Three More to Go
“Ha! A blatant lie! Even if there was a rare minor error in the heresy inquiry, this is proof of heresy and blasphemy! For this sin, you’ll pay with your—!”
“Ah, come on! What’s with all this ‘mistake’ crap? Tsk!”
No need to listen to any more of that bullshit. I cut off the heresy inquisitor mid-sentence like chewing through sticky rice cake and turned back to the crowd.
“Anyone else? Anyone wrongly accused as a witch or warlock and suffered for it? For just 1 gold, you can prove your innocence and get compensation right now!”
By now, the crowd in front of the Beauty Tower had swelled, buzzing with people, but no one seemed to grasp the heaven-sent opportunity. Murmurs rippled here and there, but nobody stepped forward.
“Pfft, as if! Our Black Moon Church’s heresy inquiries have never erred—not once since the great moon god Hecatos shone his light upon this land!”
The lead cultist’s attitude, as if my words had backfired and handed him the win, made my blood pressure tick up. Oh man, I can’t stand that smug look.
“Oh yeah? You sound awfully confident. Fine, then. Today only, special discount event.”
“What nonsense are you…”
I ignored whatever the cultist was about to say and tensed my core again.
“One more time, folks! What the Black Moon Church calls the devil’s mark? Could just be a simple wound, mole, or wart! For everyone who’s suffered wrongful imprisonment under the name of heresy—right here, right now! Today only! Free scar removal!”
“Pfft, as if anyone would fall for that… Huh?”
Of course he’s shocked. Universal truth across all worlds, this one included: nobody turns down free.
“R-Really? You can remove the devil’s mark on my finger?”
“M-Mine’s on my arm!”
“Mine’s on the back of my neck…”
“Thigh for me…”
Compared to the massive crowd of onlookers, only four stepped up for treatment. Not many, but that’s perfect— just the right number.
First patient: corn. Second: wart. Third: skin tag. Fourth: mole.
“Alright, you four, this way. Come up to the hospital with me—”
“How dare an excommunicated wretch speak in public! Haven’t you been reformed yet?!”
“Eek! S-Sorry!”
“Spare us, please! Just our lives!”
“S-Sorry! My mistake!”
At the lead cultist’s bellow, three of the patients trembled and collapsed. I hauled them up immediately, glaring at the cultist.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!”
“Hmph! By the mercy of almighty Hecatos, even filthy blood deemed heretical gets only a year of labor reeducation! We don’t kill them!”
I don’t care. Explain fast.
“Even after labor reeducation, witches and warlocks can’t walk this blessed land under Hecatos’s grace. That’s why they’re excommunicated too.”
“Excommunicated?”
“Exactly! The excommunicated can’t speak to anyone, and no one can speak to them. That’s their punishment!”
The more I heard, the more absurd it got. Grab innocent people, brand them witches or warlocks, slave them for a year? Then ostracize them forever? These bastards are real scum.
Even bad laws have limits. But these cultists cross every line. Fine, then. Time to cross lines myself.
“No, everyone. It’s okay. Just wait inside the hospital for a bit. Cache! Take them in.”
“Yes, Director.”
“And tell Res to wait in the director’s office on the 11th floor. Door locked.”
Cache nodded and herded the three excommunicated patients into the Cash Shop like ducklings. George’s face turned beet red again.
“What do you think you’re doing?! Didn’t you hear me?”
“How could I? You’re spewing nonsense.”
“W-What did you just say?!”
I picked my ear and spat it out; George didn’t hide his rage.
“Enough yelling. I was gonna let it slide out of respect for Black Moon priests, but this? No way.”
“No way? Ha, unbelievable! I was gonna spare your life!”
Priest George pulled a crystal orb the size of a palm from his robes and thrust it at the patients heading inside.
Witch
Warlock
Witch
A barcode scanner-like beam swept over the patients from the orb, and when the cultist shoved it at me, it displayed their profiles: witch, warlock, witch.
“This crystal orb holds all data on labor reeducation convicts! Clear proof they’re heretics—and you still claim to remove their devil’s marks?”
His tone was firm, eyes resolute. But my micro-expression reading caught the anxiety buried deep in his heart.
“Of course. I can remove them. So no whining later—pay up first.”
“Pay? You—!”
“Forgot the bet already? If God’s will is wrong, donations refunded. Exactly 1 gold, 1 silver, 1 copper.”
I pocketed the coins and turned; I could hear the cultists grinding their teeth. Worn enamel means sensitive teeth with cold water—not my problem.
“Alright, everyone inside. Priests too. You wouldn’t back out now after invoking great Hecatl or Hecatoncheir or whatever, right?”
“Ha, ridiculous. You know the penalty for losing is death?”
A life-or-death bet. The cultist still didn’t realize who held his lifeline. I’ve been betting my life since day one in this world, asshole! For the next 30 years!
Time to show my resolve.
“Of course. I’ll accept death-equivalent punishment. After treating these innocents.”
“Whenever you’re ready.”
A sleazy grin curled on the cultist’s lips as Walter guided everyone inside.
“Cache, Walter, listen up. I’ll link the OR screen to the first-floor beam projector—keep the crowd hyped.”
“Got it, Director!”
“Walter, block the priests from fleeing at the auto-door. Remember how to lock it?”
“Naturally. Not one escapes on my watch.”
Having allies feels solid. My turn now.
“Patients, follow me.”
Up to the 11th floor, I seated them in the waiting room and entered the director’s office alone. The furball lunged at me like it’d been waiting.
“Maiiiineeer… Nom!?”
I shoved 3 golds into Res’s mouth as it pounced.
“Shh! Go invisible first. Telepathy only.”
―Got it! What’s up? Cache said come up, so I did. Tons of humans outside the window!
“I’m staking my life here—listen close.”
I briefed Res while prepping the OR fast. Surgery time.
“First floor, can you see okay? I know you can’t hear me, but you’ll see and hear everything from the OR on the beam projector.”
Live surgery show, open kitchen style. Let’s begin.
“First patient, show the spot the Black Moon Church called a witch’s mark.”
“H-Here, on my finger!”
A woman in her 40s tremblingly offered her hand. I aimed the camera linked to the first-floor projector at it.
“Clear on screen. Looks like a callus at first, but see the tiny hole in the center? Unlike a callus, and they claimed it summons demons. Ridiculous.”
Recapping what she’d told me in consult, I couldn’t believe it. Downstairs, the cultists were probably fuming.
“Just a simple corn. Corns form under pressure anywhere. Usually soles, so hand ones like yours are rare. No relation to devil’s marks, obviously.”
I smirked at the camera; shouts from below echoed faintly.
“That distinct round center? It’s a top-like spike embedded in the flesh. Press here, and the sharp tip hits bone or nerve—pain. Like this, top to bottom?”
“Ow! Yes, so I couldn’t use that finger… the mark… no, the corn.”
“No worries. Treatment starts now.”
“C-Can you really remove it?”
Tears welled before I even started. Normally, I’d say cut it out. But camera’s rolling.
And on camera, smiles and tears always win.
I caressed her hand with resolute, empathetic eyes.
“Definitely. Won’t even leave a trace.”
Scrape—scrape—
Corn on her middle finger. Middle finger out was a bit rude, but I shaved the protruding part with a razor blade post-disinfect without flinching.
“How’s that, patient? No pain?”
“No, none.”
“Freezing next—might hurt a bit. Stay still and bear it.”
Pssht—Sssizzle!
“Ngh… Hnng…”
“Good job enduring.”
“Y-Yeah… bearable… Hiss, ow, hiss.”
Cryotherapy: spray or pen types with liquid nitrogen. For big corns like hers, high-output spray.
And high output means intense sizzle.
It flash-freezes skin, killing the lesion. But pain’s the issue. Repeat freeze-thaw 2-3 times; she’s toughing it out.
Sssizzle! Sssiiizzle!
“Hrgh… Hnnngh!”
“Hanging in there.”
Key: too strong risks blisters. Too weak, no effect. I balanced it perfectly, pro tightrope walker.
Amateur control? Not me.
Normally 5 sessions every 2-3 weeks. But I’ve got Res—no waiting.
I raised my arm like loosening muscles; invisible dragon’s healing magic kicked in. After the fifth freeze, first patient done.
“One patient proven not a witch. Next!”
Isekai God. Three more to go.
Until I send them your way.