{And the doubters asked the prophet:
“Prophet, should we bestow grace upon the wicked as well? If so, for how long must we bestow it?” This was asked as a test.
The prophet answered them:
“The Goddess of Grace has given humanity the ability to discern good from evil. You must focus your efforts on those striving toward goodness and endure patiently.
However, do not spare the whip for those whom the Goddess has abandoned and forsaken.
These are the slanderers, the covetous, the malevolent, the envious, the murderers, and the instigators of strife.
They are those who show no pity toward widows and orphans.
They are the ones who hoard grace meant for the hungry within their own bellies.
They are people who swallow their tears without a trace of shame.
Such beings are despised and cursed by the Goddess. Both their bodies and souls shall perish.”}
– Scripture of Grace, Chapter 13, Verse 11 –
*
The factory manager collapses in his seat, his face full of horror as he stares at me.
“Thi, this is assault!!”
He seems about to say that, but…
Yeah.
That’s correct.
Absolutely right.
Spot on.
“There are things you can say and things you cannot say!!”
I hurled myself at the factory manager.
My belt tore through the air, slicing through it as it lashed out without mercy.
The pristine, tailored suit of the neatly dressed factory manager began to tear apart.
And the corpulent, naked body beneath it was revealed.
His posture was such that it would make for a wonderful cover for a DVD titled “<Everyone Watching. AVI: Naked Exposure in Public."
"Go ahead. Scream at the people watching."
"Quaaaah!! Sa, sah!! Saeh!! Saeh!!"
The manager, his swollen lips hindered his speech, pleaded with the police and his guards for help, but none dared to intervene.
"Is, is it okay to shoot, sir?"
"That's the Saint, acknowledged by the Temple of the Divine. If a single stray bullet hits him, we're finished."
The police dared not approach, and the guards could only hesitate as they moved closer.
Meanwhile,
I was gleefully beating the factory manager.
"Quaaaahh!! Ba, Baba!! Aaaaaaaah!!"
"Does it hurt? Does it hurt? Do you have any idea how much it hurt when people burned to death in your factory?!"
He foams at the mouth and collapses unconscious as I continue to beat him.
Only then did I stop the beating, and finally, the police cautiously approached.
Of course, there was a subtle expression of satisfaction on their faces.
"Saint, that's enough. It's sufficient..."
No.
Not nearly enough, you bastards.
I placed my hands on the body of the factory manager.
I'm the Saint of Healing, right?
It's time to earn my nickname.
The swollen cheeks and corn kernels that had been flying through the air earlier regrow.
The bruises on his body and the swollen face heal cleanly.
I have no intention of killing you.
I will ensure you don’t die.
So you can be beaten for a long, long time.
"Wait, stop! Saint, calm down a bit!... Quaaaahh!"
Calm down?！
The reason I healed you was to gain the momentum to beat you even more!!
The sound of leather tearing filled the air as another brutal beating show began.
The factory manager's screams and the satisfying sound of flesh tearing drew the attention of the onlookers.
One by one, they rose from their seats.
"Well done! Hit him more!"
"Well done! Well done!"
"That dog-like bastard! He paid them about 1 leon a day and worked them for more than 20 hours! Even the dogs he kept would have been treated better!"
Everyone began to cheer me on.
If he collapsed and became unconscious, I would heal him.
If he collapsed and became unconscious, I would heal him again.
This endless cycle of beatings repeated itself.
"Help me! What are the police doing!? Save me! You can't just stand there and watch someone being assaulted like this!!"
By the third healing, the manager clung to the pant legs of the police.
But the police gingerly stepped back while smirking subtly with a sense of satisfaction.
"Sorry, sir. By the law, we should arrest the Saint for assaulting a civilian, but... What if we touch him and incur divine punishment? We don't want to get punished by the Goddess."
"What is this nonsense!?... Quaaaah!"
By the fifth healing, he clung to the goons who were supposed to protect him.
"Money! I'll pay! You bastards, protect me! Stop him already!!"
"If even a scratch appears on the Saint’s body, the followers of Lilia and the Church of Grace would not take it lightly. We might be accused of blasphemy against the Saint and subjected to heresy trials. If you pay ten times more than the current amount, sir..."
"I'll give you even twenty times the amount! Please!... Quaaaahh!"
The satisfying sound of flesh being torn filled the air as my stress melted away.
I feel good.
All the tension I've experienced while trembling in fear of going to hell seems to have dissipated.
What the hell?
You bastard!
I worked my ass off to save people, but because you didn't install proper fire prevention measures, you turned them into charcoal. What the hell nonsense is this?
Hey shithead.
Today, you're going to get ruined by me.
The seventh.
The eighth.
The tenth healing, after it concluded.
Finally, the factory manager grabbed my pant legs.
"Please, spare me! I'll do anything you ask! Please, please stop hitting me!!"
I stopped swinging my blood-soaked belt.
"This factory. You said it's being operated by the Leota Company, right?"
"Yes, yes! It's run by Leota Company."
"Tell your boss to come out then."
"Excuse me?"
"Boss! Lead me to where your boss is or you'll get more beatings!"
"I'll guide you! Get in the car! It'll be delivered like a bullet!"
"Hurry up!"
I got into the car with the factory manager.
"To punish the president of the Leota Company!"
"Follow him! You can find Baron Hanson at his estate!"
All the people who watched the Saint’s beating show began shouting and following my car.
I glanced at the people and gave an order to the driver in front of me.
"Floor it, you bastard. What're you waiting for?"
Perhaps because he witnessed more than 30 minutes of a brutal beating scene.
Without uttering a single word, the driver slammed on the accelerator like a bullet.
In less than three minutes,
We arrived at a mansion in District 10, where the affluent reside.
"Here, this is where Baron Hanson is... Gggh!"
I kicked the factory manager out of the way to clear a path and got out of the car.
A solid iron gate blocked my path.
"Open it."
I ordered the factory manager, who began to sob.
"Unless authorized personnel, the gates won't open... Wha? Wha???"
"If that’s the case, let's try opening it with you."
20x physical strength.
Fat Pig Throwing!
The obese factory manager soared through the air.
His body collided with the iron gate.
Though sturdy, the gate couldn't withstand the kinetic energy produced by the tremendous speed and the manager's weight.
With a loud crash, the iron gate swung wide open.
"Gghhh!"
I approached the factory manager, who rolled on the ground and groaned like something out of a children's anime, tears streaming down his face as he prostrated himself.
"Please! Please stop hitting me!"
"Stay exactly here and don't move."
I have no intention of killing you.
If I kill you right now, it will just be a personal act of killing; nothing more.
People who were hurt and injured in that factory earlier need to find solace.
I want those people to see these individuals punished under the law and the system.
Only then can we tell them that it’s still a livable world, despite the hardships and crap.
"Yeah. Yes! Not movin'!... Quaaaah!!"
As my belt struck the factory manager again, scattering corn kernels on the ground,
He rolled over, foaming at the mouth, and soaked his pants before collapsing, seemingly unconscious.
I’ll make sure that somehow, through the Church of Lilia, the Temple of the Divine, or His Majesty the Emperor, you will definitely be punished no matter what legal charges it takes.
But before that,
That son of a bitch named Hanson Baron also needs to get a beating.
I entered the mansion, belt soaked with blood and meat, taking steady strides.
The moment I stepped inside, the maids and butlers gasped at the sight.
Of course, it was nothing to be surprised about.
My white priest's robe had been dirty for a long time.
My hair was untidy, and my belt was soaked in blood and flesh.
"Where's Hanson Baron?"
At the low murmur, an immediate reply came.
"He, he’s in the study doing business..."
"Guide me."
The maid signaled the location of the study.
I immediately set off.
The armed guards who noticed me mostly avoided confrontation upon seeing my state.
Those who didn't?
"Even if you're the Saint, this is private property!... Quaaaah!!"
Now collapsed on the floor, emitting deathbed wails, spewing up a heap of red corn kernels with a puffed-up face for the price.
No one could stop me. Eventually, not long after, I stood before the study of the guy named Hanson Baron.
Although the door was firmly locked, it posed no problem.
With a single kick, I smashed through the door and entered.
A gaunt man in his 50s, who was seated at the desk doing paperwork, leapt up as though he'd wet his pants.
"Wh, who are you?! Who are you? How did you get in here... Saint?"
"Are you the president of Leota Company?"
"Yes, but what..."
"Did you know the factory caught fire?"
Baron Hanson's eyes rolled around.
He stood up from his chair with a servile smile.
"Haha! I sent one of my staff. I'm sure everything was appropriately handled. Is there any complaint?"
"Just one question."
I smiled pleasantly and cast the Absolute Hypnosis on Baron Hanson.
"What did you usually do when someone got injured or died at the factory? Only tell the truth, don't lie."
"I paid a compensatory amount of about one salred. But it was merely nominal. There were always ways to reclaim it – sending some goons to threaten, making them work without wages for four months after receiving their salary in a lump sum, or such. These penniless bastards fear losing their jobs more than anything, so it's easy to scare them into giving back the money."
Baron Hanson laughed and replied.
What was more shocking was that after spilling all the disadvantageous truths, instead of trying to shut down the conversation or becoming traumatized and trembling, this son of a bitch showed absolutely no signs of guilt or remorse, let alone the slightest sense of shame for what he was doing.
"As bad as it seems, I’m still one of the good ones. There are other factories that don't even pay compensation but just cast out injured workers. Isn't that why you're here... Quaaaahh!!"
"Son of a bitch!! You think you're human?!"
The belt made a crisp cracking sound.
Baron Hanson soared through the air like a graceful swan.
I also took to the air like a graceful swan.
To start beating him fiercely when I landed.
"Quaaaahh!! Quaah!! No!! Why are you doing this!? This is clearly illegal!!... Quaaaaah!!"
Clap clap.
I answered with my fists instead of words.
Even while being beaten, Baron Hanson continued to chatter endlessly.
"It's illegal!! You, you Saint! Can't you see it? Even the Saint assaulting a civilian can be arrested by the Supreme Court! Do you want to go to jail!? You bastard!!"
His words made me laugh.
Jail?
Good, isn't it?
I was the one who once thought about going to jail to stop being the Saint.
Do you really think I'll be scared of such threats?
In fact, it would be great!!
I'll no longer have to pretend to be the fake Saint if I get a life sentence in jail.
I’d be super happy!
"Take me away! To the jail! Take me to the jail!! Bastard!!"
"You crazy bastard!!... Quaaaah!!"
"Right! I am! I'm crazy, you son of a bitch!!"
When people get too angry, tears may come out too.
I cried as I kept beating son of a bitch.
People turned into charcoal and died.
But how can this son of a bitch and the factory manager outside, whom I beat into a pulp, show no sense of remorse?
"I'm the one who is crazy, not you, bastard!"
No matter what,
I will ensure you are punished, even if I have to go to jail for it.
Through charges of heresy or whatever, I will surely send you and the factory manager to the pits of hell.
With this thought, I struck with even more force when suddenly...
"Quaaaah!! Son of a bitch! Aaaahh!!"
Perhaps out of sheer pain or a last desperate attempt, Hanson's hand generated a black aura, and he threw it toward me.
...Wait.
Hold on.
Generating a black aura and throwing it?...
Isn't that a curse?
"...What? Why didn't the curse work?"
I was surprised that Hanson had thrown a curse, and he was surprised that it had no effect on me.
"Why? Why didn't, didn't the curse?..."
For a moment, the two of us stared at each other, dumbfounded.
"Are you a demon worshiper?"
As I burst into laughter at the absurdity of the situation, I asked that question.
Hanson answered truthfully.
"Yes."
I repeat,
"I am a demon worshiper. I have been helping the Collectors collect origin essence."
The power of Absolute Hypnosis was indeed absolute.
