Today Only, For Just 1 Gold
“We now begin the heresy trial! Seize him!”
“Yes, sir!”
The lead cultist rang the bell like a madman, pointing straight at me, and the men and women who had set down their donation boxes charged toward me.
Shing—
“What do you think you're doing?!”
“Don't you know interfering with a Black Moon Church heresy trial is a grave crime?!”
The two inquisitors growled, but Walter's blade, drawn in a flash of light, blocked their approach.
And whether it's kids fighting or adults, whoever steps in to stop it always ends up getting dragged into the mess.
“No, this is ridiculous! Listen here—what evidence do you have that I'm a heretic? Am I a heretic for being agnostic? Huh?”
With my temper flaring, I stood tall. Walter was blocking them, sure, but I had no choice. I'd never believed in Christianity, Catholicism, Buddhism, or any religion since the day I was born—I was spiritually spotless.
“Shut your mouth, heretic! The Black Moon Church doesn't conduct trials lightly! We don't persecute the faithless! But witches and warlocks who worship demons like you? You're heretics! And as priests of the Black Moon Church, we merely carry out God's will!”
“I'm telling you, I'm agnostic! What proof do you have that I'm a heretic?!”
As I pushed back, the lead cultist curled one corner of his mouth, a sinister chuckle leaking from his lips.
“There are three proofs of heresy. First, if someone reports you as a heretic. Second, if there's public rumor branding you one. Third, if a fellow heretic who's been punished points you out.”
“Then that doesn't apply to me. None of those fit.”
Even at my confident declaration, the cult leader kept his wicked grin.
“No, you fall under the first. Miner Gold, someone did report you as a heretic.”
“What?! That's absurd! Who?!”
“See? The evidence of your heresy is revealed, and now you're panicking.”
“What?”
“Reporting a heretic is a matter of personal ethics, faith, and conscience, so we can't reveal the informant. A heretic like you might retaliate against an innocent whistleblower.”
This witch-hunt level of railroading was straight out of the Salem playbook.
“Fine, what if I'm not a heretic? What then?”
“Then it would mean God's will was wrong.”
“Like I said, I'm agnostic, so I wouldn't know God's will. But you can return the money I put in that donation box.”
“Hah, typical warlock—reeking of greed.”
He continued with his evil smirk.
“Very well. God's will has never been wrong once, though!”
The bell-ringing fool, now elevated to heresy inquisitor, shook the bell wildly again, shouting loud enough for everyone around to hear.
“Under the witness of Black Moon Church priests Josephine, Joy, and Jonathan, I, Priest George, hereby commence the heresy trial!”
George, Josephine, Joy, Jonathan. Their names even came as a set—what a bunch.
“Of course! Even witches and warlocks have the right to an advocate in principle! Is there anyone here to defend the heretic and suspected warlock, Miner Gold?!”
As the trial began, spectators swarmed the once-empty street like bees. But not a single one stepped forward to defend me.
“Director, don't be disappointed. They can't come forward without risking heresy accusations themselves.”
As Inquisitor George scanned the crowd with a sleazy grin, pretending to check for defenders, Cache poked her head out.
“But snap out of it! Director, any moles or scars on you? Heresy trials involve pricking suspected marks with needles! They call normal moles or scars 'demonic marks' and stab them! If no blood comes out, you're branded a heretic and sentenced to labor reeducation!”
Ah, so that's what a heresy trial was? Their demeanor screamed medieval witch hunts.
“Very well! No advocate for this heretic after all! Now, the true trial begins!”
That George bastard jumped around like a lunatic dancing with knives, rattling the bell, his eyes rolling back white like Jeff's as he approached me.
“Confess why you became a heretic!”
“I'm not, so I don't know.”
“What did you eat at the heretic gatherings?!”
“I'm not a heretic—why would I go to gatherings?!”
Ever since arriving in this world, I'd been busting my ass paying off debts. And now this bullshit harvest.
“Have you consorted with demons?!”
“Virgin. Cherry boy.”
“Name the black demon you chose!”
“I said virgin!”
His pointless demands for confession met my consistent “that's bullshit” refrain, looping endlessly. Then he rang the bell again, raising his voice to the gathered crowd.
“As expected! The heretic refuses to admit her sins! The Black Moon Church's mercy ends here—we now proceed to the true judgment! Behold!”
Inquisitor George pulled a long needle, about the length of his index finger, from his robes and held it aloft.
“This sharp needle draws blood at the slightest graze—like so.”
He raised his palm for all to see and pricked it.
“Behold! This dark red blood proves innocence. But astonishingly, when thrust into a heretic's demonic mark, not a single drop flows!”
He healed the wound with recovery magic. But the crowd's hearts ignited instead.
“Oh my god, a real heretic?!”
“Black hair should've been a giveaway.”
“That parasite-looking thing screamed heretic!”
Whether simpletons or shills planted in the crowd, murmurs of my heresy spread.
Of course, none of that concerns me.
I smirked and asked Inquisitor George, “What if there's no demonic mark on my body?”
“No mark means the trial ends. Let's begin. First, Priest Jonathan of the Black Moon Society will shave all body hair to prevent marks hiding beneath. Strip the suspected heretic Miner Gold!”
“Hold on—you mean strip here? In the street?”
“Scared now? Afraid the mark will show?!”
These guys were insane. Not scared—embarrassed, you idiots.
“Let's move inside the hospital. It's embarrassing to strip in front of men, women, and kids.”
“Jonathan, go inside and inspect for the mark thoroughly.”
“Yes, sir.”
Inquisitor Jonathan drew a dagger in his left hand and scissors in his right, spinning them like a pro. Clearly not his first shave job.
Inside the first-floor bathroom, stark naked, he eyed my body with a creepy gaze.
“I-Impossible... How is there not a single hair...?”
“Not just hair—no scars or moles either, right? Seen enough? Clothes on.”
“W-Wait! Let me check more closely!”
Go ahead, find something.
I love near-obsessive cleanliness. Before opening the general hospital, I ran a dermatology and plastic surgery clinic for years. Aside from head hair, not a single strand remains on my body—lasered it all off ages ago!
Inquisitor Jonathan scrutinized my flawless, naked form and found zilch: no hair, no moles, no scars.
Back in my early clinic days, I'd posted SNS videos of self-laser treatments, removing every blemish.
“Alright, we're done. Out you go. Never seen such a nuisance. Can't make scars that aren't there, right? You're not trying to fabricate one, are you?”
“Urk...”
Laser-zapped injection scars too. Who knew it'd pay off like this?
Grateful for my impeccably clean body, I strode out of the Beauty Tower with confidence.
Seeing us emerge, Inquisitor George flashed his wicked grin.
“Great priest of the Black Moon Church, Jonathan—now take this needle and prick the mark—”
“Priest Jonathan, what are you doing? Do your job right! You're causing misunderstandings because you won't explain properly.”
“You dare block God's proxy—me?! Priest Jonathan! Take the needle of God already!”
“W-Well... there wasn't any.”
“...What?”
Jonathan mumbled after inspecting my meticulously maintained body. I couldn't just stand by.
“Speak up—can't hear you. Inside my hospital, Beauty Tower, Priest and Inquisitor Jonathan thoroughly examined me.”
Outside, even more people had gathered.
Showtime.
“And there was zero demonic mark on my body. You wouldn't doubt a fellow priest who searched every inch, right, Priest George?”
“...”
Priest George trembled with rage, glaring between Jonathan and me. Jonathan whispered in his ear, confirming it—no marks, no scars, no moles. George's face turned ashen.
“Ahem! Apologies. Seems God's will strayed a bit since you're from the East Continent. Farewell.”
His sleazy tone flipped to polite. Finally grasping the situation.
Too late, asshole. Haven't collected for ruining my morning sales yet.
“Dragging me through social death, then wiping your mouth clean? Walter! Entertain our Black Moon Society friends a bit.”
Walter bowed and blocked their donation boxes with his drawn sword, trapping them.
“What is this?! The trial's over!”
“Says you. I say it's not.”
George raised his voice, but I turned to the crowd.
“Everyone gathered here— you've seen how a Black Moon Church heresy trial can go off the rails! So, plastic surgery specialist Miner makes you this offer! Anyone here sentenced to labor reeducation over a so-called demonic mark?”
I bellowed at the top of my lungs, voice booming for all to hear.
“It's all a blatant lie! Every 'demonic mark' the Black Moon Church calls out—I'll remove them right here, right now! Today only—for just 1 gold—!!”
See that, bell-ringers? Your turn now.