Chapter 366
Chapter 366
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 16
Chapter Title: Saint and Completer (22)
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“In times like these, I was wondering why so many followers had gathered, and it turns out they’re all refugees?”
“Saint. We’ve told you time and again, but if you keep speaking so formally to us—”
“They were refugees! There, happy? Happy now?”
“You need to get used to it. Don’t you see how every single thing you do is being watched with eyes practically bursting with flames by all our Church of Light tools?”
“You’re right. I mean, yes. Hm. Yeah. That’s true.”
In the grandest and most ornate chamber of the cathedral at the Church headquarters, I had taken over the ‘Saintess’s Chamber’ that had stood empty until now. I was sucking down dozens of oak barrels’ worth of liquid that the archbishop and the Church’s shadows had procured, chatting with the archbishop.
“Ugh, so fishy.”
“We know full well that the path you tread is one of thorns, Saint. As a cleric myself, it tears at my heart to offer you the blood created by the Evil God... But Latura. Your health is the Church’s health. If you need more, just say the word anytime.”
“No, that’s not it. This stuff isn’t supposed to taste fishy.”
“Are you perhaps saying you have a preferred type of mutant blood...?”
“Uh... that sounds a bit off. But in a way, yeah?”
“My apologies. It seems that smuggling in blood while avoiding the eyes of the followers gathered here and outsiders means we couldn’t procure the proper stuff...”
“Anyone hearing this would think I’m a vampire whining about my food. No, the problem is my current position.”
The reason the mutant blood, which normally tasted sickeningly sweet, now only tasted fishy and repulsive.
It was because I was in the headquarters of the Church of Light, overflowing with holy power.
What good is sneaking in mutant blood from outside? By the time it reaches the innermost sanctum of the cathedral, the infectees inside have all been purified away like germs hit with alcohol long ago.
By the time the shriveled blood is presented before the Saint’s eyes, it’s no longer mutant blood but something closer to plain beast blood. Chugging that all day won’t boost regeneration even a mouse tail’s worth.
“...Once my stamina recovers just a bit, I’ll have to head out. The battlefield isn’t far, so if I just get nearby, I can absorb blood and—”
“Leaving the cathedral in that condition? Absolutely not! What if the Evil God’s direct subordinates launch a surprise attack, targeting your weakened state? The moment you fall is the moment the Church of Light falls!”
“That’s why I need to go out and recover! Once I recover, there’s no problem at all! Don’t you know me? The Saint of Blood, Beacon of Light! If I can just recover a tiny bit—”
“You are bedridden right now, Saint. Give us just a little more time. If the holy power emanating from the cathedral is the issue, we’ll procure blood so thick it won’t be worn down by it. Thanks to you, many of our brothers have gained strong ‘power,’ so it won’t be difficult.”
I begged, persuaded, even mixed in orders and threats, but Archbishop Norman didn’t twitch a whisker, repeating “absolutely not.”
Protecting me, now so weak I’d lose even to an ordinary mutant—not to mention the Evil God’s direct line—was the Church’s top priority. Thus, not a single step out of the safe cathedral.
The moment I tried to ignore him and leave, the archbishop dashed out, returned with a vial of holy oil and a candelabrum, and poured the oil over himself?
“H-have you lost your mind?”
“Latura. This is all for the Light and you, Saint. My spirit and flesh turning to ash is just going where it must. If you insist on going, then trample over the ashes of this old tool.”
“No, Norman, that’s ridiculous nonsense! Holy knights! Holy knights!!!”
...What could I do? To avoid hearing “the Saint who let the archbishop self-immolate out of stubbornness,” I had to stay put.
Well, judging by the ‘handprints’ stamped all over the cathedral since the canonization, it wouldn’t take long to get thick mutant blood. As I said, the headquarters cathedral was built with all sorts of blessed rocks and metals to combat evils, and the handprints were from clerics who couldn’t control their suddenly boosted strength and grabbed walls or floors while stumbling.
“Phew. House arrest at my age... Fine, just go already.”
“Thank you for understanding, Saint. There are several holy war chronicles by your bedside—give them a read if you’re bored.”
In the end, Archbishop Norman dragged out the charred hem of his robes and left the ‘Saint’s Chamber’ satisfied.
“...Holy power. Holy power with the trait of ‘power’ instead of ‘Declaration Wide-Area’...”
For me, who hadn’t placed much weight on the canonization, this was an unexpected boost in combat power.
I could already confirm how great this power was just by looking out the window.
Bustling crowds.
Chatter everywhere.
Mealtime, twice a day. Before eating, they gathered in the circular plaza for pre-meal prayer, but today it looked markedly different from yesterday.
“Uh... Brother, could you stop pressing so close?”
“Sorry, I’m being pushed from behind too...”
The circular plaza, which had plenty of room even for all the followers yesterday during the canonization, was now packed tight, not a step to spare. Amid the burly followers, many sported robes with sleeves ripped off into sleeveless versions.
“Tents for refugees will be distributed in order, so don’t dig up the ground just because it’s taking time! You might damage the Church’s underground facilities—wait your turn!”
Priests scrambled to control refugees who’d started digging to escape the wind due to the tent shortage, exposing the ceiling of the underground prison.
Crash!
Thud! Boom!
“You did say we’d get extra rations for bringing in lumber!” “Kahahaha! You said one bundle for one bowl, priest! This should cover meals for my family for three days, right?”
“Th-that’s... more than enough lumber now, brothers... You can stop bringing more...”
The group assigned simple labor to the healthy had piled up enough wood to deforest a hillside.
Power. Crude, yet overwhelmingly potent for a divine authority.
After my canonization ended, it descended upon the entire Church of Light faithful to varying degrees based on their belief—the Church’s unique authority.
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- Heung An Mandu: Believe in Jesus and go to heaven? Believe in Ro Haram and lift 40kg more!
- Jokass: Nothing this guy does has ever been unsurprising, but this... isn’t even “surprising” level. Eccentric? Singularity?
- Number Three: Just saw it? Some elementary school punk bent a steel bar with his fingers and yelled “I must be a wizard!”
- Take a Look: Maybe something like “Handing work to muscleheads instead of the usual ball-kicking idiots turned out pretty good! Gotta replace all the other tools with muscleheads too!” Professor’s great at getting shit done, after all.
- Professor: You... what the hell do you think a god is?
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...Nah, no way. He’s still a god. No way a being with divine dignity would seriously plan to turn holy power into anabolic something and make all the faithful gym freaks.
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- Professor: Gods can basically be seen as the collective group intelligence formed from followers’ beliefs. Belief grows divinity, and that divinity’s influence grows belief more—a symbiotic relationship.
- Take a Look: Fuck, what the hell does the Saint think a god is, you cult freak.
- Professor: Shut up. Anyway, from that perspective, the canonization feels like... a kind of comprehensive data update event. If the holy war chronicles formalized belief into creating the God of Light Ro-Haram, then the Saint is the current focal point of the followers’ belief, right?
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In other words, what the God of Light’s followers currently yearn for.
If the past saintess stood as the symbol of light illuminating the world against waves of evil, what is the image of the current Saint—the current focal point of the Church of Light?
‘The Saint turned the Evil God’s spawn into meat paste with that massive fist of his...’
‘The Blood Sacrament wasn’t made from the Saint’s blood, but from the blood of evils burst by his hands...’
‘Wherever he passed, only crushed evils and cheering followers remained...’
The Church’s aggressive propaganda had long spread the epic of the ‘insanely strong Saint’ far and wide.
Past believers sought the light symbolizing faith and salvation, but after losing the saintess to undead unrest.
Drifting in worldly strife with severed ties to god.
Enduring humiliations as a weakened Church.
Now, facing another great war like 70 years ago, what followers hoped for had shifted from symbolic light to something far more tangible.
Power. Their light, their hope—the physical power embodied by the broad shoulders of the Saint, the new focal point of Light!
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- Professor: Based on the theory that ‘everything in GG hinges on ‘belief’,’ we can see why this happened. The Church of Light already lost their saintess to undead unrest and their link to god, so most followers have been regretting their own powerlessness. Facing another great war, what would they seek? Especially after hearing the terrifying saga of their focal point, ‘Saint Professor.’
- Jokass: ...They wanna get fuckin’ jacked like that?
- Professor: Yeah. Just as the Church of Abundance formed from the starving, Mercy from excessive do-gooders, Wisdom from scholars, Courage from battle-worshippers—every church grows in the direction its followers believe. And appearing before these confused ones, post-saintess loss, wondering what they even believe in? A Saint built like that.
- Holy: So their collective mindset of “Our pinnacle, our guide is that kind of being!” turned the Church into these burly folks now?
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In short, Ro-Haram—born from the Church of Light’s shared belief—got that belief’s tangible power.
The image of the ‘jacked ultra-macho Saint’ as the group intelligence’s role model dug in deep, root and stem.
And the canonization officially declared the Saint as their focal point, uploading the creeping ‘power’ image among followers into the collective intelligence of Ro-Haram. That’s the rough guess.
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- Professor: For the vast majority of ordinary believers, mystical powers like magic, auras, holy power are tales from another world they can’t relate to... But physical strength? That’s different. Plowing fields, chopping wood, walking, running, carrying water... Ordinary folks encounter it daily.
- Professor: Jacked Saint = pinnacle of Light / So if I hone my faith and raise my holy power... I’ll get shoulders like mountains and a back like the sea, like the Saint? That mindset overtook more than half the Church.
- Jokass: Ultimately your fault.
- Take a Look: Yeah. The God of Light started with “Equal grace like light to all!” gaining wide-area authority, but your destructive playstyle and its propaganda twisted it into “Uwoooaaargh! Power! Stronger power! Crush evils with muscle and save all huuuumaans!”
- Professor: Uh, hm... Is that... how it is?
- Heung An Mandu: Not an ordinary thing, huh? If he’s the role model, won’t the Church get even more extreme? He wrecked cities, caused floods, smashed people’s houses...
- Holy: Hm... Church of Light might evolve into even more insane zealots...!
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In the end, I saw it as a reflection of the era. A world repeating war, doom, war, doom—people seeking power upon seeing their own weakness is natural, and the power civilians imagine is just stronger muscles at best.
In a way, isn’t this a true god? If all followers unite in desire, it grants that authority.
Crash!
Thud! Boom!
“Brothers!!! As I said again, no more wood needed!!! Return to your tents and wait your turnnnn—!”
From the window came a hoarse priest screaming at the endless procession of lumber.
“...That much wood could build a small outpost. For now, it’ll definitely help.”
Whether belief formed Ro-Haram or Ro-Haram birthed belief—who knows. But at least it’s a god that grants what followers want, better than Earth’s gods.
No doubt our burly Light brothers would aid this war.
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Bang!
Crack!
“Eek! Uh... Sorry! I didn’t mean to break the door...”
“It’s fine, it’s fine. Brother, you’ve lived a life of prayer alone, so it’s natural you’re not used to controlling strength. The Saintess’s Chamber stood empty for so long, management might’ve been lax, door could’ve rotted. Must’ve been stuck.”
Bullshit. The Saintess’s Chamber was maintained meticulously, matching the grief of losing her. The door the priest just shattered was sturdy enough for a blacksmith.
Of course, not sturdy enough for the ‘power’ of a senior priest assigned to serve the Saint. Visibly tense, the flushed priest’s legs trembled.
“Th-thank you. How shall I atone for this rudeness...”
“No need. Just tell me why you came rushing in.”
“Y-yes! A guest has arrived!”
“...A guest?”
“Yes, Saint! Of course, your safety comes first, so the Church turns away most visitors, but this one is extremely important regarding the war... Ah, of course, compared to you, Saint, it’s less than dust...!”
...A scatterbrained brother, but seems to have good judgment. Letting in a war-related guest.
Indeed, amid the cathedral incense, outside scents mixed in: blood, mud, grass... and body odor? Beast fur?
.
.
.
.
.
.
Huh?
“...Who?”
“Well, they won’t even give a name, and tried bringing in some irreverent item, so they’re clashing with the holy knights right now—”
Bang—
Crack!
“Of course. My respect is solely for the one inside here— not you white-robed mutts—so no need to exchange names. And I can’t just leave behind a hard-won gift.”
Clatter crash!
“Intruder! Protect the Saint!”
“Damn it, too fast to even see...!”
In the blink of an eye, the newcomer dropped a sticky-stained sack.
Holy knights assigned to the Saint’s quarters charged in fury, but the intruder ignored them, calmly facing me. The knights’ footsteps turned to combat sounds: growls and heavy breaths. Multiple on multiple standoff.
“Holy Knight Order, stand down.”
“...But, Saint!”
“I know them.”
“Th, urgh... Latura.”
The knights tried to protest but swallowed their words at the Saint’s unusually serious gaze, parting the way.
Never thought I’d see this one here.
“Long time.”
“Don’t say you’re late. You had good reason.”
The intruder, reeking of wilds, narrowed eyes at me, tilted head, and sniffed. Then, convinced, scowled.
“...Same scent. Last time you seemed... buffer. These white-robes not feeding you? Aren’t you the top dog here?”
“...How’d you get here?”
“How? Walked.”
Swish—
Splat!
“As Father said you enjoy game, I picked the meatiest catches on the way. Looks like a fine gift, judging by your state.”
The intruder, a wolfman, kicked the sack toward the bed, nodding. No need to open it—I knew from the thick mutant blood scent wafting here.
A sturdy wolfman with vivid blue mane on his back.
The one I’d seen just once in Haunumaan.
Above all, the son of one who knew I consumed mutants.
“...Father spoke of you often.”
The blue-maned wolfman groomed his fur, approached, and bowed deeply.
“Borca Dalun’s son, Tushan Dalun, comes to repay your grace. Permit me.”
“Grace... I’m not sure. I got more from Borca than I gave. What grace do you mean?”
“Everything. My life. My sister’s life. Avenging our clan. Saving Father from his tormented life.”
Tushan. Borca’s son, who left for the forest with his weakened father after exhausting all strength in Haunumaan.
He’d gone to spend his remaining days with reunited family.
His son appearing here now means...
Probably.
“...Borca.”
“In the forest where Mother and tribe sleep, he closed his eyes peacefully before us all. No one will disagree it was serene.”
“...I see. Good passing. A good one.”
...No more time for Borca and his children to share words.
‘They had plenty of time to talk, so no need for my comfort.’
Instead of consoling my old comrade’s son, I raised him from his bow.
“Good to see you. Hands short as is— a warrior like you is worth gold.”
“A warrior like me worth gold... Then prepare many sacks. Gold’s rolling in piles.”
With that, Tushan flashed a wolfman’s sharp grin, pointing out the window.
Hidden among the crowds, eye-catching furballs each hefted dripping sacks, looking up here.
From glimpsed boar-kin to distant departing beastkin.
“...Cute pups.”
“Will you accept them?”
To Tushan’s toothy smile, I grinned back.
“Call me Chief. Like your father did.”
An unexpected old tie returned as combat strength.
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