The Saintess Becomes a Devotee (2)
The revolver loaded with the Special Bullet. The moment the saintess's white fingers pulled the trigger all the way back.
BOOM—! A deafening explosion, on a whole different level from the previous gunshot—like a small cannon shell detonating—shattered the chapel's silence.
Flames burst from the muzzle, brighter than the sunlight streaming through the windows, sweeping forward in a blaze.
"……!"
The bullet I'd crafted pulverized the head of the stern goddess statue standing in the chapel in one shot. And that wasn't enough—it mercilessly shattered the massive stained glass behind it.
Clang—! Multicolored glass shards rained down like jewels, scattering across the floor.
But there was no time to admire the beautiful sight.
"Kyaa!"
Elysia couldn't withstand the fearsome recoil of the Special Bullet, her body flying back more than a step. I instinctively reached out and caught her against my chest.
Through my uniform, I felt the saintess's faint body heat and the faint trembling of her breath from the shot's aftermath.
Perfectly nestled in my arms, she stared blankly at the scene of destruction she'd wrought, still clutching the revolver.
"……Hic."
A short gasp escaped Elysia's lips. The headless goddess statue and the shattered stained glass. This went beyond blasphemy—it was clear-cut property destruction.
I alternated glances between the smoking revolver and the saintess in my arms, swallowing hard.
Whoa... the power is insane. How the hell do we clean this up?
I felt Elysia's shoulders trembling. Was she scared? Or was it the overwhelming thrill of that firepower? Either way, one thing was certain: we were now perfect accomplices, in the same boat.
"Wh-what do we do? Just the repair costs would eat up all my pocket money for ten years..."
Elysia, who had been lost in the ecstasy of firepower moments ago, paled and grabbed my sleeve.
Staring at the site of the massive incident, I was just as flustered. Replacing an entire wall of stained glass would cost a fortune beyond imagination. We had to fix this somehow. Begging Lady Laurie was a last resort.
As I racked my brain for dozens of excuses, my gaze suddenly stopped on Kyle, sleeping peacefully in the corner of the chapel.
The Leonhardt heir, who had regained his strength thanks to the saintess's holy power and was still out cold. I turned to Elysia and made a very serious proposal.
"Saintess, how about this? We say that guy, Kyle, was in the middle of receiving your healing when... he was so moved by God's great will that his latent holy power exploded."
"……Pardon?"
"In other words, all this destruction is the aftermath of Kyle awakening as a saint. And you desperately tried to calm his rampage to stop it. What do you think?"
Elysia's eyes shook violently. The ruined statue, the smashed glass window, and Kyle smiling serenely in the middle. Perfect.
An unconscious guy can't talk, and the Leonhardt family wouldn't pass up a rumor like "our son awakened as a saint and accidentally wrecked the chapel." They'd gladly foot the repair bill.
The saintess pondered for a moment, then quietly nodded. A deeper, more impish smile—like a little devil—curved her lips.
"……Brother Kyle is so lucky. He gets to become a saint while he's asleep."
That day, the young man who had taken six bullets to the gut and had his groin obliterated was reborn, unbeknownst to himself, as the empire's new hope: Saint Kyle.
As if by prior agreement, we began liberally sprinkling holy water to erase the acrid gunpowder smell around Kyle.
"Come on, Brother Kyle. Let's make you smell a bit more holy."
The sight of Elysia beaming benevolently as she poured holy water over the unconscious Kyle's face was utterly pious.
Even as he turned into a drowned rat, that enlightened smile lingered on Kyle's lips.
Watching that bizarre baptism, I was certain. The commotion in this chapel would now be remembered not as a gun accident, but solely as Saint Kyle's glorious awakening.
Once the chaos settled, I pulled a heavy item from my pocket.
The Mass-Produced Revolver. Unlike my custom one, this was a crude budget model with a low-grade magic stone embedded in the hammer. The frame used ordinary iron, so it couldn't handle the heat from even one Special Bullet mixed with magic stone powder—the barrel would melt—but aside from that, it had no rough edges.
I'd originally planned to offer it to Lucius to negotiate an exemption from Holy Department classes, but I scrapped that on the spot. Better to recruit this saintess, whose soul was already captivated by the firepower, than risk handing a gun to that ticking time bomb of a cardinal.
A reliable accomplice sharing this dangerous secret, and far easier to handle than the cardinal. Without hesitation, I offered the cold, gunmetal barrel to Elysia.
"Is... is this for me?"
She asked cautiously, her hand trembling slightly as she reached out. I added indifferently,
"It's a test item for now. Think of it as a self-defense tool. As you saw, I guarantee the performance."
Before I finished, Elysia snatched the revolver like a hawk. The flustered girl who had just wrecked the chapel was gone. Seeing her eyes glaze over in rapture as she examined it from every angle, I knew I'd chosen right over Lucius.
But she checked the paper ammo pouch I'd given her and pouted immediately.
"Brother, there are only twelve bullets? So I can only shoot twelve times?"
"Saintess, nothing in this world is free. Materials and labor cost a pretty penny on this end."
"......That's mean."
She puffed her cheeks and grumbled, but I turned away firmly. The basics of business: leave 'em wanting more. Once those twelve shots were gone, she'd come knocking on my workshop door herself—and then I could demand a price far steeper than gold.
Leaving behind the "saint" Kyle gearing up for a rude awakening and the saintess cradling the revolver like a treasure, I exited the chapel.
My steps toward the Engineering Department Building felt much lighter. Sure, the morning had been a rollercoaster—smashing one guy's junk and wrecking chapel fixtures—but I'd gained a customer: the saintess.
I scrapped all my old plans to avoid her because of the original story's memories. I had to sell weapons to the Holy See anyway, Kyle had ditched his family's prized greatsword for Romantic Sword training, and the youngest cardinal Lucius's actions were now beyond my mental database's predictions.
So the answer was simple. The original story was already fucked. Why suffer alone like a chump?
Just stir up some glorious chaos. Money, draft exemption, overwhelming firepower. Those were my three ironclad principles for navigating this brutal fantasy world, taking root right then.
"Hah... hah..."
My thighs felt like they were going to burst. Cold air stabbed deep into my lungs, but it wasn't enough to cool the burning heat in my muscles.
Every time I climbed the uphill path to the Engineering Department Building, I felt it: this place was way too remote. At this point, it wasn't for scholarship—it was basic training.
Even in my past life, the engineering building was always at the edge of the highest hill on campus...
Engineering students, past and present, were always cut off from the campus's glamorous views. While others frolicked in cherry blossom-strewn flat courtyards, we hauled heavy textbooks like weights up the climb.
I had no idea why they faithfully replicated even this bullshit detail. Why not mimic the magic department's lavish budget or the holy department's overwhelming authority? Why stick so rigidly to the unspoken rule that 'engineering buildings are always at the mountaintop'?
"Dean... next time, I gotta demand an escalator or a lift..."
Sweat dripped from my chin to the ground. But paradoxically, the thickening scent of iron and oil in my nostrils calmed my mind.
Dragging my shaky legs, I finally shoved open the doors to the Engineering Main Hall.
"......?"
I couldn't believe my eyes. The people who should have been drafting at the workbenches had set up an altar instead.
On a workbench draped in white cloth sat my passport photo, all by its lonesome. In front was a crude bouquet of wildflowers they'd bent off nearby.
...Pistia and Sion were holding my mock funeral.
In the solemn atmosphere, Pistia dabbed her tears with tissue and sniffled.
"Sniff... Cadet Flint... I hadn't even heard half of the revolver's structure yet... To get assassinated by the Leonhardt ducal family... This is a national—no, an engineering world's tremendous loss...!"
She seemed more genuinely heartbroken over the lost tech than my well-being.
Beside her, Sion bowed his head deeply in respect. On second look, that bastard's shoulders were trembling—he was desperately holding back laughter.
The information guild heir couldn't possibly be clueless about my survival. He was clearly having the time of his life.
"What the hell are you doing?"
My low voice echoed through the lab, and Pistia turned, her puffy eyes widening.
"Sniff... My longing is so intense I'm even hallucinating your voice... Sniff, live happily up there, breathing in all the gunpowder you want..."
"......"
There were limits to treating someone like a ghost. As I gaped in disbelief, Sion, who had been quietly observing me, narrowed his eyes and muttered,
"Professor, that looks pretty real to me."
Only then did Pistia pause her tissue-dabbing and stare at me.
"Real...? The real Cadet Flint? B-but if the Leonhardts catch you, they won't even leave bones..."
Pistia rushed over and started poking me everywhere to verify. More obsessed with checking if I was fake than relief. Suppressing the urge to kick giggling Sion's shin, I swept the bouquet off the altar.
Then I pulled a rolled-up blueprint from my pocket and tossed it onto the workbench.
"Enough funeral games. Let's do a project."
At my words, Pistia's eyes lit up in an instant. Unbelievable speed from the woman who'd been bawling moments ago.
She snatched the blueprint like a starving beast and traced the ink lines.
"Whoa... whoaaa! This is...!"
Pistia's eyes gleamed.
"This isn't a revolver, is it? No cylinder! The mechanism is similar, but... the structure is way simpler yet beefier."
Her finger traced the chamber area on the blueprint.
"The loading is totally different too. Not a rotating magazine—instead, you break the barrel open on a hinge and shove shells right in?"
Spot on. Sion, watching from the side, peered at the blueprint with interest, eyes narrowed.
"Is that right? I can't really tell just from the drawing."
Pistia looked up at me, cheeks flushed with excitement.
"Cadet Flint, what is this? What's it called?"
I grinned and uttered the heavy, thrilling word.
"Shotgun."