Wasn’t This a Night Game

You’re a Fake, Right?

Erpa makes a startled face.

“Someone like that… living in such a dilapidated apartment?”

“I told you, he had incredible misfortune.”

Yergen sighs, and begins to unravel the tale.

“It was like he was cursed, with one bad thing happening right after another, all at once. He was a distributor, moving goods between the Tramata Kingdom and the Arcal Empire. One day, while transporting elixirs, the transport vehicle suddenly exploded.”

Erpa’s jaw drops, incredulous.

“Suddenly exploded?”

“Later research revealed that large quantities of elixirs could, in rare instances, generate static electricity. That static set it off. Of course, they didn’t know that back then.”

“And then what happened?”

“It caused a chain reaction, with the entire line of elixir transport trucks exploding. In an instant, Jonathan’s company faced massive losses. On top of that, nearby residents, injured by the elixir explosion, filed damage claims.”

“That’s absurd.”

“It really happened. It was the catalyst for the new regulation that all elixir transport vehicles must have static electricity defense magic circles installed.”

Erpa was speechless at this unbelievable misfortune. But Yergen’s story wasn’t over yet.

“But that wasn’t the end of it. The Minister of Finance of the Tramata Royal Family, who was supposed to pay Jonathan’s company, suddenly died of a heart attack. The royal family suspected poisoning, and a power struggle erupted within the court over the Minister’s death. The payment, due within a month, was postponed indefinitely.”

“……..”

“Later, it was revealed that it truly was a sudden heart attack due to overwork, not assassination.”

“What kind of…”

“And then, to top it all off, his wife, Oliviera, suffered a difficult birth, and her health just crumbled. Oliviera, that woman, she was a genius with numbers, no exaggeration. She knew where every single penny was coming from and going to, like she could see right through her own hand. This woman, who had the whole cash flow of Jonathan’s company mapped out in her head, just suddenly collapses.”

Erpa was speechless.

It was like some kind of curse, things couldn’t have possibly gone that wrong otherwise.

Jörgen let out a heavy sigh.

“In the end, he was forced to shut the company down, I heard. But he’d saved up a decent amount of money, so when his wife recovered and the kid was a bit older, he started a new business with it. A toy factory. It was a huge hit. For a while, every kid in the capital was playing with toys from Jonathan’s company.”

“It was that big?”

“Yeah, that big. You know what’s even scarier? Their daughter, Cecilia. Must have inherited her mother’s brains and her father’s charisma, because that kid, barely five years old, was helping her father make all kinds of business decisions, I heard.”

Jörgen chuckled, lost in memories of that time.

“They say she even did market research, designed toys from a kid’s perspective, and it was a smash hit. Her business sense was apparently beyond her father’s. One of the most gifted people I’ve ever seen, on par with you, Erpa.”

“A little kid really worked with her father in business?”

“No lie, truly. By the time she was twelve, she was supposedly managing and supervising the entire factory herself. That’s the last I heard of it. After that, things went quiet, so I figured he’d closed up shop again… and now, Cecilia’s got rot? Talk about bad luck.”

Erpa could only let out a hollow laugh after hearing the whole story.

“…I just thought he was nobody special, who knew he was that amazing.”

A self-made legend in the distribution industry.

A woman who could see a massive cash flow as clearly as her own palm.

And a genius with a business sense who ran an entire factory at the age of twelve.

The elixir source in the abandoned factory, and the fact that he so strongly pointed out such a picture-perfect talent.

What’s with this natural progression that seems too good even for a novel?

“Miracles exist, Master of the Magic Tower. There’s no other explanation.”

At Erpa’s words, the curiosity in Jörgen’s eyes intensified even further.

“The Saint of Healing put you up to this?”

“Yes. He’s at the heart of all this. As one who treads the path of magic, I know talk of miracles or coincidences is ill-advised… but there’s truly no other word to describe it but a divine miracle. How else could such needed presences appear, exactly when needed?”

Örgen’s face betrayed a struggling patience.

“You said he’s in the slums? This Saint of Healing, you say.”

“Aye.”

“I suppose I’ll need to pay a visit sometime. I’m curious. Just what does a real saint even *look* like?”

To have something so strongly pique his curiosity in the twilight of his life.

Örgen spoke with a rare, fervent glint in his eyes.

Erpa smiled at his words.

“I’ll introduce you. You’ll be amazed, I’m sure.”

“Good. Let’s meet. I’m truly curious to see the sort of man he is.”

If the Saint of Healing heard this conversation, it would be a moment to scream, begging him not to come, but luckily, or perhaps unluckily…

The Saint was not present.

*

Another bewildering day sweeps by.

The area surrounding the abandoned factory, where I’ve pretty much settled, had the feel of becoming a holy ground for the impoverished.

Sleeping on stone floors as warm as an *ondol* floor, and waking to free meals handed out by the acolytes of the Lilia Order.

And that’s not all?

“Provide work! Provide work and generous wages! That is the will of grace!”

As I commanded, for the sake of the Lilia Order’s bankruptcy project, High Priest Alois paid a generous, practically overflowing sum of one Salred per day to the poor in exchange for their labor.

In return, the poor were cleansing the slums.

Picking up trash, scrubbing away mud stained with filth and sewage, bringing the sick to me, and planting trees along the barren city streets.

They were mobilized to purify the surrounding area, working in exchange for meals and rice.

Still, I felt uneasy.

Of all things, the elixir called “Blue Gold” was gushing out from the heart of the abandoned factory district.

I trusted our Jonathan Karma to royally screw things up, but still, a worry gnawed at me: what if, just maybe, things went well?

To bankrupt them, he needed to throw money around even more.

“Build public toilets. With shit and piss littering the streets, illness breeds. No matter how much I heal, if you embrace the filth, sickness will return. And select someone to manage the place, ordering them to clean it daily.”

“We shall obey! Holy One!!”

“Build bathhouses. Proper grace dwells within a clean body. Draw water from the aqueduct and distribute it through public bathhouses. To wash well and eat well, *that* is grace. Spare no expense, construct the most immaculate and magnificent bathhouses possible.”

“We shall obey! Holy One!!!”

High Priest Yodel was now in a state where he would happily eat shit if I told him to.

Seeing his enthusiastic OKs to whatever I demanded, I could at least feel a sliver of relief.

Like pouring water into a bottomless pit.

Spitting out money endlessly like this, even the Lilia Order’s coffers would eventually run dry.

And on top of that, Jonathan Karma’s business funds also had to come from the Lilia Order.

If this went well, bankruptcy might even be possible within months.

So, I was diligently healing the sick, feeding them, housing them, giving them work, building bathhouses, cleaning, making toilets, and just generally throwing money around like a madman…

No matter how I looked at it, something felt off.

“Money? No need! The Holy One healed my mother! We’ll build it as if we were simply offering a donation!!”

The public toilets were built for free. And in multiple locations.

“Before my hands were severed, I was a stonemason of some renown. Money? One shouldn’t accept it for this. I’ll simply do it, just like that.”

After I’d tidied up another pauper, one who lived like a wreck after losing his hands, it turned out he’d once been a famed stonemason.

In a flash, he gathered folks and they began building bathhouses, just like that, chuk-chuk-chuk.

And that wasn’t all.

“Let’s repay the Saint’s grace!!!”

“Grace with grace!!”

People, without being paid by the hour, didn’t stop even into the evening, cleaning the surrounding area with passion, clearing trash, sweeping and polishing the ground.

Not even a week had passed before the roads around had been transformed into clean and tidy brick pathways, making me doubt if it was the same dirty, muddy road I’d first seen upon arriving.

“An offering.”

“My heart. Please, accept it.”

“I run a vegetable stand. If you’ll take vegetables, please accept them.”

“I run a butcher shop. If you’ll take slightly older meat, please accept it.”

“You healed my son’s eyes. I’ll donate all the leftover bread from my day’s business as an offering. Share it with the needy.”

“I was once a chef at a famous restaurant. Give me the ingredients. I’ll cook and share it with the people.”

The free food kitchen kept overflowing with donated ingredients, and from somewhere strange people kept appearing, throwing money as offerings, and among those I’d healed, those with a talent for cooking volunteered to cook and give to the people, an endless cycle.

“Saint, you’ve saved an enormous amount of money! Even Jonathan Karma’s initial business funds can be covered by the continuous stream of donations!!”

Shi-bal!!!!!!!

Why is this happening to me!!

Why!!!!!!!

“Just fail already!

Please, just damn fail!!

Why’s it going so well, dammit!!!

Is my cursed fate determined to have me smote by the heavens and die a dog’s death?

I need another way.

Bankrupting them won’t be enough to escape this, it seems.

What can I do to make these people abandon me?

What can I do…?”

Even as I healed the impoverished masses swarming me for treatment from early morn, these thoughts rattled me inside.

Then, without warning, the crowd of poor folk began to part.

And with it, my worries and inner turmoil took flight.

From afar, a group of figures cut through the throng, marching straight for me.

And at their head, a witch with a sharp, cruel grin, wearing the robes of the Magic Tower and a broad-brimmed witch’s hat.

“The Saint of Healing, is it?”

Freckles dotting her face, she clicked her heels closer.

I blinked, wondering what sort of situation this was, and she chuckled, glancing back at the people behind her.

“See? Didn’t I tell you? This one… he doesn’t use divine power to heal people.”

Those behind her were all dressed in jet black.

Black clothes, black masks. Black shoes and trousers.

The only thing white was but one thing…

Only the snow-white crest, seared onto my chest.

The moment I saw it, felt all the blood drain from my body at once.

A crest no Imperial could fail to recognize.

The sigil of the Silent Order, worshippers of the god of darkness and secrets, R’lyeh-Neri.

Not a famous order, nor one with many adherents; rather, they were said to be meticulous in their selection, keeping their numbers small, yet they’d still carved a name for themselves, and for good reason.

They were the Inquisitors of Heresy, tasked by the Pantheon – the collective formed by the Empire’s twenty-four sanctioned orders – with the interrogation of heretics.

“Indeed, no manifestation of divine power has been detected. Lady Tyudel.”

The Silent Order priest spoke the words in a hushed tone. At his words, the witch called Tyudel burst into laughter, as if deeply amused.

Wearing a half-crazed, mad grin, Tyudel turned her gaze to me.

“I half-expected it, but as I thought. I have a good sense for these things, you see. Hey, Saint of Healing. Using miracles without divine power… it just doesn’t add up, does it? So, here’s my reasonable suspicion.”

She slid the heel of her boot between my legs, a chilling smile playing on her lips.

“You’re a fake, aren’t you? Impersonating the Saint of the Lily Goddess?”