The Saintess Becomes a Devotee (1)
Chivalry? It's nothing special. Keep your dignity, don't be a coward, protect the weak, blah blah blah... In short, it's fancy nonsense that's perfect for scamming naive idiots who don't know how the world works. I hate vague, abstract crap like that that you can't pin down.
But right now, in this moment, even I was gripped by something far more solemn than that outdated code of honor.
The instant I realized my steel ball had struck Kyle's most unfortunate spot, all that noble-commoner class hierarchy bullshit vanished like cosmic dust. This wasn't about class. It was a matter of humanity, of basic courtesy in the propagation of the species.
"Damn it! Kyle! Snap out of it, you bastard! You can't give up here!"
Kyle, slung over my back, wore a faint, enigmatic smile in his unconscious state—like he was dreaming of some paradise, or maybe his brain had crossed the pain threshold and was pumping out adrenaline like mad. That serene, enlightened expression drove me even crazier. A man's very identity was at stake here, roots and all. Even a guy I'd want to kill on any other day had to be saved in this situation. It was the unspoken bro code among males surviving this brutal world.
Before his precious "family jewels" got permanently replaced by my cold "steel balls," I had to administer emergency aid somehow.
The infirmary? No way. With medieval fantasy-level medicine—bandages and potions at best—they couldn't handle that kind of catastrophic damage.
There was only one option. The saintess. Her transcendent holy power might, by some miracle, avert the tragedy of a promising knight's lineage ending right there.
"Hang in there just a bit longer! There's still hope! You can do it—you've got this!"
I hoisted Kyle up and sprinted at full speed toward the chapel where the saintess resided. The scenic lake park and the curious stares of the cadets didn't register at all.
Bam! Bam! Bam!
"Help! Saintess! I know you're in there! Please, save this man's life!"
I pounded on the chapel door like I was trying to break it down. It wasn't as flimsily ajar as last time, but I had no time for etiquette.
Hurried footsteps came from inside, and the wooden door slowly creaked open. Through the gap appeared the saintess's face, brimming with bewilderment.
"Cadet Flint? What on earth is going on this early in the morning... Oh my, Cadet Kyle?!"
Her gaze landed on Kyle, dangling limply from my back, smiling serenely like a Buddha who'd washed away all worldly desires.
That enlightened smile on the usually arrogant face of Kyle von Leonhardt. And my own frantic, desperate appearance in stark contrast. The saintess flinched and stepped back at the sheer dissonance.
Before she could slam the door, I shoved my way inside and shouted,
"Please save him, Saintess! Don't turn away from this poor soul!"
"P-poor soul? Cadet Flint? What exactly happened...?"
"No time to explain! Every minute, every second counts! I'll do anything—clean the chapel, fix the machines, whatever!"
I couldn't bear to look straight at his smile, so I stared off into empty space. Why is the heavens so cruel with these trials? Out of all the trajectories my bullet could have taken, why that spot? A hot tear rolled down my cheek.
"...Please. We can't just let him go like that, smiling away."
Elysia looked flustered but grasped the gravity of the situation and hurriedly began gathering her holy power. As her noble prayer echoed, golden particles swirled into the chapel.
Soon, a blinding white radiance erupted from between Kyle's legs, like a miniature sun had risen there.
...Whoa, never thought I'd see that spot glowing so holily in my life.
The wound slowly mended under the waves of holy power. Kyle's enlightened smile deepened in his stupor.
After a long while, with Kyle laid out in the corner of the chapel, Elysia called to me.
"Cadet Flint? Or should I call you Brother now, since you're in the Holy Studies Department?"
"Call me whatever's comfortable. More importantly, is that guy... okay?"
I glanced at Kyle lying on the bed. He looked pristine, like nothing had happened.
"The physical trauma is all healed. But the mental shock... even I can't be sure. We'll know when he wakes up."
"At least we've averted the tragedy of a man's lineage ending."
Overwhelmed with gratitude, I seized Elysia's hands.
"Thank you so much, Saintess. I'll never forget this grace."
Her eyes curved prettily at my sincere thanks. But in the next instant, the smile on her lips twisted subtly.
"Is that so? You did say you'd do anything, didn't you, Brother?"
She gripped my hands back tightly and grinned.
"Then let's talk about the treatment fee, shall we?"
Treatment fee? Beyond her eyes, I sensed not greed, but clear intent.
In my memories, Elysia was an angelic figure spreading God's love through pitiful prayers. But the girl smiling brightly before me now was closer to a little devil spotting prey.
Gulp. She inched closer, still holding my hand, and pointed with sparkling eyes at my waist holster, where the silver revolver slumbered.
"I want to try shooting that—just once!"
"...Pardon?"
I doubted my ears. Thank goodness it wasn't money. I'd braced for a fee worth a whole cathedral, but it was just a "shooting experience voucher." Truly saintly. No wonder she bathes in God's love.
For words from the saintess who'd just solemnly prayed over restoring a man's shattered "function," they were shockingly destructive.
"I heard the noise outside earlier. That rat-tat-tat—huge bang! And seeing what happened to Cadet Kyle, the power must be real..."
Elysia swallowed hard, staring laser-focused at my revolver. Her eyes weren't those of a saintess awaiting divine revelation, but a kid eyeing a limited-edition toy.
"Brother, please? I'll keep what happened to Cadet Kyle a secret. Okay?"
I stayed silent, and she tugged lightly at my sleeve, looking up pleadingly. With her pure looks and holy aura, it was no mystery why the male leads chased her tail despite their headaches.
"...No shooting at people."
"Of course! That statue back there is enough!"
Elysia pointed to the goddess statue at the chapel altar.
"Wait, Saintess. Shooting the statue? Isn't that blatant blasphemy? This is a chapel, after all. Better to do it outside."
I panicked and tried to stop her. Sure, I was an engineering cadet dragged into Holy Studies, but I wasn't bold enough to abet a saintess gunning down her own sacred furnishings in broad daylight.
But Elysia dismissed my concerns with a cute eye-crinkling smile.
"Aw, Brother, come on. It's just a stone carving—what's the big deal? The Lord resides in my heart and the high heavens. He'd probably get jealous if He saw me pouring devotion into a lifeless rock."
"...Jealous?"
"Yes! Like, 'Why's Elysia looking at that rock instead of Me?' So shooting it is actually a pious act, proving my unwavering loyalty to the Lord."
What kind of miraculous logic is this? Even a cult leader would weep. Her audacious interpretation left me speechless. If Lucius the Cardinal was the incarnation of "madness," she was pure "shamelessness."
"Come on, hurry! Before Cadet Kyle wakes up!"
Elysia shook my arm like an excited child.
With a resigned sigh, I drew the revolver from my holster.
"...Fine. But just one shot. And the recoil's strong, so grip it tight with both hands."
"Yay! This is exciting!"
The saintess clapped gleefully. Perfect timing, since I'd need to supply guns to the Holy See anyway. Securing the ultimate influencer in the "saintess."
I carefully placed the hefty revolver atop her slender hands. Her touch, handling it like a sacred relic, was oddly reverent—I nearly mistook it for a bible.
Laurie Gos would've cracked up and slapped my shoulder if she saw this.
I quickly taught her the basics: grip, aim, cocking the hammer. Her pale, delicate finger hooked the cold metal trigger.
Bang! The sharp crack echoed off the chapel's high ceiling.
The recoil jolted her shoulder back, but instead of screaming, Elysia gaped and hopped in place. The shot hit the goddess statue's belly dead-on.
"Hahaha! Brother, this is amazing! It feels like everything inside just got blown wide open!"
Wildly destructive praise from a saintess's lips. How repressed must her life be to feel such pure thrill from one shot?
Flushed and beaming, Elysia nuzzled the revolver to her cheek like a treasure. Her eyes turned to puppy-dog pleading for "just one more."
Feigning reluctance, I pulled a special round from my pocket—not ordinary ammo, but my heartfelt custom job. No big visual difference.
"...Oh? What's this?"
Elysia took the special cartridge with curious eyes. I smoothly spun the cylinder and chambered it.
"What's that, Brother?"
I handed the revolver back and smirked.
"That last one was just a toy for practice, Saintess."
I guided her index finger back to the trigger.
"This is the real 'bullet.' A monster compared to that toy."
If the last shot was a bang, this one would shake the whole chapel with thunder. I plugged my ears and stepped back.