Chapter 41
Chapter 41
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 41
Chapter Title: A Church Without Missionaries (6)
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I looked down at the man kneeling at my feet.
"......"
His face was still blank with shock.
His shirt torn from being roughly dragged here. His hair disheveled.
He was truly a pathetic sight.
I asked him,
"So, you wanted to meet me, Mr. Moretti?"
"......"
He just stared up at me vacantly, even to my question.
There was no trace of the dignity of the infamous mafia boss in his dazed expression.
They scorn the weak and toy with others' lives so easily, but peel back one layer and they're no different. All that remained was the raw face trembling pathetically in fear.
'To think... all this because of a man like this...'
I gritted my teeth without realizing it.
Now I knew. I'd learned it from everything I'd been through since coming to this city.
Not all evil deeds have some grand reason. Trash like this moves solely on their petty desires, and their trivial motives aren't even worth considering or caring about.
But... if innocents get caught up in that atrocity, that's another story.
I calmed my emotions and spoke again.
"In this attack... twenty-seven citizens at the cathedral were seriously injured, and two lost their lives."
It had just ended, but it was a sudden ambush all the same.
Everything happened so abruptly that our response couldn't be perfect. Casualties got caught in the crossfire during the fight.
'I healed most of the injured myself, but...'
Some were too late to save.
That's why I'd just come from closing the eyes of those two.
So I had to face the culprit behind it all and ask.
"What the hell were you thinking, pulling something like this?"
"Uh... wha...?"
Moretti finally snapped out of it.
He seemed to finally sense the ominous atmosphere and the chilling killing intent emanating from the mercenaries surrounding him.
"There's some misunderstand... misunderstanding here! I mean... well..."
He started scrambling for excuses.
But the mood around us only grew icier.
These people had just seen innocent blood spilled; no acceptable answer existed from the start.
As the pressure tightened like a noose, Moretti desperately added,
"Wait. Hear me out. Compensation—yes, compensation. If you let me go... a million credits! A million credit dollars! No, ten million! I'll give you ten million in cash right now! And I'll never... never set foot in your turf again!"
It was like a sea cucumber spewing out its guts at a predator—desperate, groveling thrashing.
"I'll hand over all my casino operating rights too! Corporate bonds, real estate, anything you want...!"
But I felt no pity.
"Can that money bring back the dead?"
His frantic babbling stopped dead at those words.
A brief silence. I didn't even look at him anymore.
I just gave final instructions to those standing beside me.
"Everyone, good work. Get rid of this guy. Make him bow his head to the victims' families first... then leave the punishment to their decision."
"Understood."
The bodyguards grabbed Moretti's hair the moment I spoke.
"W-wait...! Sto...! Mmph...!"
The mafia boss, who once commanded countless underlings and amassed vast wealth, was dragged away into the darkness like trash.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ Once everything was settled.
I was looking around Moretti's hideout.
"........."
The corridors and rooms were littered with the bodies of Salvatore Family members we hadn't cleared away yet.
By rights, this incident was their fault.
We'd only taken down those who attacked first.
But standing amid the scene of death, it didn't feel satisfying like some game playthrough. Wars like this always leave someone hurt or dead, win or lose.
Only bitterness lingered in my mouth.
"......."
As I gazed down at the corpses with a heavy heart, one of the bodyguards standing watch approached cautiously.
Lorenzo, the former fixer now part of the Saved Ones.
He glanced at my expression and quietly asked,
"Are you alright, Saintess?"
"Yeah..."
I answered weakly, then flinched.
'His injuries...'
His body was covered in wounds telling of the fierce battle he'd just fought.
His right cybernetic eye was shattered, and he was missing a couple of fingers.
My heart sank. I steadied myself and barely managed to speak.
"...You're hurt again. Excuse me for a moment."
I reached out toward him, and a brilliant light swirled around for an instant.
Lorenzo cautiously touched his face.
His vision restored, his fingers moving normally again.
Confirming all his wounds neatly healed, he bowed his head to me.
"Thank you, Saintess."
I replied in a heavy voice.
"This is all I can do."
It was true. They—not me—had resolved this. Lorenzo and the other ex-mercenaries.
The Saved Ones had all fought selflessly, sparing no part of themselves.
The mafia weren't easy opponents, truth be told.
They might've seemed to collapse pathetically at a glance, but their full force was immense. Their organization dwarfed any street gang, with combat personnel dispersed across numerous business sites.
If they'd gathered properly and attacked, we couldn't have handled them this easily.
So we'd capitalized on their misjudging our strength—the one chance we had.
To leverage that tactical edge for a swift resolution, Lorenzo and the ex-mercenaries had to push themselves.
Even as limbs flew off, guts spilled, and heads cracked open.
They kept receiving "miracles," rising whole to cut down enemies.
But... no matter how wounds healed, the pain didn't vanish.
How much agony had they endured to fight on?
"......."
My heart grew heavier by the moment.
Strictly speaking, they'd endured it all to protect me.
Every time someone got hurt in battle, massive guilt like boulders piled up in my chest.
The "Church" had started precisely to gather people to protect powerless me.
So there was no guarantee incidents like this would end with just one.
If crisis came again, they'd fight once more.
Bleeding in my place, maybe even dying.
"......."
Truth is, I'm not that good a person.
Like anyone, I feel my own splinter more than others' gashes.
So for my safety... to get home safe, I'd believed using others was fine.
But... suddenly, the mangled bodies of those mafia grunts flashed in my mind. Most hadn't chosen this life; they'd met gruesome ends over one top brass mistake.
It chilled me. Someday, that fate could befall the Saved Ones guarding me now.
Seeing them so wounded up close made my heart plummet again.
Pushing others to fight in my stead... hadn't that required immense resolve all along?
So a question arose.
'Do I even have the right to sacrifice them?'
Peddling God's name. Using a spiritual faith I don't fully believe myself as bait.
The right to ask someone to die for me?
And in return... someday far off, countless might suffer. I sensed it.
'If that moment comes, could I bear it all?'
Lost in thought, frozen in place—that's when Lorenzo called to me, voice laced with worry.
"Saintess?"
"Yes?"
"Excuse me for a moment."
I snapped back and turned to him. He slowly reached toward my face.
His rough hand gently wiped my eye area, and only then did I notice the tears trailing down my cheeks.
"Ah..."
I panicked. I was a bit down, sure, but not to the point of tears.
This was just... my changed body making emotions harder to control.
Even so, the other bodyguards started looking at me with concern.
Despite them bearing horrific wounds and pain during the fight.
"Don't worry too much. Scratches like this are nothing new for us."
"Yeah, dry those tears quick."
The rough ex-mercenaries awkwardly comforted me like a child.
"But... you all fought so hard, and I can't even pay you properly."
The Church's stipends were laughably low compared to their old mercenary earnings. Especially versus top-tier fixer gigs... this was basically unpaid danger.
But to my worried words, Lorenzo shook his head firmly yet gently.
"We don't follow you for money, Saintess."
He even added they needed no pay at all.
Then, like confiding in an old friend, he slowly shared his story.
"The income from my fixer days could've sustained me lounging forever. But strangely, the more I earned, the deeper the thirst grew."
As his tale continued, the other bodyguards on watch or resting turned to listen. Their eyes held a strange camaraderie and earnestness.
"If I'd been born into wealth as a corp exec's kid and risen to megacorp chairman, would that quench it? Who knows. Their lives didn't look happy either. Humans always seem dissatisfied with something. I pondered that unfillable thirst's root for ages. Climbed high for fame, crashed to rock bottom... and finally realized the truth."
Lorenzo paused, staring straight at me, ignoring the others.
"What truly matters to humans isn't money. In what I thought were my final moments, all I could think was how regret-free and proud my life had been."
By then, nearly everyone around had tuned in.
In the heavy silence, Lorenzo emphasized again.
"I swore to fight for you—maybe to heed God's word, or repay the grace you showed me."
His eyes shone with unprecedented sincerity.
"But the biggest reason... I believe the path you walk, the way you think and act, is truly just. So I gladly follow and fight. It lets me face myself proudly."
He declared firmly.
"And it's not just me."
Lorenzo glanced around, and the other bodyguards nodded with soft smiles, as if on cue.
Ex-hitmen and others who'd gathered here one by one, following my small acts of kindness from despair—fifty Saved Ones.
Incredibly, they believed in me more firmly than I did myself.
That what I did now and would do was just and right.
Not out of debt for saved lives, not for heavenly reward, but by their own choice—they protected and fought for me.
They all said the same.
Before their blind faith, I—who lacked conviction—felt small and shabby.
So unconsciously, I muttered a defense.
"I'm... not that good a person. Maybe not what you think. If you expect too much... you might regret it later, feel betrayed. I'm just... ordinary like everyone else..."
Rambling nonsense. Grateful for their steadfast belief, yet terrified they'd see my worthless self and be disappointed.
A brief silence followed my words.
Then...
"Pfft."
Lorenzo's shoulder shook nearby, a stifled laugh leaking out.
"Heh... heh heh...!"
That sparked it. Suddenly, laughter erupted everywhere like they'd planned it. Starting as choked snickers, it spread contagiously—everyone roaring with genuine, unfeigned joy.
I stood dumbfounded, unable to grasp why they laughed. My face burned with embarrassment.
"Wh-what's so funny...?"
They offered no explanation to my question. Like a sudden festival, their merry laughter filled the air for a while.
"Why...?"
At a loss, I just stood there blankly.