Saints in a Savage World and Heaven's Whisper

This medieval fantasy world could be described another way ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠as a 'post-apocalypse' era. An ancient civilization suspiciously advanced in technology had collapsed, leaving survivors locked in a war of all against all over scarce resources! In a stable civilized society, violence loses its meaning. If someone tries to steal from your home, you just call the cops, and they'll fold the thief up nice and neat into a star-shaped package and toss him in jail.

But what if the country falls apart and public authority vanishes? No more friendly neighborhood patrol cop waiting five minutes away for you. You know it, and the thief knows it. If he smashes your head in and loots your stuff, there's nothing you can do. In an era where you can't survive without getting blood on your hands, what's the key to staying alive?

The answer: 'arm yourself.' The priests of the Church of the Heavenly God knew this all too well. After the Golden Empire's fall, they were thrust into the role of powerless weaklings in this post-apocalyptic world. With the empire's soldiers—who had protected them until now—gone, plundering of priests became rampant across the former empire.

Like typical frail survivors, the Church priests wailed for their mommies when the barbarians came looting. 'Kyaaah! Somebody help me~!'

Weak characters in apocalypse stories evolve in one of two ways. They become the warm 'mom' figure who holds other survivors together with unyielding mental fortitude despite lacking power. Or they stain their hands with blood and turn cynical: 'In this cruel world, violence is a must!'

The Pope of the Church of the Heavenly God went with the first cliché. When the founder of the Holy Empire, Emperor Brieford, conquered the surrounding nations and rose as the continent's hegemon, the Pope quickly sided with him, securing the role of 'spiritual pillar' for the survivor group.

The Pope was happy to have a protector, the Emperor was pleased with the Pope's endorsement. When the Pope—the main character—partied up with the Holy Empire, his child-like followers, the believers, cheered too.

'Wow! Your Holiness! Now the Empire will protect us, right?'

'Yes. Now the Empire will protect me.'

'...Us, right?'

Sure enough, the Holy Empire protected the Pope from the barbarians. But only the Pope. It couldn't be helped—no empire could safeguard every single Church believer scattered across its lands.

The Church followers wailed like side characters betrayed by the protagonist they'd trusted. 'Why! Your Holiness! We believed in you! We trusted youuuu!'

'Heh heh. Can't be helped. The living must live, right?'

As the barbarians crept closer, the Pope took the Empire's hand and fled far away...!

Left alone and trembling, the believers picked up weapons. With zombies—no, barbarians—closing in from all sides, they couldn't just off themselves over being abandoned, could they?

So the believers swung their weapons at the barbarians. 'Kukuku... Don't worry, I'll make you cute real quick... Gahk!'

Surprisingly, the believers held their own against the barbarians. Those threatened weren't just Church folk. Travelers on the road, retired soldiers (knights), warriors fighting in the name of god... They gradually gathered at the churches, forming a surprisingly decent fighting force.

'Are we... actually strong?'

Realizing their true potential, they fought solely for the creed: 'Save the Church of the Heavenly God believers from the hands of savagery!' It was the classic cliché of awakening power after being abandoned by the survivor party...!

Having awakened their strength, they crushed the barbarians and saved the faithful. The Church believers wielding weapons in the name of god dubbed themselves the 'Knight Order.'

They followed heaven's will but were no priests, obeyed no Pope—they named their order ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠after the saint who shared their ideals. The Saint Santiago Knight Order. The very knights traveling with Ian.

Traveling with the Saint Santiago Knight Order was remarkably pleasant. Unlike typical warrior bands, every knight in the order was a paragon of virtue.

Warriors were usually rough around the edges—and for good reason. 'I'm strong, I'm the bully—why should I act like a loser and watch everyone else's mood?' That thug mindset was standard for warriors in this world.

But the Saint Santiago Knights were different. They had a reason not to act brutish: it was 'wrong'...!

"Bullying the weak? Why do something that'll earn heaven's wrath?"

"Under heaven, all people are equal. The earth is but a transient stop; eventually, we all ascend to the skies."

"We are all lives crafted directly by the Lord of Heaven. We must respect and love each other equally."

At sunset, when they made camp, the knights sat Ian in the center and recited Church doctrines. Hearing them, Ian felt a shiver ripple through him, like every hair standing on end.

These guys... they're actually good people?

In all his travels through this medieval fantasy world, this was the first time he'd met genuine holy folk. It left Ian baffled. Why...? Why were they so nice? Weren't religious types supposed to be corrupt by default? Boozing, whoring, blinded by greed...?

But the knights' minds were worlds apart from the average medieval brute. Their goodness swallowed nuns like Teresa and Nightingale whole! Ian nodded. These guys are seriously nuts...

In a one-eyed village, the guy with two good eyes gets called crazy. In a selfish, savage world, anyone wandering with pure altruism is the real madman.

"Have you ever read the holy scriptures, mage?"

A knight with unusually sparkling eyes asked. His name was Dehitri.

"No."

"Oh no!"

Dehitri reacted like a comic book holy roller. The fact it wasn't an act but pure sincerity was madness incarnate.

"Mages pursue mysteries, don't they? So why ignore the mystery itself—heaven's will?!"

Ian chewed and swallowed ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a piece of roasted meat before replying. "I do pursue heaven."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Wind, clouds, stars..."

Dehitri sighed deeply at Ian's answer. "That's not true heaven. Just the visible shell. Like claiming to 'know' someone after seeing their face."

"Then what's the real deal?"

Dehitri said gravely, "The soul. The human soul."

"..."

"The visible sky doesn't matter. You must see heaven's soul. That soul is the omnipotent Lord. The scriptures show how."

Dehitri gripped Ian's hand tight. "Let's study the scriptures together!"

"..."

Ian flashed back to his college days' nightmares. Those damn cultists yapping about 'New Millennium' or whatever, clinging to him for Bible study. Worse, they disguised it as 'psych tests' or 'surveys' to waste his time.

"Nah, not interested."

"Why! Are you saying the scriptures hold no mystery?!"

"Plenty of other mysteries out there. Why fixate on that one?"

"Because its mystery is grand!"

"..."

As Dehitri whined 'Scriptures~ scripture study~' like a toddler, the other knights joined in: 'Ian, study with us~!' A full tantrum brigade.

Ian sighed deeply. Grown men throwing group fits was pathetic... He'd realized the fatal flaw of traveling with these holy knights: constant proselytizing!

"Why not give the scriptures a read this time?"

"You with the Order too, Elder?"

The Elder chuckled. "Just dipping a toe in."

"Ex-mercenary, right?"

"Aye. Plenty of sins in my youth, so now I play the good guy late in the game."

The empire had many like him. Sword-for-hire in youth, then as age crept in, hell started nagging. People want heaven before the end, so they turn good in their twilight years. Morally questionable, sure, but the Order welcomed retired mercs—they were still seasoned fighters.

"Who knows? If you hear God's voice, you could become a church cleric."

The Church of the Heavenly God had clerics—church mages wielding the mystery of faith. They heard God's voice, petitioned him, and worked miracles. But becoming one required devouring scriptures and deep theological knowledge.

"Hmm..."

Ian pondered. Faith was a kind of mystery, after all. And Ian was a man mysteries loved. Hearing God's voice... might not be hard? God felt different from other mysteries. He might explain Ian's isekai reincarnation, or what the status window really was.

"Dehitri."

"Yes?"

"That scripture study... think I could try?"

The knights swarmed like bees the moment Ian agreed.

"Of course!"

"Excellent choice, brother!"

Chills. Their eyes gleamed like vets spotting fresh meat. Ian got goosebumps.

"You know ancient tongue?"

"Yes."

This post-apoc fantasy world still used the fallen Golden Empire's language. Only used it, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠really. Why? Absurdly, no one else could write! Only the Church had literates.

"Ah, Sister Cathy, care to join?"

Cathy—no, Lucy—grinned at Dehitri's offer. "Nah, I can't read."

"..."

Ian shot her a cold look. A noble who couldn't read? Wasn't literacy a noble basic?

Actually, no. Most nobles skipped it. Why bother with the headache? Kidnap a literate! And literates were mostly Church priests, so they handled noble admin as a given.

In this era, writing was... kinda useless. Books to read? No. Admin? Verbal. Priests just documented outcomes. High nobles needed it more, but they had clerks—no personal literacy required.

"What? So?!"

Lucy glared back defensively under Ian's stare.

"Study when we get home."

"Why should I?"

She had a point. No need for a rural barony. But why did her logic piss him off?

"I'm a girl! Girls don't need to study!"

"My master's a woman."

"She's smart, that's why!"

Ian shrugged. If she hated it, no point forcing. Nobles would manage.

"No worries. I'll explain orally."

"No, I don't study..."

"Think of it as devotion, not study?"

Lucy wailed 'Is it okay for girls to study?!' with teary eyes, but Dehitri—the clear-eyed zealot—brushed off such flimsy excuses.

"Does heaven's will care about gender?"

"Hiiing..."

In the end, Lucy sat beside Ian for scripture study. She nearly died of boredom, but Ian—forged under Eredis's brutal drills—found Dehitri's lessons a breeze.

"Thanks for the praise."

Ian muttered, and Dehitri tilted his head. "What was that, mage?"

"...Huh?"

Ian tilted back. No reason, but Lucy followed suit. Chaos in the classroom.

"You just praised my posture..."

Dehitri's eyes went wide. "I said nothing! Heavens, mage! What voice did you hear?!"

"Someone suddenly spoke to me..."

Ian trailed off and shot up. That wasn't human...!

"God! You're God, right?!"

Ian reeled in shock. No doubt—a divine being from the Church of the Heavenly God had spoken to him! Maybe even the one who chucked him into this world!

Thrilled, Ian spat Maronius words wildly. Where am I? Who are you? Why reincarnate me here? But no reply. God had left.

"Come back! God! Get back here!"

Who does he think he's toying with...!

Fuming, Ian spewed blasphemies. "Hey! God! Come back or you're dead when I catch you!"

"...!"

The knights rushed to calm him. "Easy, brother!"

"Scriptures! Get the scriptures! Recite some damn holy verse at me!"

As chaos erupted, the Elder arrived to gawk. "What's with the mage? Lost his mind?"

Mages often went insane from botched mystery contact. Snapping suddenly was par for the course.

Brother Borde crossed his arms calmly. "Says he... heard God's voice."

"God's voice?"

No way to prove if Ian truly heard it. But after, he obsessively memorized the scriptures like never before...