Chapter 23
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Translator: Ebonarch
Chapter: 23
Chapter Title: The Saintess (Who Used to Be)
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"Everyone."
I raised my voice, and every soul in the Immigration Control Office turned to look at me.
Their eyes sparkled with anticipation.
"After a grueling 48 hours, we've finally hit our target."
I pointed to the [Evidence Locker] box.
The container, stuffed to the brim with documents, looked ready to burst at the seams.
"You've all worked incredibly hard these past two days."
"Woooah!!"
Cheers erupted from all around.
We had just 24 hours until the edict arrived.
We'd scraped together everything we could.
Evidence, sworn statements, and witness testimonies.
The fruits of our labor filled that massive box to overflowing.
Taking it to trial would give me a solid defense.
My direct aide, standing beside me, spoke up.
"Honestly, I never imagined we'd gather this much material for the trial."
A touch of pride swelled in his voice.
"The aides have been so enthusiastic in helping out. Looks like we'll be working together for a long time."
No denying it.
Once the goal of 'Proving the Central Officer's Innocence' took shape, the Immigration Control Office unleashed a terrifying level of efficiency.
They even formed two shifts among themselves, racing to crime scenes day and night, eyes bloodshot for evidence.
They'd all stepped up voluntarily to help me. I was just grateful.
All it took was one honest request.
- Would you help the head office a bit?
- Yes, sir!!!
I gave a small smile.
"I should think about giving you all a raise later."
"Woooaaaah!!!"
The aides' cheers grew even louder at my words.
Such obvious folks.
Today, though, I'd let it slide.
Meanwhile, cutting through the rowdy celebration, the Olfactory Officer approached quietly.
"Central Officer."
"Ah, Olfactory Officer. You worked hard too."
Unlike the mood around us, he didn't look thrilled.
"Congratulations for now. That's enough to say we're at least prepared."
"Right. We've dodged the worst."
"But do we stand a chance?"
The Olfactory Officer cut straight to the heart, face grim.
Amid the cheers, the three of us fell silent.
"Everything we've gathered is purely defensive material. Essential for proving innocence. But..."
The werewolf's gaze drifted out the window.
"...I have a feeling they're plotting something over there."
"What's the word on their side?"
Hundreds of tents sprawled beyond the window.
"Unnervingly quiet."
He growled low.
"Like they're gearing up for something."
A valid concern.
With the Pope and Queen so tightly bound, they'd do anything to crush me.
From the Church's view, I'd gone from thorn in the side to full-blown headache.
"...They might even call witnesses to the trial."
Considering the worst-case scenario.
What trump card could they play in court?
If the Queen summons the Pope, Paladin Order Captain, or even the Saintess as a witness or reference?
Just thinking about it sent chills down my spine.
No matter how much evidence and witnesses we paraded, if the Pope spoke for the protest letter's author...
- I take this as an insult.
One short sentence like that, and we'd be in deep trouble.
And even without him, the Church had two more heavy hitters to trot out.
If that happens, we'd get steamrolled in court.
Their words carry weight.
A hundred commoners' testimonies wouldn't sway things against one Church bigwig.
Principles are absolute.
But before authority and connections, principles crumble mercilessly.
I could shove thousands of innocence-proving documents at them, only for the Pope's word to negate it all.
And we didn't even know who was presiding over the trial.
"We need the most ironclad witness."
I said quietly.
"Someone they can't dismiss as a lie or counterargument. Someone with that kind of pull."
No other way.
Our shield is flimsy; their spear is sharp.
We could block petty jabs, but a heavy hitter would overrun us.
We needed an ace to flip the table in one go.
Then my direct aide asked,
"But do we have anyone like that?"
Spot on.
"The only ones there that day were us and the pilgrimage group. A few regular entrants and the Border Guard besides."
No arguing that.
The Border Guard might've made good witnesses, but they'd nearly clashed swords with the Paladin Order already.
Not pure bystanders anymore; their involvement tainted objectivity.
"Best would be a Church witness on our side..."
As if the Holy Church would help us.
Ridiculous.
In the end, the Central Officer, Olfactory Officer, and direct aide found no answers in prolonged silence.
Just sighs heavy with worry.
"Haa, alright. Good work, both of you. Rest up for now."
They say despair lurks behind every hope.
Even maxed out on prep, it still felt woefully short. My gut twisted.
The aides' cheers, once uplifting, turned to grating buzz in my ears.
I couldn't stand the stuffiness anymore and turned to leave.
"Central Officer, where are you headed?"
"Gonna check on the Tactile Officer for a bit. Feels like my head'll explode here. Need a breather."
My direct aide replied,
"Ah, then I'll come with."
"No. Stay here. You rest too, aide."
"But-"
"Your eyes have been bloodshot for hours. Rest."
We'd done enough.
What we needed now was a break.
Who knows, maybe lady luck drops in from somewhere.
Clinging to that pipe dream, I stepped out of the meeting room alone.
Far off at the outdoor inspection area, the Tactile Officer was checking cargo wagons by herself.
Just like her to prefer the quiet over crowds.
"Hm... this passes, but this one's iffy..."
I approached without hesitation.
"Tactile Officer. Shift change."
"Huh? Central Officer? What are you doing here?"
"Clearing my head. I'll cover for you for three hours, so go rest inside."
Leave me alone, and I'll handle your shift too.
Luckily, she caught on quick.
"Thank you! I'll be back in three hours!"
Her tentacles wriggled as she scurried inside.
I took over her duties and called out to the long line of cargo wagons.
"Next wagon!"
Hoping this job would at least keep worries at bay for a while.
"-- --!"
Noise blared from afar.
"Ah... ugh..."
Consciousness trickled back slowly.
My head throbbed, body ached all over.
Dizzy, like a brutal hangover.
"-- wagon!"
Erzena blinked her eyes a few times.
What was I doing?
A few seconds later, it all flooded back.
The purple-eyed intruder.
"Ah-, mmph!"
But her voice was muffled by the gag.
Only then did Erzena realize she was trapped in some pitch-black place.
Oh no! That shapeshifter...!
She jolted up in panic, but something yanked her back with a jerk.
-Clank!
Pain shot through her ankle with the heavy chain's rattle.
Her eyes widened as she grasped she was bound somewhere.
At least her arms were free. Small mercy.
Erzena hurriedly reached for the ankle chains.
Or tried to.
It wouldn't reach.
...Huh?
She bent down, stretching again.
Still no.
No matter how many tries, in the dark, her arms never made it to her ankles.
Wh-why?
Her arms weren't short. A slight bend, and they'd reach—slender and long, even.
Then it hit her: the potion the shapeshifter fed her.
What did she make me drink!?
Whatever it was, it warped her body somehow.
Or dulled her senses. Or drove her mad.
Either way, Erzena knew it was nothing good.
"-- ma-!"
And that weird noise kept coming from somewhere.
"Mmmph!! Mmphmmph!!"
Terror and despair gripped her; she thrashed and screamed into the void.
Get me out! Please, get me out!!
But no salvation came.
"Da- --!"
Just that eerie, repeating sound.
- Too late.
The shapeshifter's words echoed.
As she'd said, Erzena was paying a steep, belated price.
Fear of being dragged off somewhere, despair of no turning back—it devoured her.
Aah... Lord God...
Tears streamed down her cheeks.
Central Officer... I'm sorry...
Regret upon regret.
But irreversible.
She bowed her head slowly.
Her harsh punishment was only beginning.
Yes, this is my penance for my sins...
The moment she resolved to surrender it all,
"Next wagon!"
The Central Officer's voice rang out.
"Next wagon!"
-Creak.
The 14th wagon rolled up before me.
Last one for the day.
"Greetings. I'm Nathan Kell, inspector for the Crossroad Kingdom."
A short greeting, and the boy in the straw hat atop the driver's seat waved enthusiastically.
"Hi, mister!"
"...A boy?"
I tilted my head at the odd sight.
A fresh-faced teen crossing the border alone?
After a brief pause, I said,
"State your name, origin, purpose of entry, and cargo contents. You have five minutes."
"Ah, yes! I'm Sota from Sweet Potato Hill in the southern Mahalan Kingdom!"
Sweet Potato Hill.
Just beyond this border plain. Close by.
Made sense. Not far, so low risk from bandits or monsters.
The boy continued,
"And I'm transporting livestock to your country, mister!"
"Livestock... alone?"
"Ehehe, yep. Dad said if you're a man, you gotta cross the border solo once."
"Quite the unique father."
Who sends their young son alone to the border?
I let out a dry chuckle and eyed the wagon's rear.
"Very well. Commencing cargo inspection."
At my words, the boy flinched, then lowered his voice.
"Careful, inspector mister. The ones inside are real fierce!"
"...What, bears?"
"Nah... you'll see."
With that, he swung open the back door.
-Squeeee! Squeeee!
-Oink oink oink!
A cacophony of awful noise exploded out.
Pink-skinned, four-legged beasts.
Short tails, weird snouts—one of our daily staples.
Pigs.
"Ugh, lord almighty."
A wave of filth stench hit, and they shoved their faces forward, begging for food like mad.
I wrinkled my nose and counted.
"One, two... seventeen."
Total of 17.
"Wait, make that eighteen."
In the back, a tiny piglet sat perfectly still.
But something was off.
Only that one had chains on its legs.
"...And what's with the chained-up pig?"
Why the gag too?
The boy hesitated before answering.
"Ah, that one... it's got a nasty temper. Ate its mom last time, so now it bites anyone it sees."
"I see."
Casual about something brutal.
But I got it.
Orphaned piglets go half-feral.
"Hm, still gotta check. Hopping in."
No exceptions, even for a country boy's wagon.
Full interior sweep required.
"W-Wait a sec!"
Before he could stop me, I vaulted aboard.
"Easy now, piggies. Move aside. Or it's sausage time."
-Oink oink oink.
-Squeeee!
They scattered, squealing like they were doomed.
Only the piglet stayed calm.
Our eyes met.
"..."
-...
But it just stared up blankly.
What's the deal? Not so vicious.
As I refocused,
-Drip.
A single tear rolled from its eye.
"Wh-what."
Flustered. Pigs don't cry.
"I-I'm not here to eat you."
-Oink oink.
It oinked back shortly.
But I couldn't understand.
My talent doesn't parse animal speech. Needs sentience.
Plus the gag muffled it.
As the piglet oinked on, the boy yelled from behind,
"Inspector, stay too long and it'll freak! Get out!"
"Ah, right!"
Suddenly, it thrashed wildly.
-Oink oink! Squeeee!!!
Ankle scraped raw by chains, foam leaking past the gag.
Utterly pitiful.
Tears streaming—who knew why so sad.
Even a stone-cold inspector would ache at this.
"Poor thing. Bacon-bound soon, but I'll ease it a bit."
A pang of pity; I reached to loosen the gag.
The instant my hand touched,
-Crackle.
Golden sparks flew.
"Huh?"
I yanked back in shock; the piglet froze, staring up.
"..."
-...
Silence.
"Uh..."
What now?
Tried again, slow.
Tip of finger touched,
-Crackle.
Golden flash again.
Once more.
-Crackle-pop.
I poked gently; warm sunlight-like energy rippled with golden haze.
Golden haze.
I knew only one kind.
No way.
If I wasn't hallucinating.
If I wasn't losing it.
Slowly, focusing my mind, I opened my mouth.
"...O-Oink oink? (= S-Saintess?)"
Pig speech tumbled from my lips.
The piglet wailed mournfully.