I’m Not a Saint, Not a Priest, Just a Healer.

Not a single issue had been resolved.
The demon witnessed on the third basement level of the catacombs remained unaddressed.
Thankfully, despite three days passing since the failed subjugation force’s retreat, it showed no further movement.
But if a true demon had indeed manifested, this was not a matter to be idly dismissed.

Baron Cartein sat brooding within his estate manor.
Things had remained rather peaceful for quite some time now, hadn’t they? Aside from the occasional routine demonic threats requiring handling, no exceptional disturbances had arisen.
So why, out of the blue, were they now claiming a demon had appeared? And in Evian of all places?

While incidents within his territory fell under his jurisdiction to resolve, dealing with an actual demon was another matter entirely. Even for a noble, resources were finite – he could not recklessly deplete them on this alone.
And against a demon, priests would undoubtedly be required, necessitating substantial donations to petition the cathedral’s aid and cooperation.
But why, of all unfortunate happenstances, did this have to occur within the bounds of Evian?

As the baron’s brooding train of thought spiraled from questioning the demon’s emergence, to the subjugation force’s failure, towards inwardly lamenting Evian’s very presence within his demesne – a knock interrupted his ruminations.

“My lord, the bishop has arrived.”
At those words, Baron Cartein raised his head from where it had been cradled in contemplation.
The bishop, arriving unannounced while he still grappled with how to properly handle this crisis?

“Show him in.”
The door opened silently as the well-groomed Bishop Phoebe strode inside, resplendent in pristine white robes.
“Bishop Phoebe, it has been too long.”
“The same to you, my lord baron.”
“Please, have a seat. Tea will be served presently.”
“Thank you.”

As the maid curtsied and withdrew to prepare the refreshments, Phoebe caught her departing figure before taking the indicated seat on the sofa. Even his light lounging caused audible creaks from the expensive furnishings.
‘Swine really doesn’t know his place…’

No sooner had the baron settled across from him than Phoebe flashed a sly smile.
“You seem greatly troubled, my lord.”
“…Is it that obvious?”
What was the point of hiding it? His vexations were undoubtedly writ plain across his face.
With a weary sigh, Cartein dragged his palm down over his features.
Phoebe maintained his amiable grin throughout.
A smiling face prevented any thoughtless insults after all – far preferable to cold stonewalling.

“While the full truth remains unconfirmed…if valid, do you intend to pursue subjugation efforts again?”
“Of course. If a demon has truly appeared, I must report it to the imperial capital and request aid.”

He had already dispatched over forty adventurers, twenty of his own knighted subjugators, plus five assisting priests – yet they had failed to even properly assess the situation before retreating.
The adventurers’ entry triggered some inexplicable sealing incident, before suffering heavy losses against the bizarre demonic manifestation they encountered on the second level.
With his forces too depleted to risk another blind descent, all he had achieved was wasteful expenditure compensating the guild and covering hazard fees…
This entire endeavor had been nothing but loss after loss for Baron Cartein.

“Which would no doubt incur grave tolls upon your own resources, my lord.”
Like a silent shadow, a maid had materialized to set teacups before them, departing just as unobtrusively.
Quite the perceptive servant – a fine example.
With a sidelong glance towards the departed maid, Phoebe lifted his fresh cup of tea.

“I have little choice, regardless of costs.”
To be branded as incompetent, incapable of resolving threats within his own demesne…
But what alternative did he have? To recklessly persist and risk compounding catastrophe through arrogant overreach would only make matters worse.
Better to accept a mere charge of negligence than utter devastation.

“Perhaps the cathedral could take a more proactive supporting role in this matter.”
“Supporting how, exactly?”
Cartein eyed Phoebe warily, but the bishop’s insufferably affable smile revealed nothing of his intentions.
No matter how he studied the man, Cartein could not fathom Phoebe’s underlying motivations for making such an offer.

“We could immediately dispatch the five priests from before, plus two more – Priest Bigrind, and…”
“Priest Bigrind, you say…?”
A name Cartein had heard before. Allegedly possessing blazingly crimson hair, a diminutive stature, and rather poor temperament.
But also reputedly unmatched in holy power mastery despite such flaws.

“Yes, the renowned priest as you know. If the Adventurer’s Guild has Yona, then the cathedral has Priest Bigrind as their equivalent prodigy.”
Priesthood encompassed versatile abilities – purification, healing, and more. Consequently, their material upkeep and accommodations reflected appropriately premium standards.
Incomparable to mere healers, limited to solely restorative arts requiring hazardous close-quarters proximity.

“And we would also send Tutoring Mother Eije to accompany them.”

‘Excellent. I shall assemble the subjugation force immediately.’
The expression on Baron Cartein’s face was akin to a commoner granted a personal audience with the celestial deity itself.
As the carriage returned him to the cathedral, Phoebe recounted that priceless look of utter gratitude.
Not mere lip service, but undisguised desperation – the very picture of a man grasping at any straw to resolve his plight.

When the initial demon rumors first spread, and the subsequent subjugation force was mustered, Phoebe had been away on personal business.
Upon his return and learning of the failed excursion’s inability to even confirm the demonic presence, he had raged at the celestial being’s apparent indifference.
But their retreat in such uncertainty was precisely the divine blessing Phoebe had prayed for.
The heavens had not abandoned their faith after all.

The Celestine Church.
A religion devoted to the worship of the celestial deity.
Possessing a Pope and ordained Saints as living vessels reverentially serving the one true god.
…Or rather, a Pope but presently no Saints.
According to ancient records, the last recognized Saint named Sonia had wed a raven-haired champion before relinquishing her holy mantle. Since then, the celestial being had never again bestowed its divine blessings upon any other chosen one.

Not that it mattered – the faith had persisted without issue for ages without any newly anointed Saints.
No demon lords arose, and while inevitable conflicts between the human nations occurred, no calamities threatened all mankind.
Until now, with the emergence of an actual demon.

If they succeeded in purging this demonic manifestation –
‘Then surely a new Saint could arise from the Evian congregation at last.’

By assigning the elderly and frankly incompetent Tutoring Mother Eije as mere token supervision, while also dispatching Evian’s undisputedly peerless holy prodigy Bigrind to lead the purification rites against the demon…
Unless the celestial being was utterly blind, it could not fail to acknowledge the priest who eradicated this first demonic resurgence in an age as its newest holy Saint.

With no Saints anointed since Sonia’s era leaving the position vacant all this time, having the Evian congregation produce one would undoubtedly elevate Phoebe himself to the Papacy upon the current decrepit Pope’s passing.
His ascendance was as good as preordained at this point.
Phoebe could already feel the regality of the Papal mantle draping his shoulders.

“Is this…a person?”
“Seems like it, but doesn’t look like a local human at least.”
Carlson and Yona peered down at the collapsed prone figure before them.
The man with disheveled brown hair lay unconscious with his eyes firmly shut. Yet aside from some general unkemptness, he didn’t appear overtly injured.

Nevertheless, Yona cautiously placed her hand upon his chest and circulated her holy power, just to assess his condition.
The instant she did so, the man’s eyes flew open in a flash.
Before Yona could react, his hand lashed out like a viper to clamp down on her wrist in a vise-grip.

“Ughaaah?!”
The sheer force made Yona fear her wrist would snap like a twig. She shrieked in shock and pain, instinctively recoiling backwards as she collapsed to the ground.

Seeing Yona violently rebuked, Carlson took a cautious step back while drawing his blade in a defensive flourish.
“What in the ever-loving fuck?!”

But the stranger paid Carlson’s threatening stance no heed whatsoever. His blazing gaze remained fixated solely upon Yona, still trapped in his bone-crushing grip as she sprawled helplessly.

“Are you…a priestess?”
“L-Let go…!”
It hurt, oh it hurt so much. She felt her wrist might shatter at any moment.
Not that such an injury wouldn’t quickly heal, but the sheer agony contorted Yona’s features nonetheless.

“I said let go! Release me damn you! Let go you bastard! Let go!”
No matter how viciously she struck and flailed at the man’s chest, he didn’t so much as blink in response.
Only when Carlson’s blade pricked against the stranger’s throat did he finally break his trance.

“You, what’s your deal? Going to release Yona’s hand or not?”
Carlson’s menacing growl accompanied the razor-sharp steel now aimed to slit the man’s neck at any provocation.
After briefly appraising the lethal threat with an impassive glance, the stranger’s eyes flicked back towards the still thrashing Yona.

“Let go! I said let go! It hurts damn you!”
Yet no matter how frantically she struggled, the man remained as motionless as a statue.

“Are you the maiden who wields this holy power?”
“I’m no maiden…! Just let go first…!”
The man studied Yona intently for a few more moments before finally releasing his grip.
Caught off-guard in the middle of wrenching her arm free, Yona tumbled backwards ungracefully as the vice-like hold abruptly slackened.

“I have released you. Now remove this plaything from my presence.”
With just a casual sweeping motion of his bare hand, the stranger casually batted aside Carlson’s blade as if swatting a fly.
Absurdly, the sword Carlson had so meticulously maintained could not even score the man’s calloused fingertips before being deflected aside with humiliating ease.

“Who or what in the hells are you?”
Gripping his shield anew, Carlson tensed for potential combat at any moment based on the stranger’s next words or actions.
Yona swiftly rejoined his side while Miscott, Irin and Viola carefully formed up opposite, flanking the unknown threat with weapons readied.

In response, the disheveled man simply brushed his unkempt bangs aside with casual indifference as he stated:
“I am a champion. A hero. You may address me as Rud, or Rudvik.”

‘Oh great, another raving lunatic…’
Yona couldn’t help but inwardly remark upon realizing they were dealing with yet another delusional vagrant.