Thus Saith the Goddess Yustia (4)
After I drove the merchants out of the church and restored the place to something resembling its original state.
It had only been a few days since I'd begun devoting myself to aiding the poor, in accordance with the doctrines of the Holy Light Church.
I realized something.
It was impossible for me to help them all on my own.
I had to admit it. Until now, I'd been swept up in some inexplicable confidence, acting almost on impulse—but what couldn't be done simply couldn't be done.
Especially when people's lives were at stake.
Tend to the sick, and the hungry went unfed. Share food, and there weren't enough beds. By nightfall, someone was always groaning with fever.
'My hands aren't enough.'
Overwhelmingly so.
I needed people willing to lend a hand to those in need, just like me.
From the moment that realization hit, wandering the village became my daily routine.
Someone had once told me that walking helped clear the mind.
That it organized thoughts, untangled stuck ideas, sparked clever solutions.
At least, that's what they said.
So I walked.
Down the church's stone steps, through dust-kicking alleys, circling the square that used to be a market, finding my way again.
Even after looping the whole village, no good ideas came.
Well, too bad.
Still, strolling like this let me see so many lives unfolding.
The faces of those scraping by, day after grueling day, somehow enduring….
It was truly a beautiful sight.
What I was doing was just helping the poor survive at least that much.
I was lost in such thoughts when I felt eyes on me.
Just for a split second, but someone was definitely watching.
…Staring daggers.
The knights? No, thugs.
I didn't break stride, just turned toward a quieter alley.
Didn't want innocents caught in the crossfire.
At the same time, it was a perfect spot to draw them in.
And then.
It happened in an instant.
Something dropped from the rooftops.
No sound. Just the presence.
'Fast.'
The thought flashed as a shadow whipped past, snatching the Bible from my pocket in a blink.
But I didn't let go.
I spun and kicked off down the alley, pursuing the thief leaping roof to fence.
Details started coming into focus.
Light movements. Confident landings. And hair streaming like wind-torn pink silk….
A woman. But her face wasn't what held my gaze.
Horns sprouting from her head. A slender tail.
"…Demonkin."
No doubt.
She carried demon blood.
I cornered the thief at the alley's dead end.
No way out now.
She looked… young. Younger than expected.
And panicked—eyes darting wildly for escape.
Only then did I take in her features properly. Small horns atop her head. Tail twitching nervously behind her.
The tip heart-shaped.
'…Succubus?'
No, not quite. Horns too small.
Half-breed, more like.
Plenty of humans still hurled stones at demonkin on sight.
But my first feeling wasn't wariness—it was pity.
I stepped back. No need to scare her more.
"Why'd you steal my Bible?"
A formality. I knew the answer without asking.
To survive.
Starving people do anything.
As long as they don't cross certain lines.
Goddess Yustia… she'd probably look the other way.
At least, I hoped so.
The Bible was precious to me. But if it sustained her another day…
That wasn't a bad use.
I asked no more. Turned to leave.
But does karma really exist?
That very night, I ran into her again.
In a dark alley.
She leaned against the wall, head bowed, cheeks flushed hot as if cooling a fever.
Far more exhausted than when she'd fled.
I sat quietly beside her.
"…Get lost."
Short. Harsh.
But it didn't anger me. Felt familiar, even.
That's how people lash out when the world turns its back.
I knew that feeling. Who doesn't get mad sometimes? Even the benevolent goddess must.
So I said nothing.
Silence stretched. Then I spoke softly.
"I'll listen."
She looked up.
"If you want to talk."
That was it.
No comfort. No lecture.
Just sat there.
Soon, words spilled out.
Name: Lilia.
Miserable childhood. Scorn for her demon blood alone. A life unwelcome everywhere.
Words sped up. Emotions surged late.
Rage poured from her like a burst dam.
I didn't interrupt. Just listened. Then Lilia pulled something from her bosom.
My Bible.
Hesitant hands offered it back carefully.
"…Here."
I didn't ask why. Knew without asking.
Her face had changed, just a little.
People with utterly broken eyes sometimes find a spark again from the tiniest thing.
Like Lilia just now.
Her fingers trembled returning it.
But unlike before, she met my eyes.
Maybe…
Just a tiny bit.
She was starting to believe in the world again.
I walked slowly out of the alley. Night air chilled. My mind oddly clear.
…But it wasn't over.
Those who'd driven Lilia to that point. Call them what they were—rotten thugs.
Tormenting the weak, shoving the desperate toward crime.
A problem I'd face eventually.
Leaving them be wasn't right.
But immediate punishment? Not my path.
People can change.
That's what I believed.
Everyone deserves one chance.
A chance to repent.
To admit wrongs, choose another way.
Without it, salvation means nothing.
I stopped walking.
Suddenly, the nagging worry from days ago resurfaced.
Not enough hands.
More and more coming to the church.
The hungry, the homeless, the nameless.
But I had only one body. No matter how hard I tried, hands fell short.
Then it clicked.
Repentance. Chance. Labor.
All problems linked as one solution.
Those needing aid.
And…
Those needing salvation.
Why seek separately?
Not punishment. Atonement.
Not force. Their choice.
I exhaled slowly. Something in my chest lightened strangely.
"…Ah."
A laugh slipped out.
Now I got it. Why these events lined up before me.
Truly exquisite.
Offer paths to the repentant. Hands to the needy.
And…
The church gains people.
I looked up at the night sky.
"Goddess."
Laughter came unbidden.
"Not a bad idea, is it?"
No answer came.
But somehow, it felt enough.
And now.
I stood in the heart of the thugs' den.
The rundown wooden building reeked of booze and sweat, thick enough to choke on—but not quite.
I advanced slowly inside.
And…
"Who the hell's this guy?!"
A shout, and a chair flew. I tilted my head slightly. It smashed against the wall, splintering.
Three rushed me at once.
Fist. Club. Shattered bottle.
Crash—!
The bottle swung for my shoulder. Glinting shards grazed past.
I raised my arm, blocking. Glass shattered on impact.
Grabbed his wrist.
Crunch.
"Gaaah—!"
Joints twisted with a pop; his body hit the floor.
A club whistled from the side. I stepped forward, swinging a fist.
Mine landed first.
Thud.
Dull impact. His body folded midair, crashing through a table.
Room went quiet.
Then panic erupted.
"Kill him! Kill this bastard!"
One charging with broken bottles in both hands. Another hurling a chair from behind. One drawing a rusty knife….
'They'll try anything….'
It didn't show, but they were terrified.
I breathed steady, stepping forward slowly.
Grab an incoming arm, twist.
Crunch.
Knee to fold him over.
Crack.
Shove shoulder into the wall.
Screams mixed with debris. But it wouldn't take long.
One.
Bam—!
Two.
Thud!
Three.
Snap!
Bodies sprawled like corpses, barely breathing.
I headed for the stairs.
Upstairs.
Presence lingered.
My footsteps echoed hugely.
Thump, thump, thump…
At the top, the last thug trembled.
Eyes met; he spun to flee.
I reached out. Collar snagged. Hoisted him up.
Legs kicked air.
One-handed, I walked forward.
Kicked the door open.
A man sat in a chair. Movements—and attitude—clearly different.
The boss, no doubt.
I stopped before him.
The thug in my grip gasped in terror.
Silence held a moment.
Then I spoke quietly.
"You'll… repent, right?"