Chapter 4: The Hero’s Arrival
The Bandit Leader’s Fall
“Boss—!”
Just moments ago, they were calling him brother.
The bandit leader was sent to the gods’ embrace in one strike.
His body, pierced by a massive blade through the stomach, collapsed in a gruesome heap.
The bandits turned back, enraged by the ghastly sight.
A Shocking Display
The bandits had two reasons to be shocked.
First, the attacker was standing over ten meters away.
Not many could hurl a massive two-handed sword and cause such carnage.
Second, that man closed the distance to them in an instant.
The protagonist—his name… what was it again?
Anyway, the protagonist rushed in, kicking one bandit and grabbing another by the neck, slamming him into the ground.
The coachman, who’d been all chummy with the bandits earlier, was now cowering and trembling.
Guess his only goal was my body after all.
‘Fcking infuriating, seriously.’
Confronting the Traitor
I resolved to deal with the coachman myself and braced my hands on the ground to stand.
But whether it was relief from surviving or something else, my legs gave out, and I slumped back down.
The protagonist, noticing, approached me.
He extended a hand.
“Grab it.”
Who does he think he is, speaking so casually?
Still, I was the one in need, so I took his hand and stood.
The protagonist walked over to the cowering coachman and kicked him in the side.
The coachman screamed and crawled on the ground.
“Urgh! P-Please, spare me! I-I lost my senses for a moment!”
Clinging to the protagonist’s pant leg, begging.
Should’ve picked the right side from the start.
The protagonist stared at me, his eyes demanding an explanation.
“He was the coachman driving this wagon… until he joined the bandits.”
‘You bastard, thought you could sell me out and live? Heh.’
“Oh, Saintess, I’m sorry! So sorry! That wasn’t my intention! I was just trying to distract them…!”
Wow, this guy lies without even licking his lips.
Just moments ago, he was eyeing me up and down with that sleazy look.
The protagonist, hearing my explanation, responded curtly.
“Kill him?”
“No! Sir, please! Just once, I messed up! I have a precious wife and kids at home. Without me, they’ll starve!”
Fcking bastard, that makes it worse.
Being single doesn’t lessen the crime, but why’s a guy with a family doing this?
Did he plan to pull off one big score as a bandit and then run?
Watching the coachman squirm, I spoke solemnly, as if delivering a final judgment.
“Spare him.”
‘Kill him, you bastard!’
“…?”
The protagonist’s expression demanded further explanation.
Ugh, this damn rule about speaking kindly.
But this cursed mouth of mine spewed the absolute worst words, completely opposite to my desires.
“Though it’s true he was swayed by evil and harbored wicked thoughts, he hasn’t committed an irredeemable act. All human lives are precious, regardless of status—how can we lightly weigh their sins?”
‘Protagonist, just cut him down! Don’t ask me!’
“Then what about the bandit corpses I saw on the way?”
“Those cloaked in evil can only be redeemed in the gods’ embrace, so I merely sent them to their side a bit early.”
‘Protagonist, I’m begging you. Should I get on my knees?’
A Plea for Mercy
And so, I knelt.
Clasping my hands in a pious posture.
“Though they were wicked, I took their precious lives on my own accord. Please forgive their sins and judge mine more harshly.”
‘I’m begging you, just kill that coachman bastard!’
This fcking, goddamned, idiotic, shtty system.
Fine, let’s say I have to speak and act kindly to correct my past life’s wrongs—sure, I’ll concede that much.
But in a situation this blatant, isn’t this a bit much?
In the modern world, this guy would be facing jail time for attempted rape.
As the victim, even chopping his head off wouldn’t satisfy me.
But fck, what?
Human sins should be judged by human laws?
The protagonist looked at me with disapproval.
“That half-baked, hypocritical cleric mindset hasn’t changed, has it?”
Protagonist, you jerk.
I hate myself too.
The Protagonist’s Ruthlessness
“Whatever, as long as I get the bounty.”
The protagonist turned and approached the fallen bandits.
One, head buried in the ground, was already dead, showing no reaction.
Another, kicked in the side, was groaning and crawling toward their horses.
As if he could ride in that state.
Without hesitation, the protagonist drew a small knife from his waist and plunged it into the bandit’s neck.
“Grkk…”
The sound of air escaping faded quickly.
The protagonist stabbed a few more times, severing the neck completely.
Then, he put two fingers in his mouth and whistled.
Whiiiiistle—!!
Clop, clop!
A horse galloped from the distance.
Black fur and mane.
A sleek, impressive appearance.
Even I, who know little about horses, could tell it was a fine one.
But the gruesome objects dangling from the saddle ruined that first impression.
Several human heads hung there.
A glance showed they were the bandits I’d killed earlier.
The horse, reaching the protagonist, slowed to a stop at his outstretched hand.
“Whoa, whoa.”
The protagonist gently stroked the horse’s snout as it snorted.
From a distance, it was a striking image.
A handsome man with black hair and a noble black steed.
Too bad his true nature is a psychopathic—or rather, a cider-pathic—single-minded, reckless charger.
Overwhelmed by Exhaustion
As I entertained these silly thoughts, a wave of sleepiness hit me.
Must be the toll of summoning the gods twice.
Still, I lasted longer than expected, so not bad…
The Nature of Oracles
Oracles.
When a god doesn’t want to handle petty tasks themselves and outsources them to their underlings.
As one of those underlings, I occasionally receive oracles.
Usually, they’re trivial nonsense I’d rather block.
[The God of Entertainment has issued an oracle!]
[Today’s offering shall be fried chicken.]
‘Do these bastards think I’m their personal chef?’
[The God of Jealousy has issued an oracle!]
[The statue in the temple is too dirty; clean it thoroughly.]
‘Ugh…’
At first, I was a bit worried, but with the gods acting like this, I couldn’t help but relax.
Still, it’s not always like that.
On the third month of being a saintess, a real oracle came.
[The God of Dreams has issued an oracle!]
[Rescue Orphe from despair.]
‘Orphe?’
The protagonist’s name was Orphe.
The kingdom’s hero, a cider-path.
A man who’s possessed and regressed—only reincarnation short of a triple crown.
But how am I supposed to save the protagonist?
I’m affiliated with the Pantheon in this rugged mountain region.
From what I recall of the novel, there’s no event where Orphe visits this place.
I questioned the gods, but their response was less than satisfactory.
[The God of Justice says the path has already been provided.]
The Bishop’s News
I only understood the meaning through news brought by Bishop Dominic.
A few days after the oracle, Bishop Dominic rushed into my room, holding a letter.
Its fancy envelope made it obvious without looking.
‘Another invitation from some empire or kingdom noble.’
The title of Saintess of the Eight Gods landed me at the top of the continent’s VIP list the moment it was bestowed.
Nobles sending invitations wasn’t unusual.
Come if you want, or don’t.
Many nobles sent them on the off chance I’d show up.
Of course, I never opened a single one and threw them all out.
I’m already exhausted adapting to this world—when would I have time to attend those?
Plus, my daily combat training with Bishop Dominic made going anywhere tough.
He insisted I needed to protect myself, so I endured beatings disguised as education.
That fcking bastard.
You wouldn’t understand his smug grin while pummeling me unless you experienced it.
The infuriating part? It was actually effective.
I could see my skills improving, making it hard to quit.
I’m waiting for the day I can beat Bishop Dominic like a dog on a hot summer day.
Wait, why am I talking about this…?
The Academy Invitation
“Saintess! Daydreaming again?”
“Oh, the letter.”
I carefully examined the letter Bishop Dominic handed me.
“Inemis Academy…?”
The academy, the novel’s main stage.
I’d been invited as a special student to this place that trains the future of the empire and kingdom.
Apparently, I’m the first cleric to receive such an invitation.
They’d avoided inviting clerics to steer clear of accusations of religious bias.
Bishop Dominic was ecstatic, already packing a bag he’d pulled out from somewhere.
“What are you doing?”
“What else? Packing! We’ll finally have a cleric graduate from the academy, yee-haw!”
His over-the-top voice naturally pissed me off.
I really need to give that guy a good thrashing before I go…
Awakening
Opening my eyes, I saw a blue sky.
The bumpy ground made my back ache.
Thankfully, my head didn’t feel too bad.
“You awake?”
Orphe’s voice.
Right, Orphe.
The dream helped me remember his name.
But why’s he staring down at me?
“If you’re awake, move.”
Huh?
I glanced to the side and saw thick, toned thighs.
Orphe’s sturdy thighs.
“Goodness!”
‘F*ck!’
I shot up from my spot like an arrow.