I Became a Priest Impostor (1)

I became a priest impostor.

I finished the last comment and looked down at the monster collapsed in front of me.

An orc.

It was a kind of monster that had never existed in the Tower back home. That alone meant I needed to be sure. If it only looked different but was still a person, killing ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠it would be something I could never take back.

Fortunately, the Gallery's answer had been unambiguous.

Monster.

Then there's no reason to let it walk away.

Left alone, it would get back up and attack people again. That settled any remaining hesitation. Before the buff I'd cast ran out, I picked up the orc's weapon from the ground. Whether it was plunder or not, the mace looked far more serviceable than the crude leather clothes the creature wore.

I gripped the mace in both hands and swung it at the temple.

Thud!

A heavy jolt ran up my wrist as the weapon smashed through thick flesh and bone. It had been a long time since I'd felt that particular satisfaction. One blow wasn't enough, though.

Thud!

The orc's body jerked hard under the second strike. I set the mace down and pressed my fingers to its neck. No pulse. I held a finger under its nose. No breath. Finally I lifted an eyelid and checked the eye. No pupillary reflex either.

"Definitely dead."

The moment I registered that I'd killed it, a faint unease crept in. It wasn't my first kill, but it was the first time I'd killed something that looked even remotely human. The beasts that appeared in the Tower were beasts in the literal sense, so this was different.

More importantly.

I turned my eyes to the Gallery window floating in front of me. What I opened this time wasn't the question post I'd written, but the Gallery notice board.

I'd checked the notice again just in case, but there was nothing I'd misread or overlooked. For the time being, it was safe to assume there was no way back.

"This is a problem."

Only last night I'd gone to sleep in my private clinic. I had a raid party booked for early morning and paperwork still waiting on my desk. With me—the director and only healer—vanished without a trace, the place had to be in chaos. Pretending I wasn't frustrated would have been a lie.

But sitting in the middle of a forest worrying about it wouldn't solve a single thing.

Set aside what you can't do. Start with what you can.

Return was not something I could fix right now. Whether I survived the immediate future, on the other hand, depended entirely on my choices.

"I need to settle in first."

Food, clothing, and shelter—the three essentials for human survival. I needed all three. Hunting for a way home could wait until after. And even if I didn't look, the people on the Gallery would keep searching for one.

I opened the common-knowledge section under the Newbie Must-Read tab on the Gallery's notice board.

A quick skim turned up plenty of useful tips. I read what I needed, then moved on to the map post that had been mentioned.

Fortunately, I already knew how to read a map.

"The closest city from here is a place called Millers."

I had a rough direction, but I didn't move just yet. Even if I got there, I had no currency. Begging would be about the only option. So I needed to find something worth money here first.

I don't know what sells, but the people on the Gallery will.

The money wasn't far away at all. It was a monster, but I'd butchered beast byproducts before, so dressing an orc wasn't difficult. I twisted out the protruding fangs, wiped the blood off the mace on a scrap of leather, and tied it at my waist. I would have liked to take the hide as well, but without a proper blade I had to leave it. Even so, this was enough for now.

The real problem was the road to the city.

It's far.

The distance to the city was considerable, and being stranded in the middle of the forest meant even reaching a proper path would be work.

Better to detour a little and find a road first.

Forest travel burned more than twice the stamina and time of walking open ground. Even if it meant going the long way, following a road beat slogging through the woods.

After about twenty minutes southeast, I finally broke out of the trees and found a road worn by people and horses.

From there I simply walked the road, reading Gallery common-knowledge posts as I went. Around the time the sun began tipping west, a gray curtain wall appeared in the distance. Below it, a soldier was yawning wide, clearly bored out of his mind on duty.

"Halt."

The same soldier who'd been yawning a moment ago stopped me as I drew near the gate. His eyes lingered suspiciously on the mace at my waist and my modern clothes, both of which clearly looked wrong to him.

"You look damn suspicious! Show me your identity tag or a travel permit. Without one, you're not getting in."

Luckily, I'd been reading the Gallery on the way and already had a usable excuse prepared.

"I am a priest. I encountered an orc in the forest and lost my belongings, so I do not currently have my identity tag on me, but…"

An unhealed cut happened to be visible on the soldier's hand, so I used a skill as naturally as breathing.

Fwaah—!

A Heal that felt somehow brighter than usual settled over the soldier's hand.

"…Will this serve as proof instead?"

The wound vanished as if it had never been there. The soldier startled hard and bowed his head.

"Th-thank you."

"I didn't realize you were a priest, sir. My apologies for the discourtesy. Please, go right in."

With that, I passed through the gate without further trouble. The healed soldier watched my back and muttered under his breath.

"I thought the flower-print clothes were weird… never figured he was actually a priest…"

The answers came fast. Other comments piled on as well.

More comments seemed to be stacking up after that, but I'd already gotten every answer I needed, so I closed the window without reading them.

For an isekai city, the cleanliness is decent enough.

The streets past the gate were reasonably fine. I'd braced myself for a medieval city with dung-choked alleys at worst, but it wasn't that bad.

At least I won't catch the Black Death.

Further impressions could wait. What I needed right now was money and a place to sleep. Watching carefully how people handled currency, I went looking for the kind of shop the Gallery had mentioned.

Better a side street than the gate or the center.

Entrances and central districts were where the price-gouging thrived. Gates were perfect for fleecing tourists and other easy marks; the center jacked prices up over land value and rent. That had been the case back home, at least—whether ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠it held here, I couldn't say yet. I'd learn by experience.

This should be the general store.

The sign had no lettering, only a painted picture, but the jumble of goods crammed into the display was enough. I stepped inside. An old man who looked like the owner was playing chess by himself.

"Here to sell?"

"That's right."

I set two fangs and the mace on the table.

"Don't much care for maces. Too heavy…"

"Then I'll just sell the fangs."

"Didn't say I wouldn't buy it."

His sly manner made me wonder if haggling was going to be a pain.

"Five silver for the lot."

"I see."

But the old man named a price a little higher than the market rate I'd looked up. All that fretting over a hard bargain felt almost silly.

"Mace is in pretty good shape. My joints'll ache handling it, though."

They said three silver minimum… so that really was the floor.

I bowed my head to the sly but honest old man and turned to leave.

"If you're looking for a place to stay, try the inn down that way—sign with the moon and a loaf of bread."

"…Thank you."

Honest, and generous on top of it. I wandered a little, but it didn't take long to find the inn he'd described.

I stepped through the open door and found a young boy who looked about upper-elementary age mopping the floor.

"Oh—are you here for a meal?"

The boy set down his rag as he asked, though his eyes kept flicking over me, quietly taking stock. The way he scanned my appearance was pure assessment—figuring out what kind of customer had just walked in. It didn't bother me. A kid working a job; that was fair enough. My only real thought was that I was too tired for games of reading the room.

"The old man at the general store recommended this place."

"You came on Grandpa Gilmore's recommendation!"

That seemed to ease his suspicion some. I'd only seen the man's face for a few minutes, but I set that detail aside for now.

"I'd like to stay for a week, if that's possible."

"Just three silver, please. Breakfast is included. If you want lunch and dinner too, that's five more copper!"

"Here you are."

"Hehe, I'll show you to an empty room!"

The room was on the second floor.

"This is our best one. Don't lose the key, and make sure you lock the window when you go out. It's small, but a kid could still squeeze through."

"Understood."

Fortunately, calling it a good room wasn't empty talk—it was fairly clean.

This is good enough that I won't be asking for a refund.

At the very least, I could stay here without worrying. I'd barely sat on the bed when the tension drained out of me and sleep came crashing in. Hardly surprising—I'd woken in a forest, subdued a charging orc, and walked a long road to find a city.

…At least I've secured immediate survival.

I'd avoided the worst-case scenario. Sustaining that survival, though, was going to take a lot more. Fighting the drowsiness, I wrote a new post on the Gallery.

Ordinarily, a complete stranger dumping question after question on a community would get on people's nerves. The people on the Gallery answered without a hint of that. For a newcomer, it was about as ideal a group as you could ask for. That said, none of the answers particularly appealed to me.

I'm not in a position to be picky, but I really don't want a job that keeps me moving.

There was a reason I'd saved up after climbing the Tower and opened a clinic. Then a reply landed that I actually liked.

Not bad.

Playing priest for a while seemed workable. To pull it off, though, I'd ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠have to memorize the doctrines and scriptures posted on the Gallery cold. I was lying down on the bed, sorting the plan in my head, when a Gallery comment suddenly floated back up.

Come to think of it—they said if you can't believe it, look at the night sky.

Sleep was pulling hard, but I still had enough presence of mind to look at the sky. I got up briefly and peered out through the small window.

"…Huh."

Only then did I understand why they'd told me to look up.

There's writing stamped on the moon here.

Strange characters were etched into the blue moon. That those characters meant "May" was something I only learned after curiosity got the better of me and I opened the Gallery again.

I had no clock, but I woke early. Habit—my body was trained to rise at the same hour every day.

So it wasn't a dream after all.

Coming to, I'd half wondered whether yesterday had been a dream or a hallucination. Climbing the upper floors of the Tower, hallucinations had been common enough. But I was still in an inn room, still in a strange city. Everything that had happened yesterday was real.

I forced strength into legs stiff with muscle ache and went downstairs.

"…So you're the young man Sean mentioned? Just wait a bit, dear. I'll bring breakfast."

A middle-aged woman with a kindly, solid look was tidying the hall on the first floor. She seemed to be the innkeeper. Something about her voice lacked energy. I left her to it and sat at a table.

Breakfast arrived quickly. It was nothing more than coarse bread and a thin potato soup, but after eating nothing the day before, it tasted surprisingly good. Hunger really was the best seasoning.

Eat, then go find a clinic.

To keep surviving, I needed to earn. And the work that suited me best right now was clinic work.

No health insurance in this neighborhood—should make good money.

I was entertaining that shameless thought when a small child at a table near the kitchen caught my eye.

She's hurt.

Stitches showed on her forehead—someone had sewn the wound. That probably explained why the boy had been running the inn alone yesterday.

"Did the child get hurt?"

"She got hurt pretty bad at lunch yesterday. Mom rushed her to a priest, but there were so many urgent patients she couldn't get a healing miracle."

It was her older brother Sean who answered. His voice sagged as he spoke; it clearly weighed on him. Hardly surprising—it was a wound on the face, of all places. A scar on a little girl's face was more than enough to leave a family sick with worry. That also explained why the innkeeper's voice had sounded so drained.

I'll be working at a clinic anyway, so there's no point hiding it. And it wouldn't hurt to earn the innkeeper's goodwill.

In my original world I would have kept it buried just to avoid the hassle. This wasn't a situation for holding cards close to the chest.

"Would you show me your face for a moment?"

As I approached the child, the innkeeper in the kitchen watched me with doubtful eyes. She'd heard I was a guest on a friend's recommendation, but we were still strangers—trust was thin. The doubt didn't last long. Bright light bloomed from my hand, settled over the girl's forehead, and the wound vanished without a trace.

"It won't hurt anymore."

When the healing finished, the innkeeper's eyes went wide. The restless boy froze where he stood.

"Good heavens…"

Then the child, still rubbing her now-clean forehead, tugged on my sleeve. I looked down again. She was gazing up at me with shining eyes.

"Mister."

She asked carefully.

"Are you a priest?"

I was a priest impostor.