Just Leave the Pellatia Order Alone
The Crusade Council: a colossal coalition uniting the continent's countless faiths to oversee the holy war against the Demon King Army.
Within its highest executive office, situated at the very epicenter of that formidable authority, a suffocating silence hung in the air.
"Is that so? They summoned a hero?"
"Yes, sir."
Watching his superior's brow furrow into deep ridges, the subordinate priest swallowed hard, stiffening with nervous tension. His superior's youthful features might have made him look like an ordinary clerical administrator at first glance, but he was in fact one of the highest-ranking officials overseeing the otherworldly heroes summoned across all the faiths. A titan with enough clout to have the priest's head lopped off on a whim.
"…From the Pellatia Order?"
"Yes, sir."
"Again?"
"Pardon?"
"Haaah…"
Seeing his boss heave a sigh heavy enough to cave in the floorboards, the priest nervously read the room before venturing a question.
"…What should we do about it, sir?"
"What else is there to do? Leave them be."
"Sir?"
"Didn't you hear me? I said leave them alone."
The priest could only blink in dumbfounded silence at the instantaneous dismissal. Taking in his bewildered expression, the superior hammered the point home with absolute finality.
"When it comes to heroes summoned by the Pellatia Order, you just leave them the hell alone."
"B-but sir, this is a summoned hero. The council's standard protocol requires oversight and—"
"Which is precisely why I am telling you to leave them alone."
Noticing the priest still looking as lost as ever, the official rubbed the back of his neck with an exasperated grunt.
"You transferred to this department just last month, didn't you?"
"Yes, sir. Prior to this, I was stationed down in the Heresy Inquisitor's Office."
"No wonder. You've spent your career rotting away in that dank basement, so of course you haven't the faintest clue how things operate out in the daylight."
Tapping his desk in an irritated staccato rhythm—as though his blood pressure spiked at the mere mention—the official continued.
"Take that 'Pellatia Order.' By sheer congregation numbers, you do know they rank among the continent's five largest religious sects, correct?"
"Yes, sir, I am aware of that."
"Then do you know why their flock grew so monstrously huge?"
"Well, presumably on account of their steadfast devotion to their goddess…"
"…"
"…or rather, it must be because of their doctrine."
The superior gave a weary nod of disgust.
The Pellatia Order: a religious sect devoted to Pellatia, the goddess of physical beauty and sexual intercourse. Across the entire continent, the notorious reputation of this degenerate church preceded it, for its daily religious practice essentially boiled down to 'stripping naked and rolling around in bed whenever the mood strikes.'
"Fine, let's concede a hundred points and overlook their doctrine. When the goddess they revere is built like that, what else could one expect?"
It was a statement bordering on outright blasphemy, yet even the former inquisitor offered no objection, nodding along in tranquil agreement.
"The real headache is that every single hero that wretched church summons has several screws loose."
"Even the heroes, sir?"
"Of course! By all common sense, if a deity summons a champion from another world to vanquish the Demon King, she ought to endow him with overwhelming physical might or world-shattering magic so he can split the Demon King's skull wide open, wouldn't you say?"
"Normally, that is how it goes."
"Yet every single time, that perverse degenerate of a goddess only ever bestows preposterous blessings like 'tireless hip action' or 'infinite semen generation' upon her so-called heroes!"
"…Excuse me?"
The superior shuddered in genuine revulsion before pressing on.
"So do you honestly think those summoned heroes bother fighting the Demon King Army? When we hand them financial aid to gear up, they march straight into themed brothels and dump every coin on the counter. Every single expense receipt submitted for council approval is choked with entertainment fees, aphrodisiacs, and lubricants! And whenever a casualty report finally lands on my desk, eight or nine times out of ten, the cause of death is coital exhaustion!"
"…It was truly that severe?"
"You think that's the worst of it? The last hero from the Pellatia Order filed fraudulent claims under the pretext of 'rebuilding a village raided by demons,' only to pocket the relief funds and buy up elf slaves at an illegal underground auction!"
"What?! If such a scandal ever reached the ears of His Holiness the Pope…"
"…It already did."
"…"
"All hell broke loose. His Holiness flew into such an uncontrollable fury that he smashed every piece of furniture in his office to splinters with his holy staff."
"Ah…"
"At any rate, thanks to that fiasco, the council leadership reached a unanimous verdict: from that day forward, the Crusade Council will not grant the Pellatia Order a single gold piece—not even a brass penny. Personnel support is strictly off the table as well. Leave them to roll around in their sheets until some stray beast tears them apart. Actually, strike that. They'll never make it past their bedroom doors anyway, let alone the city walls. They'll drop dead right on top of their mattresses."
Persuaded by the official's sheer, venomous exhaustion, the priest nodded in total comprehension.
Quietly retrieving a leather-bound notebook from his vestments, he drew a firm horizontal line through the entry reading Hero Summoning — Pellatia Order, and neatly penned a single directive beneath it.
Leave them alone.
My last memory was chugging energy drinks in front of my glowing computer monitor while prepping for my doctoral dissertation defense, right before everything went pitch black.
When I opened my eyes again, I was standing in the dead center of a radiant, geometrically patterned magic circle.
Standing before me was a young woman who introduced herself as a "saintess."
She rambled on for what felt like an eternity about standard fantasy tropes: how countless otherworldly heroes had already been summoned to this realm, how they were locked in a tedious, centuries-long stalemate with the Demon King Army backed by a game-like "System," and so forth.
It was all run-of-the-mill isekai boilerplate, so I could nod along and wrap my head around it easily enough.
The problem came immediately after.
"…So what you're telling me is that you're Saintess Clitoris of the Fellatio Order."
"It's Beatrice of the Pellatia Order… You didn't even get remotely close to the name."
"Right, Beatrice, Saintess of the Pellatia Order."
Why in the world was the religious order that summoned me saddled with such an unhinged name to begin with?
"And your assigned role is to be a toilet?"
"That is correct."
"Specifically, a semen toilet."
"Not just semen, but anything else as well… I am very confident in my abilities!"
Why was a saintess eagerly volunteering to be treated as plumbing?
"Why?"
"Pardon?"
"Why a toilet, of all things?"
"Well…"
Planting both hands firmly on her hips with unyielding confidence, her clear azure eyes sparkling beneath cascades of lustrous blonde hair, she declared proudly:
"In an ideal hero party, isn't it only natural for the saintess… to serve as the Hero's toilet?"
My rational mind couldn't make heads or tails of this batshit world, but…
Wait a second. Does it really matter?
She was drop-dead gorgeous.
Frankly, let the other summoned schmucks handle the Demon King. My youth had already rotted away beneath a mountain of academic papers and lab grinds; I might as well treat this other world as an extended vacation and screw her brains out.
Ding—!
You have acquired the blessing Holy Water Baptism!
You have acquired the blessing Evangelist of Pleasure!
By the divine grace of Goddess Pellatia, your physical stamina and sexual faculties have increased dramatically!
Accompanied by the cheerful chime of the status window, the curtain officially rose on my utterly degenerate life as an otherworldly hero.
