Chapter 39
Chapter 39
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 39
Chapter Title: A Church Without Missionaries (4)
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"Well, do you understand up to here?"
When the middle-aged priest finished his story, Aidan quietly nodded his head.
"..."
To sum up the explanation he'd just heard...
The 'Saintess' of this church had healed his cybernetic addiction syndrome through some kind of miracle.
'What the...'
He wanted to call it utter nonsense, but his instincts told him it wasn't a lie.
This was his own body, after all. It would be absurd not to notice the changes.
The chronic sense of alienation that had started from the moment he first linked his cyberware to his nervous system.
The unpleasant gray noise that constantly rattled his brain and gnawed at his mind.
Even the headaches that lingered no matter how much narcotic painkillers he took... they had all vanished clean away.
'Is this a dream...?'
How long had it been since he'd felt this peace? It was nothing short of a miracle. Even now, living through it, it was hard to believe. Aidan still felt dazed by it all.
'Hold on.'
Suddenly, a cold worry stirred in the corner of his chest.
Why had such an incredible opportunity come to him? And what would be the price?
Fear was creeping over him.
Seeing Aidan's expression, the middle-aged priest let out a chuckle.
"What? Worried we'll use this as an excuse to collar you and make you our slave for life?"
He spoke in a playful tone, but his eyes remained serious.
"Don't worry. The new life we've given you comes from the Saintess's pure goodwill, her desire to help those in desperate straits. The church won't demand anything from you."
Aidan swallowed dryly.
"Then... what are those three choices you mentioned earlier?"
"They're the paths available to mercenaries like you, hauled in here with cybernetic overmodification syndrome. How you'll live from now on. Of course, the decision is yours."
The priest held up one finger.
"One: Quit the mercenary life and retire. Thanks to Her grace, your addiction won't progress any further. You can live normally without suppressants. It's your golden chance to step down from that knife's edge you foolishly climbed onto without thinking."
It was the story Aidan had longed for, the wish he'd dreamed of.
But when the opportunity actually arrived, he felt dumbfounded instead.
It was too sudden, too... unreal.
Aidan wore a bewildered expression, but the priest continued without pause.
"Two: Keep doing the mercenary thing. Now that your body's back to normal, you could push it a bit more if you want. But remember this: Even if a miracle fixed your broken body, drinking the poison again will lead to the same end."
His voice carried a chilling warning.
"Those implants plastered all over your body are that poison. Fine for daily life, but if you keep throwing yourself into intense combat like before, the symptoms will flare up again. If you mindlessly repeat it and trigger a second cybernetic rage... no one will save you. Fools who repeat the same mistake don't get the same salvation twice."
Those final words chilled him to the bone.
His body rotting from immune rejection. The uncontrollable rage devouring his sense of self.
It had been hellish agony. An experience he never wanted to relive.
In that sense, quitting the mercenary life right now might be the wisest choice.
He should be grateful just to have survived.
But something in the corner of his heart held his tongue.
>
It was the story the priest hadn't yet revealed.
"...So, what's the last one? You said there were three choices."
The urgent words slipped out unbidden.
The priest leaned forward from his reclined position, a meaningful smile on his face.
"That's..."
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ "..."
The young man standing before the mirror awkwardly straightened his clothes.
Black clerical robes. Still unfamiliar, but strangely well-suited to him.
Aidan gave the mirror one last look, smoothed his attire neatly, and stepped out of his quarters.
"Good day, Father!"
"Good morning~."
As he walked the street, passersby recognized him one by one and greeted him warmly.
Aidan returned awkward smiles.
'Father, huh.'
The title still felt utterly foreign. He'd never given religion a thought in his life. And now he was being called Father? The world was full of mysteries.
The reason Aidan was walking the streets in this outfit was the middle-aged priest's final proposal.
["The last choice is to become a 'Guardian' like me."]
It was a kind of employment contract: stay at the church as part of the order, maintaining security in the parish.
Of course, it wasn't unpaid servitude; the church provided compensation. Barely half of what he'd earned as a mercenary, though.
Surprisingly, his actual take-home profit was far higher than during his mercenary days.
No more shelling out for expensive immune suppressants, tweaking unstable software, or repairing his failing cyberware.
But money wasn't what made the change feel real.
It was people's gazes. Before, just striding down the street had sent everyone scurrying in terror. His back-alley mercenary cyberware had exuded menace on its own.
But in the black priestly robes, everything changed. Now, the looks directed at him were ones of goodwill and trust. Even heartwarmingly kind reactions.
The fulfillment from protecting others instead of harming them. The support from those around him, something he'd never imagined before—it felt more valuable than any mercenary pay.
"..."
Lost in such thoughts as he walked, he soon arrived at the church courtyard.
There, he ran into the familiar middle-aged priest passing by. The man spotted Aidan first and waved cheerfully.
"Hey, newbie priest. Settling in okay?"
Aidan bowed his head lightly.
"Arthur, it's been a while."
He was the middle-aged priest who'd explained everything when Aidan first joined the church.
Arthur, introduced late.
Chatting casually after their reunion, Aidan suddenly asked,
"By the way, aren't you from another church, Arthur? What brings you here today?"
"Well, my immune hormone levels came back a bit high in the regular checkup. Gave me an excuse to see the Saintess again."
The unexpected answer jogged a memory in Aidan's mind.
The explanation he'd heard when accepting the church contract.
'If a Guardian working for the church gets injured on duty or shows early signs of cyberware addiction, the Saintess heals them directly with a miracle...'
That was one of the biggest reasons mercenaries who'd suffered cybernetic rage stayed loyal to the church.
'Saintess...'
Thinking of her name made Aidan's eyes flicker unconsciously. Arthur caught the subtle shift and probed with a sly smile.
"Does our newbie have a thing for Her?"
Aidan flinched and looked away.
He couldn't bring himself to say yes, but his expression said plenty.
Truth be told, anyone would feel the same. Saved from hellish torment by someone so beautiful, with such gentle, caring hands—how could their heart not be stolen?
Especially for a man in his prime. It was only natural.
'Even if she's beyond my wildest dreams...'
Someday, if the chance came, he wanted to thank her properly again.
As if reading his mind, the middle-aged priest chuckled.
"It's Arthur, Arthur. You think you're the only one in this church who's received Her grace? If She accepted every expression of gratitude, She'd have no time for anything else."
Still, he dropped a subtle hint.
"Not that there's no chance to serve Her closely."
"Pardon?"
Aidan's ears perked up.
"Word is, the most devout and capable Guardians get specially selected for somewhere. Called... the Saved Ones (Los Salvados), I think."
Arthur glanced at the sky, choosing his words.
"If you make it in there... you might get to serve right by Her side."
Those words set Aidan's heart racing.
For the first time, a clear goal crystallized before his hazy vision.
'If I work hard... could I see Her up close again?'
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ "That Saintess woman... I'd really like to see her face sometime."
On the top floor of a five-star hotel—one of only three in the outskirts.
The vast banquet hall, seemingly rented out entirely, held only a massive round table.
The table overflowed with luxurious delicacies and rare fresh fruits, untouched and gleaming like mere decorations. Only those who could indulge in such extravagance without a second thought gathered here.
"The Saintess?"
A man in his forties, languidly sipping wine, muttered to himself. Across the table, a seductive woman reacted.
She elegantly toyed with a cherry on the table with her long, delicate fingers and continued.
"I've heard, Chairman. Something weird—a religious group?—popped up on 13th Street, stirring things up. Apparently gaining quite a bit of power suddenly."
Another person, who'd been silently gazing at the night view outside, muttered shortly. A Chinese man in a modernized red cheongsam, with sharp eyes.
"The Age of Five Degenerations. End times, end times."
His low sigh carried deep cynicism toward worldly affairs.
The opulent banquet hall, with only these three, felt utterly isolated from the outer world's clamor. A light silence fell as each sorted their thoughts.
The seductive woman spoke first.
"Still, they must have something going for them? I heard the gangs around there all vanished because of this."
The middle-aged man responded.
"Those gang punks?"
He snorted.
"Just greenhorns barely holding one alley block, strutting around."
"Well, true."
The seductive woman chimed in.
"They never caused much trouble, so we left them alone. Cleaning them out thoroughly now isn't bad."
She casually manicured her nails as she spoke without a care.
None of them took the topic seriously. To those gathered here, a few street gangs disappearing was mere passing gossip.
They wielded power, capital, solid territories, and decades of tradition.
Utterly incomparable to street thugs preying on the powerless.
The truly profitable businesses, organizations, and key personnel were all in their grasp.
They were the ones who had effectively ruled the outskirts beyond the city's shadows for decades.
People called them the Mafia.