Chapter 29

“…Roughly something like that.”

The Saint, who had been listening in silence, remained lost in thought for a long time after I finished speaking.

“There are several hypotheses I can think of immediately, but they are all mere conjecture.”

Apologizing in advance, the Saint explained that there was no precedent for such a case, so she could only rely on speculation. I nodded, signaling for her to continue, as I was prepared to hear her out.

“The first hypothesis is that you are a heretic.”

“Ah?”

That was quite a sensitive topic to utter openly, regardless of whether I believed in a god or not. In a country where an established state religion existed, being branded a heretic was practically a death sentence.

Despite bringing up something so chilling, the Saint maintained a calm attitude.

“This doesn’t refer to someone who merely worships in their heart, but someone who has formally undergone the rites of conversion as a heretic. If such a person seeks the blessing of the Main God, they may instead be met with divine punishment. They are judged as something beyond a simple heretic—an apostate.”

She added that a charge of ‘contempt of the divine’ (a sense of resentment or spite against the divine order) would then be added to the count. Because she conveyed only the information without showing any negative emotion on her face, I was able to avoid being flustered for very long.

“I see. And the second?”

“The second is the possibility that you are an archmage with power capable of twisting the natural order.”

“Skip that.”

There was no need to even listen to that one. The Saint nodded calmly.

“Yes, and the third.”

“Wait, how many more hypotheses are there?”

“The third is the last one.”

“Understood. Go ahead.”

“The third is…”

I felt as if the Saint’s gaze had shifted slightly. I used the expression ‘gaze’ because I was making direct eye contact, but to be precise, it felt as though her aura or presence had changed just a bit.

Of course, this was just a gut feeling. But since I was in a much more sensitive state than usual, I didn’t miss that subtle dissonance in the moment.

“The possibility that you have incurred the hatred of a messenger of God.”

“A messenger of God?”

“They are also known as ‘Messengers’.”

“What is that? Are you just calling priests something different?”

“They are separate from priests. A messenger is vastly superior in rank. They are demigods intentionally fashioned by the gods.”

She explained that while they are based on humans, that was merely the form of the vessel; their existence operated on a completely different trajectory from true humans.

“If you experience more misfortune than usual after receiving a blessing, it means the Messenger is unhappy with the blessing you received. In that case, it is natural to suspect a messenger of an external god. For my part, I find this hypothesis the most plausible.”

She noted that the intensity of the misfortunes coming my way was too trivial to fit the first hypothesis.

Even though I was the one suffering, she spoke of it so casually as if it were someone else’s problem. Perhaps sensing my displeasure, she added, “That is why I expressed it as hatred, not anger. It is likely still reversible.”

The Saint explained that if I had incurred ‘irreversible wrath,’ a misfortune as strong as divine punishment would have befallen me.

“In any case, in this instance, the problem would be solved neatly if you were to lose the blessing, but in truth, it is not that simple.”

“Why? It was a prayer you performed, so shouldn’t you be able to take it back?”

Tired of it all, I rolled up my sleeve and revealed the mark, telling her to take it back quickly. Take it right now. But the Saint made no move to pull out her wand. She let out a faint sigh.

“Only magic allows one to cast and revoke things at will.”

“What’s the difference?”

“The entity that uses the energy is different. The entity for magical energy is the mage, but the entity for prayer energy is not the priest, but the god.”

“Ah?”

“It is literally a prayer. We only implore. Both the giving and the taking back are solely at the will of the god.”

The Saint explained that the priest’s role in performing a prayer was merely that of a more stable pipe than the average person; the variation in effectiveness was merely due to the individual’s innate Divine Compatibility.

“Above all, a blessing prayer is a bit different from other prayers. The preparation alone takes a great deal of effort and time, and the god expends as much power in return. There is a reason why it is expensive every time you receive one. Asking to take something like that back is… I fear they might be offended by your ingratitude and punish you instead.”

“Even so, to me, it just sounds like the difference between a cheap meal and a high-end one. If a high-end meal doesn’t suit my palate, can’t I just refuse it?”

“If it were food, perhaps. But God is not a chef, and a blessing is not a transaction. God and human are not equals. The blessing of God is always unilateral, and humans are merely beings who receive it. That means that simply refusing could potentially offend God.”

“No, one can still dislike it…”

How was this any different from a thug throwing a tantrum because the woman he liked wouldn’t accept his gift?

It seemed this ‘god’ character, who commanded fanatics, was just as uncomfortable to deal with as I thought.

“You should have told me earlier that it couldn’t be canceled. What am I supposed to do now?”

Whether it was the transplantation magic last time or this blessing now, it seemed everything related to the mystical was trying to screw me over. Having been scammed for the second time, I felt like I was going to explode.

“But, the very idea of canceling a blessing was something I was hearing for the first time myself… I hadn’t considered that possibility back then.”

Argh. Annoyed, I tousled my hair with both hands. The Saint looked somewhat perplexed and said, “Still, there are ways to remove a blessing, so please calm down.”

“…Really?”

I lifted my head sharply. The Saint nodded.

“There is no such thing as a prayer that lasts forever. As a blessing is also a prayer received periodically, its limits are certain. Usually, half a year…”

“What?! Half a year? Are you kidding me?”

You want me to endure this bullshit for half a year? Iel might avoid me for half a year?!

“Are you insane? You’re saying this because it’s not your problem!”

I grabbed the Saint’s robe with one hand and hoisted her up. Nearby colleagues screamed and rushed over.

“Argh! Stop!”

“Saint!”

“Stop it, Felix!”

The Saint kicked her feet in the air, yet she only blinked her eyes in confusion, looking distressed as if she didn’t know what she had done wrong. We were soon separated by the people around us. My colleagues tried to calm my huffing self by saying things like “She’s a client,” or “She’s our paycheck,” but it was useless.

“Who cares about that!”

“Argh! What do you mean who cares! You’re the Captain! You’re the leader!”

“Captain!”

“Calm down, Captain!”

“We trust you! Captain!”

“Shut up!”

The people who usually called me by that ridiculous title only shout “Captain” in unison when things like this happen. It felt like they were making fun of me, which only annoyed me more. I grabbed the colleagues who were clinging to my limbs and threw them aside; they flew off, squawking, and collided with the temple acolyte who had been guarding the Saint, rolling across the floor in a tangle.

Still not having vented my anger, the moment I took a step toward the Saint, the acolyte—who had scrambled up in a daze—blocked my path. The acolyte drew their sword in one motion. A heavy greatsword was leveled at me.

“How dare you, what insolence is this toward the Saint!”

I didn’t stop my feet and kept walking toward the acolyte. As the distance closed rapidly, the acolyte’s face turned anxious, and then, with a resolute expression, they raised their arms high.

The raised sword fell in a straight line toward me. I twisted my body to dodge the falling blade and swung my foot hard toward the acolyte’s sword, which was striking the ground in vain. My shoe’s toe hit the broad side of the sword with a loud clang! The blade snapped and flew high into the air.

“…Ah?”

“Huh?”

Watching the greatsword that had somehow become a broken half, the acolyte and I let out bewildered noises at almost the exact same time.

I had only intended to knock the sword from their hand. I hadn’t expected this at all.

“…”

“…”

The greatsword broke? From one kick? Lost for words at the absurd event, I watched the acolyte with pity for a moment before turning my eyes to the Saint.

“Get them a better sword.”

They were the Saint’s escort, even if they were low-level, so this was embarrassing. I gave them a piece of my mind—asking how they expected to protect her with such garbage in the first place—and the Saint tilted her head briefly before calling out to the acolyte, who was still in a daze.

“Acolyte, Scala.”