I'm the Crazy Bastard of This Temple
I'm the Crazy Bastard of This Temple
{Those who doubted asked the prophet again,
Prophet, shall we bestow grace even upon the wicked? If so, how long shall we bestow it? They asked this to test him.
The prophet answered them, saying,
The Goddess of Grace gave humans the ability to distinguish good from evil; therefore, devote your hearts to those who strive toward good, and endure.
But to those the Goddess has given over to their corrupted desires, do not spare the rod.
These are the slanderers; those who cause greed, malice, envy, murder, and strife.
Those who have no pity on widows and orphans.
Those who fill only their own bellies with the grace meant for the hungry.
Those who swallow tears and know no shame.
The Goddess despises such people and curses them, saying they shall meet death not only in body but in soul.}
-Scripture of Grace, Chapter 13, Verse 11-
***
The factory manager, who had collapsed to the floor, looked up at me with a shocked face.
"Th-this is assault!!"
He seemed to be trying to say, "This is assault!!"
Yeah.
That was the right word.
A word that got him beaten.
"There are things you can say and things you can't!!"
I flew at that factory manager.
My belt mercilessly tore through the empty air, making a sound like ripping the atmosphere itself.
The manager's well-tailored, sleek suit burst open.
And the fat, naked body beneath it was exposed as it was.
The collapsed pose was perfect for the cover of a DVD case titled “Naked Exposure Under Torn Clothes in Front of Everyone AVI.”
Now, why didn't you look at the people and scream?
"Kyaaack!! P-police! Call the police!! The police!!"
The manager, his pronunciation slurred by his swollen lips from being pummeled, flailed his hands at the police and guards, begging, but none of them dared to rush in.
"C-can we shoot him, boss?"
"He's a saint. The first saint officially recognized by the Pantheon in 300 years. If we put a single bullet in him by mistake, we're finished too."
The police didn't even dare to think of charging in, and the manager's guards just watched for my reaction, unable to approach.
In the meantime.
I was gleefully beating the factory manager.
"Kyaaack!! Ah, Father!! Aaaah!!"
"Hurts? Hurts? Does it hurt? How much more do you think the people who burned to death in the factory hurt!"
As I beat him, the manager foamed at the mouth and passed out.
Only then did I stop the assault, and the police finally sidled up to me.
Of course, their faces wore subtle expressions of relief and satisfaction.
"Saint. That is enough now. At this point..."
No.
"It's not enough yet, you bastards."
I placed my hand on the factory manager's body.
I'm the Healing Saint, right?
Should live up to the name, shouldn't I?
The manager's swollen cheek and the corn kernels that had scattered spectacularly into the air regrew.
His bruised body and puffy, swollen face were neatly restored.
I had absolutely no intention of killing you.
I would make sure you never die.
That way, you could get beaten for a long, long time.
"W-wait a moment. Wait. Saint. Please calm down for a moment and... Kyaaack!"
Calm down my ass?!
Healing you was only to gain momentum to hit you even more!!
Once again, the sound of leather bursting rang out and a brutal beating show commenced.
At the manager's screams and the sound of his thick skin bursting, the people who had been watching the spectacle began to rise from their seats one by one.
"Good job! Hit him more!"
"Good job! Good job!"
"That dog bastard! He worked people more than 20 hours a day for 1 Leon (about 1000 Won) a day!! Even a pet dog would have been treated better than that!"
Everyone began to cheer for me.
If he was beaten unconscious, I healed him.
If he was beaten unconscious again, I healed him again.
An endless cycle of beating repeated.
"Save me! What are the police doing!! I told you to save me! Are you just going to stand there and watch this assault!!"
By the time he received his third round of healing, the factory manager was clinging to the police officers' pant legs.
But the police smirked and subtly pulled their feet away.
A sneering, quiet mockery, as if they found it refreshing, was a bonus.
"Sorry, Manager. By law, we should arrest the Saint for assaulting a civilian, but... what if we touch him and receive divine punishment? We don't want to receive divine punishment either."
"What kind of bullshit is that! ...Kyaaack!!"
Around the fifth time he was healed, he clung to the hired thugs guarding him.
"Money! I'm paying you money! You fuckers! I told you to protect me! Block him, just try blocking him!!"
"If the Saint gets so much as a scratch, what do you think the followers of Lilia and the Order of Grace will do? We don't want to be put on heresy trial for blasphemy against the saint, Manager. Unless you pay us ten times what you do now."
"I'll give it to you! I can give you 20 times, so please! ...Kyaaack!"
The slapping, bursting sound of skin splitting felt like it was erasing all my stress.
It felt good.
It felt like all the time I'd spent trembling in fear of going to hell was melting away.
This son of a bitch.
This bastard.
I'd gone through hell, using Air Step to save one person, and this fucker who hadn't even installed proper fire prevention turned people into lumps of charcoal and talked such bullshit?
Hey, you motherfucker.
Today, you were dead to me.
Seven times.
Eight times.
After the tenth round of healing ended.
The factory manager finally seized my pant leg.
"Please spare me! Please! I'll do whatever you ask! Please! Please stop hitting me!!"
I stopped swinging my belt, which had turned bright red with blood and bits of flesh.
"This factory. It's run by Leota Company, right?"
"Th-that's right! It's a place run by Leota Company."
"Tell your boss to come out here."
"...Excuse me?"
"The boss!! Lead me to where your boss is!! Do you want to get beaten again?"
"I'll guide you! Get in the car! Right away! I'll deliver you like a bullet!!"
"Hurry up!!"
I got into the car with the factory manager.
"He's going to punish the president of Leota Company!"
"Let's follow him! If we go to Baron Hanson's mansion, we can see it!!"
All the people who had been watching the Saint's beating show started shouting like that as they followed behind my car.
After glancing at those people, I gave an order to the driver sitting in front.
"Step on it, you bastard. What are you doing?"
Perhaps because he had witnessed over 30 minutes of the gruesome beating scene.
The driver didn't say a single word and slammed the accelerator like a bullet.
Less than three minutes passed.
I was able to arrive in front of a mansion in District 10, where the wealthy lived.
"H-here it is. Inside here, Baron Hanson is... Oof!"
After kicking the factory manager aside to clear a path, I got out of the car.
The mansion's iron gate blocked my way solidly.
"Open it."
When I ordered the factory manager, he whined.
"They won't open it for anyone who isn't authorized... Huh? Huh???"
"Then I'll just open it using you."
20x Muscle Strength.
Fat Pig Throw!
The fat factory manager flew through the air.
His body collided with the iron gate.
It was a sturdy iron gate, but it couldn't withstand the kinetic energy created by the incredible speed multiplied by the factory manager's weight.
With a roar, the iron gate swung wide open.
"Keu-eok!"
As I approached the factory manager, who rolled on the ground like something out of a children's animation and groaned, he collapsed flat to the floor, shedding tears profusely.
"P-please!! Please stop hitting me!"
"Stay right here and don't move a muscle."
I had no intention of killing these guys.
If I killed them, it would just be my personal, private murder.
I wanted the people who were hurt and wounded in the factory just now to feel consoled.
I wanted to show them the sight of these guys being punished by law and the system.
Only then could I tell them it was a world still worth living in, that even though it was hard and fucked up, let's try to live through tomorrow.
"Yes! Yes! I won't move a mu-! ...Kyaaack!!"
The factory manager scattered corn kernels once more from my belt and was smashed into the floor.
His eyes were rolled back, he was foaming at the mouth, and he was pissing himself as he sagged limply; it seemed he had properly fainted this time.
I would make sure you were punished later, whether by mobilizing the Lilia Order or the Pantheon, or by appealing to the Emperor.
I would definitely frame you for heresy or something and make sure of it!
But before that.
I had to beat up that bastard Baron Hanson, or whatever he was called.
Carrying my belt enchanted with blood and flesh, I strode into the mansion.
As I entered, the maids and butlers flinched in surprise at my appearance.
It wasn't surprising.
My pure white priestly robes had long been stained.
My hair was disheveled, and my belt was marinated in blood and flesh.
"Where's Baron Hanson?"
When I spoke one low word in that state, an answer immediately popped out.
"H-he's in his study, working..."
"Guide me."
The maid gestured to show me the location of the study.
I began to stride over there.
Guards armed with pistols spotted me, but most of them avoided me on their own when they saw my state.
The ones who didn't avoid me?
"Even if you're a saint, this is private property! ...Kyaaack!!"
They collapsed to the floor, leaving behind a sound like a pig being butchered as their final scream.
In exchange for vomiting a heap of red corn kernels and earning cheeks swollen like steamed buns.
No one could stop me, and it wasn't long before I was standing in front of the study of that bastard Baron Hanson or whatever.
The door was firmly locked, but it posed no problem.
I kicked the door open in one breath and entered.
A bone-dry man in his fifties, who had been working at his desk, jumped up with a look on his face like he was about to piss himself.
"Wh-who are you?? Who are you? How did you get in here... Saint?"
"Are you the president of Leota Company?"
"Y-yes, I am?"
"Did you know a fire broke out at your factory?"
Baron Hanson's eyes rolled around in their sockets.
He rose from his seat, smiling a servile smile.
"Ha ha! I dispatched one of my employees. He should have handled it appropriately; was there something unsatisfactory?"
"Let me ask you one thing."
I smiled brightly and used Absolute Hypnosis on Baron Hanson.
"How did you normally handle it when workers were injured or died at the factory? Don't lie, only tell the truth."
"We paid a compensation of about 1 Saled. But that was only in name. There were ways to get it back through the back door. Like sending thugs to threaten them and take it. Or telling them that since they received four months' wages as a lump sum, they had to work for four months without pay. Those ragged bastards were more afraid of losing their jobs than anything else, so even a simple threat usually made them cough the money back up."
Baron Hanson answered with a heh heh laugh.
What was more shocking was that usually, when someone spills an unfavorable truth, they cover their mouth or tremble from shock, but the bastard in front of me showed no such sign whatsoever.
It meant he had no guilt or remorse whatsoever, not even the slightest awareness that what he was doing was shameful.
"Still, I'm on the fairly decent side. Many other factories kick them out without paying any compensation at all. But why do you do this? If those burnt beggars somehow inconvenienced you... ...Kyaaack!!"
"You godforsaken, motherless son of a bitch, dog-humping bastard!! Are you even human doing that!!"
My belt made a juicy slap! sound.
Baron Hanson became a graceful white swan and flew through the air.
I also became a graceful white swan and flew through the air.
I flew at him and started beating the hell out of him.
"Kyaaack!! Kyaack!! N-no!! Why are you doing this!! Th-this is utterly illegal!! ...Kyaaack!!"
Slap, slap.
I answered with my hands instead of my mouth.
Baron Hanson wouldn't stop flapping his gums even as he got beaten.
"It's illegal!! You! Do you think just because you're a saint the rules don't apply? Even a saint can be arrested by the Supreme Court for assaulting a civilian!! Y-you want to go to jail!! You bastard!!"
At those words, I laughed.
Jail?
Good, right?
I was the very person who had even considered going to jail to quit being a saint.
Did he think I'd be scared of such a threat?
Rather, that was great!!
Getting a life sentence in jail would be good because I wouldn't have to play a fake saint.
That really was great!!
"Send me! To jail!! Send me!! Fuck!!"
"Th-this madman!! ...Kyaaack!!"
"Yeah! I'm crazy! I'm crazy, you motherfucker!!"
It turned out that sometimes tears came when a person got too furious.
I cried my eyes out as I kept pummeling the motherfucker.
People had turned into lumps of charcoal and died.
Yet this son of a bitch, or the factory manager I had pounded into a pulp outside.
How could they have no sense of guilt like this?
"The madman in this temple is me!! You bastard!!"
Even if it meant I really went to jail, I would make sure you were punished.
By framing you for heresy or whatever, I would definitely send you and the factory manager plummeting into the abyss.
I was thinking that, putting more force into thrashing the baron, when.
"Y-you fuck!! Aaaargh!!"
As if the pain was too much and he felt like dying, Baron Hanson generated a black energy from his hand in what seemed like one last desperate flail and threw it toward me.
...Huh?
Wait a minute.
He generated a black energy from his hand and threw it toward me?...
Wasn't that a curse?
"...Huh? Why isn't the curse working?"
I was surprised because Baron Hanson had shot a curse from his hand, and Baron Hanson was surprised because I was perfectly fine despite being hit by a curse.
"Why? Why isn't the cu-curse?... "
Both of us stared blankly at each other for a moment.
"Were you an Evil God Worshipper?"
I burst out laughing in disbelief at the absurdity and asked, and Baron Hanson answered truthfully.
"Yes."
I said it again.
"I am an Evil God Worshipper. I was assisting the Collector in gathering resentment."
The power of Absolute Hypnosis was absolute.