For Whom the Bell Tolls (1)
“This is a miracle!”
An old man sprang to his feet from the ground, shouting. He was someone who had lived the past sixty years as a cripple after being kicked by a wild horse's hind hoof in his boyhood.
“Aigoo! Thank you! Thank you!”
The old man prostrated himself flat on the ground before her, sobbing and bowing repeatedly. Standing awkwardly in front of him with a shy smile was a young girl. Diablo. She was the daughter of a humble woodcutter from a nearby mountain.
They said that when Diablo was born, two pillars of divine light had descended upon their thatched roof. After her father passed away, she made a living by gathering and selling herbs. She possessed a mysterious power: an overflowing divine energy. Simply by placing her hand on someone, the blind could see, and the lame could leap to their feet.
Her father had hidden this special ability of hers and lived quietly. But one day, while foraging for herbs, he was mauled by a tiger, and from then on, Diablo sold herbs at the market to survive. Naturally, her sacred power gradually became known throughout the village.
“She's a saintess!”
The old man shoved all the money he had toward Diablo and kissed the top of her foot.
“Oh, no need for that!”
Diablo waved her hands in protest, but the old man just kept weeping and bowing his head.
“What the heck? Did that crippled geezer just stand up? For real?”
“Nah, it's a scam. Fix my broken arm if you're so great!”
“It's all a con by the father-daughter duo.”
The people mocking Diablo and the old man soon had their eyes bulging wide. With a single wave of her hand through the air, all their ailments vanished. Broken arms, severed toes, chronic rhinitis, headaches, toothaches, menstrual cramps—everything!
“A saintess!”
“The savior has returned!”
Those who had sneered from behind now cheered the loudest from the front.
Just like that, Diablo became the market's celebrity.
“Holy one...!”
“Ahh, glory!”
“You there! Don't step on her shadow!”
Whenever Diablo came to the market after that, crowds gathered to surround and protect her. The herbs she gathered sold for exorbitant prices, and soon, lines of sick people formed before her.
“Aigoo! She's our eighth-generation only child! If she dies, so do I!”
A young mother clutched her baby, wailing. The pitying crowd parted, and Diablo stepped forward.
Swaaa—holy white light poured from Diablo's hand. Seeing it, the mother collapsed to her knees. It was too sacred even to cling to.
“Kyarruk! Kyaak!”
The child, now perfectly healthy, giggled while pawing at her mother's breast.
“Woooah! Long live Diablo!”
“Long live the saintess!”
The miracle that began in a corner of the market began to spread.
Soon, Diablo no longer needed to come down to the market. Her remote cabin deep in the mountains drew throngs of people. Crowds lined up all the way to the base of the mountain. Lisp from the lower village, the lame from the back village, the hunchbacked elder from the upper valley, the one-armed man from the next ridge—everyone.
They came clutching whatever they had: money if they could, a laying hen if not, at least a single bellflower root or a few potatoes, peeking around her doorstep.
“Saintess! Help us!”
“Save a life, please!”
“Hmph! Saintess? I don't buy it!”
“Scammer! Show yourself!”
“Saintess, please look at our child!”
“I've had this lingering cough for three weeks!”
“I... haven't been able to go for two weeks...! Please save me!”
The area in front of Diablo's house was pure chaos. One man even ripped off her door latch to wake her from sleep.
Then, one man stepped forward.
“This won't do! Let's keep some order here!”
He was a young, handsome man with short, swept-back white hair. Hardent. That was his name—the first to proclaim 'order' in front of Diablo's house.
“First, the critically ill! Then children and the elderly!”
Most nodded at Hardent's words. Soon, a vigilante group formed. Young men, including Hardent, were drafted to screen patients. Their numbers had swelled to thousands.
Some cheered at the approval and entered Diablo's house; others slumped at rejection and trudged back to the endless line at the mountain's base.
* * *
Months passed like that. The miracle from the remote mountain valley spread through rumors across the region, then the entire country.
“Oh? Really? She heals all diseases?”
The heads of massive guilds, merchant associations, and even local lords heard the tales.
“Then drag her here.”
“But crowds are swarming the place. Kidnapping the saintess would stir massive backlash. And she herself doesn't want to leave...”
“Ugh... Do I, a noble, have to go there myself? I'd mix with the filthy peasants.”
“There's a self-proclaimed vigilante captain there. Shall I reach out?”
And so, nobles began visiting Diablo's shack in droves.
“Make way.”
At Vigilante Captain Hardent's command, the members cleared a path for the nobles.
“Ugh—what the hell! We've been waiting forever!”
Outcries erupted everywhere, but Hardent just shrugged helplessly.
“What can I do? Can't offend the nobles, right?”
The people could only bow their heads dejectedly, fiddling with the sweet potatoes or hens they'd brought as offerings.
* * *
“All done!”
Diablo treated patients with a refreshing smile. After healing crowds, her only rest was a brief nap. But seeing their joyous leaps upon recovery washed away her fatigue.
Lately, though, things felt off.
“Whew! My hangover's completely gone! Gotta come more often!”
“My erectile dysfunction's fixed! I feel young again!”
The same faces kept coming—mostly for trivial reasons like hangovers or alcohol poisoning. Fat, oily-faced men with arrogant attitudes.
“Mister, not many other patients lately?”
Diablo asked, and Hardent bowed politely.
“Your miracles have already healed so many, Saintess. They no longer need to come.”
“Is that so?”
Diablo just nodded with her innocent smile.
* * *
More time passed. The line of nobles at Diablo's door grew longer.
“Heh heh! Coming here clears my hangover right up!”
“Not just that—opium-ravaged bodies heal perfectly!”
“After my ED treatment here, I took my 81st concubine!”
As they cackled and joked, the people's appearances down the mountain grew more wretched. Thank-you potatoes sprouted and rotted; hens starved to death. Staring hollow-eyed at the sacred light from the peak became their daily routine.
The base reeked of plague-ridden diarrhea, pained groans, and wails.
“Damn it all!”
One man slammed his red sickle into the ground. Darklord.
“My wife's dying! I can't take this anymore!”
He stormed up the mountain, snarling.
“Hey! Where do you think you're going?!”
Vigilantes blocked him.
“Let go! Stop hogging the saintess!”
Darklord's shout made them glare.
“Hah! Hogging? Is she your property?”
“Then she's yours?! My wife's condition is worsening! She'll die without treatment!!”
Darklord bellowed furiously. Then, a pleasant baritone rang out from beyond the vigilantes.
“What's all this racket?”
A man emerged, flanked by noble guards. Hardent—the vigilante leader, now numbering in the thousands. He eyed Darklord sharply.
“Who are you?”
“My wife's sick! She needs treatment!”
“Not critical. The saintess is tending the gravely ill now.”
Darklord ground his teeth.
“Bullshit! What's 'critical'? ED? Opium withdrawal?!”
“The saintess deems it so. Us lowly folk wouldn't know.”
“Cut the crap! Everyone down the mountain knows you vigilantes cherry-pick patients who benefit you!”
Hardent frowned displeased.
“What nonsense is that?”
“Nonsense?! Weapons merchant Torstark donating arms and grain! Rigani supplying booze and girls! Sports star Nebi Do Park! Top celebrity Top! Midland's New World Party Senator Termine! Any commoners among them?! You only take the rich!”
Hardent shrugged.
“We prioritize the critically ill. No corruption. It's the saintess's will.”
“Screw that!”
Darklord charged with his red sickle drawn. Hardent shrugged again.
“Hand me a blade.”
He took a sword from a subordinate.
Clang! Their weapons clashed, sparks flying—
Splat! Leather drum bursting, blood sprayed from Darklord's eye.
“Urk!?”
Pain flung him back, staggering. Blood streamed from his hand over his face.
“Heh heh heh! Don't whine over one eye. The saintess will fix it quick.”
“...Grr!”
“Special for you—go to the very back. Join your wife later.”
Hardent chuckled, kicking Darklord's head. Then he led the vigilantes into Diablo's house—now fortified with solid concrete fences.
Darklord ground his teeth at the sight. To heal his wife, no choice. Endure the filth, wait it out.
They weren't completely shut out— a few got treated daily. His turn would come eventually.
So he thought, trudging down—until then.
“Aigoo! So pitiful!”
At the base, crowds clustered. Vigilantes were hauling a body, covered in burlap.
Darklord asked a nearby grandma.
“What happened?”
She glanced back, startled by his eye, then averted her gaze.
“A young wife came for her illness... While her husband went up to argue with the vigilantes, she worsened and died.”
“...!”
“I saw the husband once—handsome, fierce-eyed youth. Such a shame... Tsk tsk.”
Darklord's mind reeled. He shoved past her.
Blood oozed from the gaping socket.
“Darling...”
He yanked off the burlap.
“Hey, mister! What the—?!”
“This guy's freakishly strong!”
Vigilantes tried shoving him, but he didn't budge.
“Darling... I'm sorry...”
With trembling hands, he lifted the cloth. Sallow face, twisted in agony even in death.
Darklord covered it again. Then sprang up.
“Everyone!”
His shout startled the crowd.
“We've endured enough! How long must we wait?!”
“Treating nobles' STDs in their crotches—is that a saintess?! Right now, as your families and friends die, she's curing hangovers, ED, STDs, drug addictions for nobles!”
The people's eyes turned ferocious. They weren't blind. Months of camping—they knew who went in and out.
Turn order. It was life-or-death to them.
“Fuck it! Die now or after treatment—same difference! Time for payback!”
“Picking patients for money—is that a saintess?!”
“Who gave her that power?! Use it for the public good!”
They rose en masse—mild cases, guardians. They dashed to the nearby bamboo grove, snapping thick stalks, sharpening them on rocks into spears.
“Sweep 'em out! Drag the saintess down!”
The spear-wielding mob surged up the mountain.
But they didn't know: two vigilante spies, gauging the protest, had slipped away first to the peak.
* * *
Exactly one hour later, rain began falling from the blackened sky.
“These lowly scum overstep...”
Hardent shook blood from his blade. Vigilantes filled the mountain, all wearing white masks with long trailing cloths—their signature.
Pouring rain, overflowing blood on the ground, white masks floating silently amid it. An eerie, sinister aura even noble guards couldn't approach.
The valley below was blood! Blood! Blood! Red rivulets in the rain—all blood! Gushing from tree roots, rock slopes.
“What... what's happening?”
Diablo emerged into the clamor and downpour. The sight before her was shocking.
Bodies strewn everywhere. The valley brimmed with blood from their corpses.
She reached out hastily to unleash divine power—but a thick, rough hand blocked her. Hardent.
“Saintess, conserve your power.”
“What? No! People are dying!”
“Save it for the greater cause. More critical patients remain.”
Diablo looked confused. More critical than these?
Then—
“You! Saintess! Are you truly one?!”
From the corpse pile, a man cried out at her. Flames blazed in his one remaining eye.
“You're no saintess! You're a demon!”
Diablo's pupils quivered.
“Saintess, see only the good.”
Hardent covered her eyes. He drew his sword, standing before the wailing man—Darklord.
“Any last words, heretic?”
“Shut up, opportunist!”
Hardent and Darklord clashed again.
“Demon!”
Darklord swung his sickle wildly, but his gaze pierced past—to Diablo behind.
“You're a demon!”
Each bloodshot curse made Diablo tremble and chatter her teeth.
The downpour thickened.
* * *
“Saintess. What are you thinking?”
Startled, Diablo jerked her head up at the voice beyond the tent flap. Rain poured like that day years ago.
Hardent stood outside, face cold.
“Today we purge heretics and rebels. Stay sharp.”
“...”
“These men took up arms for you. Bless them generously.”
Seeing her trembling hand, Hardent smirked slyly.
Then—
Bang! Fireworks exploded.
The assault began.