Sermon on the Car
Sermon on the Car
The White Order's battle priests and holy knights. Investigators from the Black Fortress, the intelligence agency directly under the imperial family, arrived at the scene less than ten minutes after I beat the Collector to death with my belt.
"It was for my own private gain! They asked me, a mere bastard son of a baron, if I wanted to believe in the Evil God! They said if I believed, power and money would all become mine! So I thought, what harm could there be, and accepted! Then one morning my father and elder brother died without a trace! And so I inherited the barony!"
"You sing it so smoothly! Yes! Keep talking! It'll only add more kindling to the pyre heaped at your feet!!"
"Gyaaahk!! Please spare me! Spare me!! Even knowing this would happen if I was caught, I couldn't stop!! Of course I couldn't—what fool would refuse when everything he wants is handed to him?! The factory workers who burned to death are none of my concern!! Whether those beggar bastards burned or not!......Kwaaak!!"
"The Silence Order of the Pantheon and the Black Fortress investigators will treat you very, very tenderly. We'll make you wish you'd never been born!!"
"Aaaargh!! P-please!!"
Baron Hanson was dragged away, screaming his dying wail like that.
The fat factory manager followed after him.
"N-no! I don't know anything!! The Baron was a demon worshipper? I-I didn't know! Didn't know! Mercy, please!!"
"If we'd heard even one story that you often fought with Baron Hanson, or if you'd at least voiced complaints about him over drinks, we wouldn't be doing this. But after just ten minutes of investigation, testimony poured out that you followed him with great enthusiasm. A man who fervently followed everything he did, even if he wasn't a demon worshipper himself? Your mental state is highly suspect."
"Aaaargh! Please!! Please!! Saint!!"
The manager bastard stretched out his hand toward me.
At that sight, I gave him a refreshing smile.
"Even if you aren't a demon worshipper, your mental state is no less than one. Burn him at the stake right beside the Baron."
"N-no!! Aaaargh, please! The grace! The grace!!"
There was no grace for you. You son of a bitch.
After the baron and the manager were dragged away screaming, only then was I able to relax.
I had exhausted so much mental energy that I was tired.
What a mess in the middle of the night.
I should go back quickly and get some res—
"Saint Amael."
"Healing Saint."
"Lord Amael. Lord Amael."
An enormous crowd had gathered before I knew it, packing the main gate of Baron Hanson's mansion.
Eyes filled with reverence.
Eyes full of shock.
Eyes welling with tears.
Some were even down on their knees.
"Thank you."
The bereaved families.
A woman who had just been clutching a body turned to charcoal in front of the factory and pouring out tears stepped forward, carefully took my hand, and bowed her head.
I felt teardrops pattering onto the floor.
She was hardly the only one.
Dozens of poor, sick slum residents came forward, trying to lay hands on my body.
Grabbing my legs, taking my hands, touching my arms and shoulders, my waist and my sides—they wore expressions as if trying to absorb some miraculous energy from me.
I didn't feel displeased.
"What are you doing?! Get away from the Saint......."
Police officers rushed over to stop them, but I raised a hand and halted the officers.
In any case.
In a little while, I'd no longer be able to see these people.
While I was still here, I had to help them as much as I could.
Just as I was about to raise my hand to heal the sick.
"Why is life so unbearably hard?!"
The grieving mother holding my hand let out a tearing, screaming cry.
"Why did my daughter have to die at the hands of such vicious curs?! Is this the goddess's will too? Then isn't it too cruel? Why does suffering never leave this life? Saint......"
The mother collapsed on the ground, sobbing again and again with a sound that even a beast couldn't match, and asked me that.
Everyone grew solemn.
And looked at me.
They seemed to want me to say something.
I looked around at the people.
Bodies wasted from not eating properly.
Exhausted faces.
Worn, damaged skin wounded somewhere or other.
People with hollow eyes were looking at me, carrying an emotion called hope.
I couldn't turn away from their gazes.
What did it matter if I was impersonating a saint?
What did it matter if I was a fake?
Couldn't I at least manage to comfort people who looked so worn down?
This hard world.
If, in this fucked-up world, they could still find a moment's solace.......
I was already hated by the Goddess Lilia anyway, so I might as well play the fake saint for a moment.
Jesus.
I was sorry.
I was going to plagiarize a bit this time too.
I climbed onto the roof of the car the factory manager had used to bring me here.
Naturally, all eyes focused on me.
I raised my hand.
And spoke a single line.
"Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted."
***
An era where children labored.
An era where three-year-olds were used as moneymakers for capitalists and entrepreneurs instead of playing joyfully.
"Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy."
An era where when a worker's fingers were severed, limbs twisted, body injured and broken, they were simply discarded and replaced with new ones.
"Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be satisfied."
An era where young girls with faces distorted by burns and chemical poisoning fell asleep hanging from rotting ropes.
"Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will witness the goddess's grace."
An era where entrepreneurs toured the slums and naturally thought, How can those bastards be so vulgar and stupid? Maybe they're a different species that just looks similar on the outside?
I was telling those who suffered most and were in the most pain that they were blessed.
"Blessed are those who are weary of a life without purpose, for they will find a reason to live. Humans cannot create such a thing. Only the goddess can grant it so. The greatest grace she will bestow upon you is peace of heart."
I peddled the goddess a little, too.
Since I was going to Korea anyway.
I peddled her openly and without worry.
"Today. A tragic event occurred. You may have lost someone, and you were miserable, and you despaired and were crushed. But despite that, you are still alive. Those who have departed are no longer at your side. They will now be guided no longer by men, but by the hand of the goddess."
I looked at the mother who had lost her child.
"What was your daughter's name?"
"Ellie. It was Ellie. Saint."
"Bring Ellie to mind. Remember all the sights of her, how she dressed, what she said, how she chattered."
She began to choke up again.
"I remember. Saint. I remember. So vividly.......so vividly I remember."
"Now bring to mind her resting peacefully in the goddess's embrace. The image of her smiling. The sight of her finding peace in a world with no suffering or misfortune."
The sounds of wailing rose from here and there.
"Will Ellie have gone to heaven? Will the Goddess of Grace have taken pity on her?"
The mother asked, shedding tears.
I didn't know.
How was I supposed to know that?
I had never exchanged a single word with the goddess.
So I lied.
"She surely will. For the goddess will never abandon the suffering, the weary, and the grieving."
I was trying to tell these people to live on.
But explaining at great length why they must live to those sunk in deep sorrow would take too long, and their wounded hearts would struggle to find comfort.
So I mobilized religion.
The possible.
What only religion makes possible—with that, I comforted them.
"Ellie will be resting in the goddess's embrace. All who died today will be. In a place with no more pain or sorrow, they will all be resting peacefully with Ellie. So grieve no more."
The mother collapsed.
I slowly climbed down from the roof of the car I'd been standing on and approached her.
I held her in my arms.
"Ellie is at peace now. So now focus on bringing peace to yourself. Cry when you are sad. Laugh when you are joyful. You must eat well, sleep well, and strive to be happy. You must live your life. That is the task left to you now."
"Saint!!"
I helped the woman who wept for a long time in my embrace pour out all her emotions.
Countless people watched those tears and wept together.
"Goddamn. The dust, fucking hell......."
Among the police officers who had come to control the scene, some took off their police caps and wiped away tears.
I let them all cry.
And then I did what I could.
I healed the injured among the people gathered before me.
"High Priest Yodel."
"Yes. Your Holiness."
I made a single request of Yodel, who had been standing wordlessly beside me since before I gave my sermon atop the car.
"Please issue compensation to all who lost family in tonight's factory fire. Generously enough to be a comfort. Physical abundance cannot fully erase spiritual sorrow, but it can at least ease it. Do so in the name of grace."
"I shall obey. I will send word to Jonathan Karma."
Yodel bowed his head politely, his eyes brimming with tears.
I gave a bitter smile.
I was sorry, Old Man Yodel.
I was a fraud.
Soon I would be cursed and go to Korea.
But still, the words I spoke.
Don't forget them.
They were just so pitiable.
If you had the ability to help, you should.
As I trudged my tired body toward the Magic Tower Temple to return, the countless factory workers who had heard my sermon followed behind me.
As if on a pilgrimage, the many workers began to walk slowly behind me.
When I glanced back, everyone was following wordlessly, tears streaming down.
It looked like a struggle to swallow sorrow, shed their grief, and send off the departed.
This was a funeral.
Seeing them like that, how could I possibly tell them to leave?
I walked on with them trailing behind me.
Until we reached the Magic Tower Temple.
They walked and walked behind me.
***
The value of the name 'saint' was indeed immense.
Jonathan Karma did not simply pay compensation and end it there.
"You have two choices. Raise your treatment of workers to the level of Slum District 3 and receive elixir vital for factory operations from Karma Company at a low price. Or stand trial before the Pantheon for a long, long time on charges of abusing workers to harvest resentment for the Evil God. Which will it be?"
When he met with the businessmen operating factories on the capital's outskirts, Jonathan Karma was said to have been smiling.
But the priests and holy knights flanking him were said to have looked like Mozgus of the twisted netherworld.
As a result, every factory on the capital's outskirts accepted Jonathan Karma's terms.
"An Evil God worshipper emerged from a baronial house? Is there any greater disgrace?!"
His Imperial Majesty was also greatly enraged.
As a result, at superluminal speed, Baron Hanson was stripped of his barony. He met his ending at the stake before everyone's eyes.
All the workers in the capital heard his screams and felt a deep relief, or so they say.
***
"The Collector is dead."
"Dead?"
"She was one of the most powerful in the cult, except for the Chosen One. How could one such as her die so easily?"
"They said the Healing Saint personally uncovered her hideout. She met her death at his hands."
Everyone in the room fell silent in unison.
It was fear.
The Collector's dwelling should have been thoroughly protected by the Miracle of Concealment.
How on earth did he find it?
He clearly possessed some ability to see through the Miracle of Concealment.
There was no other explanation.
And naturally.
A single conclusion rose in everyone's minds.
"The Chosen One is in danger."
"The One with a Thousand Faces is also highly likely to be discovered before long."
"As long as the saint goes in and out of the Detached Palace where Princess Iomene resides, he will be found out sooner or later. He will surely perceive the identity."
"We must devise countermeasures."
Various opinions were exchanged, but there was no sharp solution.
The Healing Saint.
A massive obstruction that had suddenly appeared and was completely wrecking all their plans.
He was not an enemy they had ever faced before.
Armed with all manner of absurd abilities and fraudulent detection powers, he was clearly someone bent on destroying the Evil God Cult.
How should they deal with him?
They had no information whatsoever about their opponent, yet their opponent moved as if he knew them all too well, so no countermeasure could be formulated.
"We can no longer risk the Chosen One being exposed. We will accelerate the plan. Awaken the Fragment of the Evil God implanted in Princess Iomene's body."
"If we do that, the fragment's power will be greatly weakened compared to the original plan."
"Moreover, the fragment will become extremely unstable. There is a high possibility it will shatter at the slightest shock."
"Be that as it may, this is our best option now. The one thing we must prevent is a collision between the Chosen One and the saint."
An objection arose to those words.
"The Chosen One was chosen by the Evil God and possesses multiple lives. Even if he dies, he will not be utterly extinguished."
"Your point?"
"I believe we should move toward having the Chosen One continue to assist the fragment's growth at its side, even at the risk of him dying at the saint's hands. Recall how enormous a sacrifice we made to obtain the Fragment of the Evil God. If we awaken it half-heartedly and it fails, that is far too great a loss."
"The saint of the Order of Grace is a saint whose miracles have yet to reveal what they can do."
The saint of the White Order.
The saintess of the Sun Order.
The saint of the Silence Order.
And so on.
The Evil God Cult knew very well what powers the saints and saintesses of most orders could wield.
But the saint of the Order of Grace was the first.
The first saint to appear.
There was no way information existed.
"What if this one possesses the power to simultaneously shatter all of the multiple lives the Chosen One holds? Furthermore, according to the Chosen One's report, he appears to be trying to transfer the Fragment of the Evil God into his own body—doesn't that imply he has a means of dealing with the fragment?"
At the slightest misstep, they could lose both the Chosen One and the Fragment of the Evil God in vain.
Once everyone reached this conclusion, no counter-argument was put forward.
In the end, the conclusion was set.
"In exchange for forcefully accelerating the plan, the fragment will be seriously unstable. Its abilities will be far more weakened than we planned. Yet still, we have no choice but to proceed like this."
Everyone fell silent.
It was agreement.
"For......the Blood Drinker."
After the feeble chant was raised.
The candle went out.