Chapter 14
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Translator: Ebonarch
Chapter: 14
Chapter Title: Who is Examining the Examiner (3)
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Silence.
A suffocating stillness crushed the air around me and the saintess.
"Please answer, Central Officer."
The warm, friendly atmosphere from moments ago had vanished. Now she stared at me with cold eyes.
Her golden halo, which had blazed like the sun, was darkening and flickering unsteadily.
"..."
But I said nothing.
No, I couldn't.
My thoughts were a tangled mess after hearing something utterly shocking just now.
-Don't interfere, Mohaim. That's an order.
It was the name of the paladin standing behind Erzena, his face etched with conflict.
'Mohaim Espirence.'
I turned my gaze to the elderly knight, a massive scar slashing across one eye.
Only then did it click who he was.
Captain of the Holy Church's 1st Paladin Order.
Even I, with zero interest in religion, had heard that name.
'Why is the monster who only shows up for the Church's wars here?'
The 1st Paladin Order's nickname was "The Most Resolute Tip of the Sword."
They never appeared publicly unless it was a major Church affair.
Heresy purges, internal cleansings, or holy wars.
It was infamous how they'd turned the Southern Great Holy War just over a decade ago into a near one-sided slaughter.
'The captain of that order is with the pilgrimage group?'
Something felt increasingly off.
The Church never paraded them before the public lightly.
The symbolism of their name alone was too potent.
Deploying the 1st Paladin Order was tantamount to the Church pronouncing death.
Yet here, right before my eyes, behind Mohaim stood a lineup that looked like nearly the entire order.
These living strategic weapons, assigned to protect pilgrims heading to the northern holy sites.
It was absurdly contradictory.
Or rather, utterly at odds with their terrifying reputation.
I shifted my gaze back to the saintess.
'But... it's not completely implausible.'
Mohaim was one of the Church's mightiest knights.
Using top-tier muscle to guard a VIP like her wasn't odd.
Escorting with "The Most Resolute Tip of the Sword" signaled that this pilgrimage represented the Church itself.
A fierce commitment to absolute protection. That had to be it.
'Just needless worry.'
I brushed aside the suspicion.
The Church was just going all-out on security.
These were turbulent times; no surprise they'd assign this many escorts.
I shook my head, settling on that.
Then, the saintess tapped the desk, unable to hold back.
"Central Officer."
"Ah, yes."
"I've given you plenty of time to think by now."
Ah, right.
I still hadn't answered.
Realizing I'd been lost in thought far too long—bordering on rude—I quickly straightened up.
"My apologies. It didn't feel like a question I could answer lightly."
I stared at her face a moment longer, then slowly spoke.
"...May I first ask if there's any particular meaning behind that question?"
"I simply want your answer. As border chief, you've seen it all."
A lie. Her expression gave it away.
Undeniable hostility.
I had no idea what had flipped her against me in an instant, but something had.
'Wait, why?'
Cold sweat beaded on my skin.
What had I done?
This was beyond strange.
The moment she learned I was Central Officer, her eyes rolled back, she let out that weird moan, and acted like she'd hand over her heart and gall on a platter.
Now, after a few questions, she'd turned, glaring like I was her mortal foe.
'I answered perfectly! What's the issue!?',
Asking someone point-blank, "Are you capable?"—of course you'd demur with "Oh, no, not at all."
Bragging "Heh, I'm the best" would scream lunatic. Nobody answers like that.
Especially not officially.
Subduing a fire spirit barehanded? Credit to the stone inn voucher and free charcoal, but yeah, bare hands—not a lie.
'No falsehoods from me.'
Nothing to fault on my end. At least not in my book.
'So what gives?'
Her third question still baffled me contextually.
Then, a clue sparked in my mind.
'Wait... is this proselytizing?'
From her view, Crossroad Kingdom was a melting pot of races.
Hundreds of cultures and faiths tangled together—prime real estate for Holy Church evangelism.
Unlike the southern continent, their influence here was modest.
'I don't look like a believer, so she's targeting me first for conversion!'
It all made sense.
To her, I was a lost lamb.
Those sharp eyes? A shepherd spotting a stray.
I'm an immigration officer. Guardian of a nation's gateway.
Convert me, and the Church's future missionary work gets a hell of a lot smoother.
That glare wasn't hate—it was opportunity.
'Saintess isn't a title you snag without savvy.'
Impressive.
Exhausted from a long pilgrimage road, smack in an official check—yet she pounced on the opening.
Even masking it with gossip to drop my guard, then striking at the heart surgically.
'Not weird... cunning sums it up.'
Fervent zeal fused seamlessly with sly stratagems.
Even I, weathered by countless incidents, barely sniffed it out.
One scary lady.
"Central Officer, silence isn't an answer."
I'd gone quiet too long; she pressed.
"You asked if I believe in God."
Asking twice confirmed her conversion zeal.
Say "No" here, and she'd hound me till I cried "I believe in the Lord."
Those eyes.
Locked on like she'd never release.
No waffling would free me.
Needed certainty.
And I had the ultimate dodge for moments like this.
"To be frank, yes. I believe."
I affirmed.
Her golden eyes lit with certainty.
"Then you—"
But I wasn't done.
"However, not the Holy Church's God."
"What?"
The flawless rebuff to blanket conversion.
Even scatters those tenacious market aunties.
'I already have a religion.'
Poaching the faithful? Taboo across denominations.
Otherwise, faiths would war endlessly over flocks—an inter-church accord prevented that.
Her eyes narrowed at my reply.
"I see... Might I know which god?"
I mustered my sorriest face.
"Sorry, but I'll stay silent on that."
Crossroad Kingdom mandates secrecy.
Immigration officers hold neutrality sacred.
Politically, religiously, culturally.
So no bias against any traveler's creed or conviction.
Spilling my leanings here? Could get spun as kingdom policy.
I'm the gatekeeper shaping first impressions, after all.
God belief? Fair game.
Anything else? Lips sealed.
"Even from the Holy Church's saintess?"
Especially from you.
That's my limit.
"My apologies."
No dice.
"It breaches the immigration officer's oath. I cannot answer."
Got beef? Take it to Crossroad statutes.
She scowled, irked by my unyielding tone.
"Fine... You believe, but won't name names..."
Truth be told, one entity owns my absolute faith.
Its name: "No Accidents."
'That's the true one, rewarding my toil unfailingly.'
Heck, it even dishes cash and leave.
If that's not divine, what is?
Oh, No Accidents—Day 297.
Thou of the beautiful name.
Shower our Immigration Control Office with bonuses and paid time off.
She caught my instant piety and let out a hollow laugh.
"Boldly owning it, Central Officer. Thought you'd squirm away forever."
"How could I lie before the Lord's own voice, Saintess?"
Capped with apt flattery.
"Thank you for honoring my faith. May grace and glory attend the Holy Church alone—I pray as much."
Ah, perfection—even by my lights.
Diplomat material.
"You... incorrigibly brazen..."
Why's her face twisting, though?
"Without my vow to Mohaim, you'd be—"
Erzena spat halfway when my rope appeared.
"Sorry, Examiner. Late. Here's the seal."
"Ah, spot-on. Good. Hand it over."
Some attendant, fresh from gods-knew-where.
Snatched the seal quick.
Then, brightly:
"You've waited long, Saintess. Time to wrap this up."
"...Don't think we're done, Central Officer."
What's her deal?
Now just stamp the entry permit and ship 'em out.
I'm freezing solid here.
Irking VIPs? All loss, my gain none.
But the attendant had more than the seal.
"Central Officer, check this too."
He thrust a thick document stack my way.
"What's this?"
"Cargo manifest."
"Why me...?"
Personnel's my lane.
Tactile or Gustatory Officer owns this—route it there.
He explained:
"Tactile Officer just inspected. Said pass it to you."
"Hm. Alright. But Saintess first."
VIP priority.
This can slide.
Shoved papers aside, faced front.
Met her venomous, peerless glare.
"Saintess. Welcome to Crossroad Kingdom."
Stamp.
No—
As I moved to press,
-Whooo. Flip, flip.
Wind gusted through the open gate, scattering pages.
My eyes drifted naturally to the papers.
Dense lists of hundreds, thousands of items flooded my view.
"Ugh. Nightmarish."
Dizzying at a glance.
Reached to shut it—then something hooked me.
"Hm?"
Red pen circles dotted the lists.
Skimmed them fast.
'Hold up. These circles... all arms and weapons.'
Weapons, siege gear, medical kits.
The problem: red marks swarmed nearly every page.
Last page's corner bore frantic scrawl.
[Arms count: 12,910 items. Way too many! Super suspicious!!!]
[Some supply wagons sealed! Claim holy relics, but clanging metal inside!!]
Heavy underlines screamed Tactile Officer.
'What the—why so many? Sealed wagons??'
Recapped quick.
Pilgrims: 3,374 souls. Paladins: ~400.
Rest: civilians, merchants, gawkers.
Arms: over 10k.
'Impossible.'
Absurd excess.
Nearly triple headcount.
Then, all my nagging doubts resurfaced.
'Saintess's odd pilgrimage. 1st Order tag-along. Overkill supplies and arms.'
Singly? Clean.
Saintess's trek: charity or thrill.
Escort: bodyguard duty.
Supplies: aid for north's harsh kin.
Spotless rationale.
But combined...
'Church's elite order, saintess in tow, hauling warloads north.'
Whole new picture.
Quietly closed the manifest.
Voice low and grave:
"This isn't a pilgrimage."
Two faces froze.
Slowly, I set the seal aside.
"One final question before entry, Saintess."
Erzena stayed mum.
"..."
Just white-knuckled fists, glaring daggers.
I met her stare dead-on, hand drifting to the hourglass instead.
"Very simple."
Five minutes' sand.
The smooth exam.
The flawless pass.
Reset.
"What's the real purpose for the north?"
The grains began to flow once more.