was incredibly cute.

But to think she had a malformed heart and couldn’t live long...

I couldn’t let that happen.

Placing my hand gently on the baby’s head, I activated my skill.

Just as the guard had said, her heart was grotesquely twisted.

It was obvious at a glance that it couldn’t pump blood properly.

Concentrating, I manipulated the baby’s heart, straightening the compressed areas, shrinking the swollen parts, and sealing the holes.

After some time, a notification appeared in my status window.

[Heart function: 100% operational.]

Satisfied, I stroked the baby’s head gently.

Once it’s revealed that I’m not a saint, I won’t be able to do things like this anymore.

Will fewer people be saved if I stop being a saint?

The thought worried me for a moment.

No.

No, get a grip!

Do you want divine punishment to strike a hole straight through your skull?

Giving up being a saint is the right choice!

I need to survive first!

"It’s done."

I carefully handed the baby back to the guard.

Though his face was hidden behind his mask, the trembling in his hands and the faint sobs in his voice made his emotions clear.

"Is she... okay now?"

"Take her to a doctor to confirm, but she should be fine. She’ll grow up healthy and strong."

"Thank you... thank you, Saint."

Waving at him, I asked, "While I was healing her, did I use divine power?"

"No. You didn’t."

"Testify to that during the inquisition. Make sure you confirm that I’m not a saint. Understood?"

"...But you are a saint, aren’t you?"

I’m not!

I’m really not!!

"I don’t want to be called a saint. I’m not a saint. I’m not worthy of that title. I want to renounce it. So please, help me. Testify that I don’t have divine power. That I’m not a saint."

After some hesitation, the guard nodded.

"I will do as you ask."

"Thank you. When is the inquisition?"

"It’s a matter of determining whether someone is falsely claiming sainthood. Representatives from major sects, the Mage Tower, the Senate, and the Supreme Court across the Empire must gather, so it’s scheduled in two months."

"Be sure to testify then."

The guard bowed respectfully before leaving the cell.

I stretched out leisurely on the bed.

Done.

I’ve secured another witness.

Now there’s no way they can avoid declaring me a fake saint!

This underground prison is so comfortable!

Smiling contentedly, I lay back on the bed.

Without any tension weighing on me, sleep soon overtook me.

It was a blissful rest.