Chapter 17

“David Graham, is it? You do realize that for a lowly gentry brat like you to request an audience with me in this manner is a grave insult, don’t you?”

A man in his early forties, his scalp gleaming with oil and hair receding, looked down at me with open disdain.

…So this was the bastard himself—the one who still clung to the ancient, rotten right of jus primae noctis,¹ dressing it up as “tradition.” The oh-so-proud Comrade President Kim of Sinan,² in the flesh.

I forced my irritation down and bowed politely.

“Yes, my lord. I understand.”

“I granted you this time out of respect for Lord Istall, the Tower Master, but…”

“If you’ve disturbed me for some petty reason, I’ll slit your throat without hesitation, even if it means souring my relationship with him.”

“Of course.”

At my calm reply, the Baron’s expression shifted slightly.

“Good. Then state your business.”

“Thank you for your grace. Then…”

I went straight for the jugular.

“I am a priest. The kind you despise most.”

I repeated the same “fumie” performance I had staged at the gate earlier—crushing the Lumina Divine Mark under my heel.

Crack!

The already-damaged pendant splintered further underfoot.

The Baron, who had been sneering at me like I’d signed my own death warrant, twitched at the sight.

“…An excommunicated priest? So you’re saying you’ll forsake the Church and serve me instead? For the right price?”

“Yes. I’ve been abandoned by God. All that remains is to serve wealth and man.”

“Interesting. I’ve never seen one of your type before… Bosun!”

At his shout, a knight stepped forward.

“Cut off that maid’s finger.”

“Yes, my lord!!”

Schk!

“Kyahhh!”

With a shriek, the maid’s little finger went flying. The knight picked it up, shoved the pale and trembling girl at my feet, and the Baron snapped a command.

“Heal her.”

“…If that is your wish.”

Golden holy light filled the chamber, and before long the maid’s finger was restored as if nothing had happened.

“…You really are a priest. And I recognize that golden glow—the Lumina Church’s light. Hmph. So you’re the real thing, after all.”

He tapped the armrest of his chair rhythmically while I kept my head bowed. I’d shown him everything I could. Any more words would only devalue me.

Then, finally—

Clack!

“…True enough. I was growing sick of paying a fortune every time I needed a decent healer.”

“Fine. I’ll employ you as my household physician. You’ll be paid handsomely—more than any low-ranked priest could dream of.”

I pressed down the corners of my mouth that threatened to rise and bowed again.

“Thank you, my lord. I will not disappoint you.”

“Until your loyalty is proven, a watcher will remain by your side at all times. You’ll tolerate that, won’t you?”

“Of course.”

“Good. That will be all. We’ll discuss details tomorrow.”

“Please, my lord. A moment more, if I may.”

He stopped mid-step, his face twisting in annoyance.

“What now?”

“I beg you, grant me just a little more of your time. There is one more matter I must raise.”

“Speak.”

Before he could bark further, I cut in quickly.

“May I ask why you levy such an ‘incorrect’ tax rate of nine parts in ten upon the peasants within the Darkryu Wall?”

The Baron’s face contorted into a mask of rage, his hand reaching for the ceremonial sword at his side.

“You wretched fool… I thought you might be useful, and now this? Incorrect taxes? Are you sermonizing me, priest? Do you know what became of those who dared tell me to lower my levies?”

I waved my hand urgently.

“No, my lord. You misunderstand me. What I mean is not that nine-tenths is too high. It is that nine-tenths is too low.”

“…What?”

“You could take more. Why stop at a mere nine parts in ten, when you could demand nine and nine-tenths? And they would not only comply—they would burn with zeal for your sake.”

The Baron stared, bewildered at the audacity.

“…And how, exactly, would I do that?”

I let the words I had prepared slip from my lips.

Words that needed to work if I was to pry open the true depths of this barony.

“By becoming their god, my lord.”

“…Their god? What do you mean?”

“Exactly that. You must create a religion—make yourself the deity they worship. Spread it through the Peasant District, and the people will serve you not just in body, but in soul.”

“…!”

“Among all the forces that drive human flesh into motion, there is none more powerful—or more cost-effective—than faith.”

“My lord, think on it. Can you name any labor force more tireless and more fervent than zealots burning with devotion to their god?”

“Th-that…”

I pressed forward before the brakes of reason could kick in.

“Forgive the bluntness, but have you ever heard how inquisitors conduct their tortures?”

“If you’re picturing nails torn out and heads dunked in buckets of water, you’re gravely mistaken.”

“When someone with divine power tortures, it means there is no limit. Inquisitors are trained to exploit that to the absolute extreme.”

“I once learned of a few of their methods by chance. The horror of it kept me awake for three nights straight.”

The Baron, overwhelmed by my intensity, swallowed hard.

“Yet even inquisitors yielded before one kind of foe—the cultists of the Outer Gods.”

“Those wretches endured years of torment, until they were nothing but lumps of ruined meat immune even to holy power. And still they never betrayed their gods, embracing death at the inquisitors’ hands as a final blessing.”

“……”

“I promise you, no riches or honors could ever drive men to such extremes. But faith did. Fanaticism did.”

“……”

“When I arrived here, what struck me most was this: Sinan is already fertile ground.”

“This land has been abandoned by the gods. Temples expelled, faith erased. Its people writhe in suffering without hope.”

“And do you know what that means?”

“……”

“It means they are waiting—yearning—for someone to believe in.”

“……”

“My lord, become their god. It is simple. You need only promise them two things.”

I raised two fingers and counted them out.

“An eternal paradise after death.”

“Blessings for their children and grandchildren.”

“With only those, they will labor without food, rejoice without drink. They will gnaw their own flesh and hurl spears at your enemies.”

“For they will believe with all their hearts that present suffering leads to joy in paradise and prosperity for their descendants.”

“……”

“And whether the dead truly reach paradise, whether their children prosper—that need not concern you.”

“After all, the dead will not rise again to accuse you of lying.”

“My god… Is this the whisper of a devil? How could anyone suggest such blasphemy…?”

I ignored his muttering and pressed harder.

“My lord, you must do this. What better bargain could there be? You will literally sell them air and own everything they are.”

His voice trembled.

“…Are you not afraid of God?”

Afraid? No.

They owe me far too much. I can promise you, this level of blasphemy won’t even make them blink.

“Afraid of God? Strange words, my lord. I heard you are the one who denies Him most.”

“O-of course, I don’t believe in God.”

“Then what is there to hesitate over? This is your kingdom, untouchable by outsiders. Whether you call yourself king or god, no one can gainsay it so long as it remains within these walls.”

“……”

“Are you thinking of inquisitors? Paladins? Their authority dwindles daily as they ignore the Demon Kings and monsters. They struggle even to maintain influence in the south.”

“You really think they would march all the way to this northern edge?”

“……”

“If they could, it would have happened under your predecessor already. You know this, which is why you feel safe fattening your peasants like livestock now.”

“I swear, unless an angel descends from scripture itself to smite you, nothing will happen. You will not suffer for this.”

“……”

“This is a new leap forward. It will dwarf even your predecessor’s act of expelling the temples.”

“……”

“My lord, if profit alone does not sway you… then imagine the glory.”

“…Glory?”

“Yes. Imagine fifty thousand peasants crying out your name, hurling themselves into fire at your command. That sight—no emperor in the world, not even the lords of empire, could ever behold. Only a god could.”

“Tell me, what greater glory could a mortal ask for?”

“……”

“Say the word, and I’ll handle the rest. As a trained scripture copyist, I’ll craft doctrine, compile it into holy text, and forge a religion devoted solely to you.”

“I’ll deceive and bind those fools until they become loyal beasts who worship only Baron Gelrok Av Sinan. What do you say?”

I grinned, hand outstretched toward him.

Everyone else in the chamber flinched and stepped back as if I had reached for them instead.

The Baron, pale as if staring at a monster, finally forced words from his throat.

“…Who in the world are you? What purpose lies behind that human mask of yours?”

“I wear no mask—I’m simply human. And my purpose? Exactly what I said. To serve you as your loyal physician.”

“But that plan… that cannot come from any human mind. No mortal could conceive such profane things.”

I laughed inwardly.

That’s only because this world has no concept of ‘cults.’

Where I come from, false gods and sham religions thrive. But in Kion, where gods truly lived and acted, the very thought of fabricating one is unheard of. Here, cults worship real beings—Outer Gods, not inventions.

So in this world, suggesting “make up your own god and exploit it” sounded monstrous, even to this depraved bastard who farmed peasants like cattle.

But I knew the seed was planted. He couldn’t unhear it now.

In this era, with temples gone and the gods distant, what better path could there be than grinding away conscience and morality to feed the machine of profit?

And sure enough, as the Baron stood over me, his eyes—once wide with fear—slowly began to glimmer with greed.

Finally, he broke the silence.

“I… I have heard enough. And yes, perhaps it is not the worst idea. But… I need time. Time to think.”

I smiled and nodded.

“As you wish, my lord.”