Became a Medieval Fantasy Wizard-Chapter 95

TL/Editor: raei

Proofreader: Pickhead7

Schedule: 5/week

Illustrations: None.

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A gospel, formally speaking, is a book that contains the sayings of ancient saints.

Gospels filled only with truly good teachings are nearly non-existent.

Such gospels are initially hard to understand.

Starting with 'Saint Marcus says~' isn't effective when no one even knows who the hell Marcus is.

Thus, it's necessary to include who Marcus was and what achievements he accumulated.

Then, the faithful can say, 'Saint Marcus was indeed a great man~' and pay attention to his teachings.

Therefore, the method for composing a gospel was as follows:

Firstly, the essential words of the saint must be written. These parts are almost never omitted or distorted because any tampering would cast doubt on the gospel's purity.

Once the essentials are covered, the rest of the book can be freely fleshed out.

This 'freedom' in writing is quite broad since there were no specific qualifications required to write a gospel.

For instance, the Bible must never be distorted or tampered with. The Bible is a perfect artifact in itself; altering even a single letter would compromise its sanctity.

However, gospels are different.

The very first gospel was written to more widely disseminate the teachings of the 13 saints.

A monk recorded these teachings and lent the document to a friend.

The friend copied its contents into a new book and then returned the original.

The book was borrowed again, copied, and so on...

Thus, while the core content remained, details often changed.

'Did you see the scene where Marcus punishes the Sky General?'

'Huh? Sky General? The scene I read was him punishing a barbarian.'

'This is inconsistent.'

'Ah, that's not important!'

Anyway, Marcus did punish them, right? Let's have a drink~

As a result, popular parts became [official], and less popular ones became [folk tales].

'Breaking news! Saint Marcus actually shoots laser beams from his fingers!'

'...Who the hell said that?'

'Golden Finger Takarion mentioned it.'

'Bullsh*t! There's no such thing in the official settings!'

'Shut up! What do the officials know!'

'???'

In this sense, Takarion was a badass.

With divine penmanship, he instantly captivated readers' hearts, boasting firepower strong enough to threaten the official status with a solid concrete fandom!

Takarion was a famous fan of Saint Marcus and, of course, portrayed Marcus as a superhuman demon, a blasphemy even to gods.

His written gospels seriously pissed off many monks.

But where there is light, there must also be shadow.

While the monks were washing their pants by the creek...

An unknown author published a new gospel.

It was a healing gospel filled with the quaint daily life of Saint Garhan.

The monks devoured the new gospel and soon burst into laughter.

'Garhan's daily life haha'

'A devoted believer who cared deeply. But that was all there was to him~'

'Honestly, if it's for a laugh, Garhan tops the chart~'

As soon as the gospel was released, mocking letters came pouring in.

The author, Count Lumin, couldn't help but be baffled.

Why, Saint Garhan???

Count Lumin was a devout believer of the Heaven's Faith. His hobby was reading gospels.

As he read gospels every day, he eventually developed the ambition to create and publish his own.

He believed Saint Garhan embodied the cleanest and most transparent religious life and published a gospel documenting his deeds.

But the image of Saint Garhan turned out to be an utter disaster.

The cause was... Takarion, that bastard.

Takarion turned Saint Garhan into a f*cking idiotic troll just to promote Saint Marcus!

Count Lumin was indignant.

He diligently wrote a sequel to clear up the misunderstanding by documenting Garhan's achievements.

However, it astonishingly received little attention.

The reason was simple: Count Lumin's writing was dull.

It was a true gospel, containing only genuinely good teachings and acts of kindness.

Confronted with the book's wholesomeness, the faithful turned away.

For every single book of Lumin's sold, dozens of Takarion's flew off the shelves.

Watching Takarion's books sell like hotcakes, Count Lumin's heart was torn apart.

Ah, I'm so envious.

I want to be a successful gospel writer too.

Takarion, it was you.

The person walking in front of me was you.

Whenever I see you, my world collapses.

And it's still collapsing...!

Count Lumin lost sleep night after night due to his growing envy.

The more he thought about it, the more he hated Takarion.

No, Takarion's gospel is all bullsh*t.

It's full of ridiculous content.

But why do people like such things!

He had believed that Takarion, who had cruelly trampled on his favorite saint, would surely receive divine punishment.

But far from being struck down, Takarion was becoming more successful every day.

This wasn't right.

Takarion needs to be punished.

But if the heavens won't strike him down, then who will?

'...Me?'

That was the conclusion Count Lumin reached.

He must deliver divine retribution to the heretic Takarion on behalf of the heavens!

He was a count of the empire, a noble with the wealth and resources to easily snuff out a person.

Count Lumin began devising a plan to assassinate Takarion, starting with a poisoning disguised as an accident.

If that failed, he planned an attack using barbarians.

The count's ambitiously prepared first plan was thwarted by the wizard Ian, but the plan involving the barbarian attack remained intact.

"So, I just need to take care of this Golden Finger Takarion, right?"

Count Lumin nodded as he looked at the bear-like man before him.

The term 'bear-like' was not metaphorical. He was actually wearing bear skin.

Berserker Bjorn.

Berserker, or Berserk, means 'one who wears bear skin.'

Bjorn had slain a giant brown bear with just a hand axe at the age of fourteen and had made its skin into clothing.

Since then, he has become an infamous undefeated warrior.

It was no coincidence that this seasoned warrior had come to the distant lands of the empire seeking a raiding adventure.

"You've got it. Just get rid of Takarion by any means necessary."

"Good. I hope he's a healthy guy. He's supposed to be a saint of your God, so he won't be a weakling, right? Right?"

Berserker Bjorn chuckled, his black teeth flashing.

"He's a miraculous guy, right? Eh?"

Count Lumin cursed Bjorn with his eyes.

Miraculous my ass. What kind of person is Takarion?

In the eyes of the northern barbarians, the saints of the Heaven's Faith were close to miraculous beings, humans who performed divine miracles!

"That guy is the most deceitful heart-shaker among all I know. His letters are infused with venom, and his handwriting bears the marks of corruption..."

"Ooh! Very miraculous!"

Count Lumin was merely trashing on Takarion's amazing penmanship.

But Bjorn took it as a testament to Takarion's supernatural abilities.

Wow! The saint has the power to beguile people!

Truly miraculous!

"Great. I'll definitely take him back to my homeland!"

"..."

Count Lumin cocked his head, puzzled.

But why has he been obsessed with this miraculous thing?

And what's this about taking him back to his homeland?

"You're free to deal with Takarion however you wish, but is there really a need to capture him?"

Are you planning to enslave him?

Takarion is despised by even God, so he'd be useless even if captured.

However, Bjorn's next statement made Count Lumin shudder.

"Ah. I plan to use him as medicine."

"...Medicine?"

"Yes. Since he's miraculous, he'll definitely have powerful effects."

Despite Count Lumin's limited knowledge of medicine, he knew well that when something is used as medicine, the ingredient usually doesn't fare well.

"Dear heavens. My God!"

Count Lumin felt his mind might reel from the barbarians' terrifying savagery.

They worship a bizarre deity called the Ice God.

And according to the rumors he had heard, the Ice God doesn't punish cannibalism.

'...Should I call it off now?'

Count Lumin's faith was stirred.

If he chose to, he could send all these cruel pagans to the executioner.

What a horrific end Takarion would meet if taken away by these pagans!

"Hmm."

But then he reconsidered; he just wanted the job done.

Although it was pitiable, Takarion was a sinner who had confused countless believers with his blasphemous gospels.

Well, he's committed many sins, hasn't he? Let him die a terrible death!

"Leave the Swan River empty for now. Escape there once the job is done."

"That's refreshingly straightforward! Chief!"

Count Lumin shook hands with the barbarian Bjorn.

This was a few days before Takarion's arrival at Devosi Castle.

---

---

Close to midnight, at the home of an merchant.

After the situation ended, Ian lay sprawled out, resting.

The surroundings were a mess, but he lacked the energy to move a finger.

"Master Ian. Are you feeling alright?"

The monks took great care of Ian's health.

Ian had voluntarily eaten a tomato, mistakenly thought to be poisonous.

It wouldn't have been surprising if he suddenly felt ill.

"I'm fine. It wasn't poisonous anyway."

"What? But didn't that person say it was poisonous?"

Several naive monks truly believed Ian had eaten poison.

"It wasn't poisonous."

"Don't lie! I've also heard rumors that those bright red fruits are poisonous!"

No matter how much Ian explained, they wouldn't understand.

"You'll definitely feel sick later! Definitely! For sure!"

"..."

Go ahead, curse me.

For some monks, proving that their beliefs were correct was more important than Ian's health.

"Sob... To think you've ruined your body for us..."

"..."

That way, Ian's sacrifice (?) seemed even more significant.

Let it be.

"I feel a bit sick, but I've recovered thanks to the protection of God."

"Oh! How could that be!"

"It's a miracle! It's a miracle!"

"Everyone! Let's sing of God's greatness!"

It all came back to praising God.

The mighty One had taken care of Ian~

"I feel like I'm going to die of exhaustion, so let's rest here tonight and leave at dawn."

"Is that alright? What if the barbarians attack..."

"There are none nearby. They aren't prepared, so they won't attack tonight."

Ambushing isn't for everyone.

You need to thoroughly understand the local geography and gather as much light as possible using numerous torches.

Ian used dark magic to scan the surroundings for any light sources.

The mysteries of darkness detest light, so detecting anyone with a torch was easy.

However, there were no torchbearers, indicating there were no barbarian ambushes.

"Even running away requires stamina. Let’s get some sleep and leave at dawn."

"Yes... You’re Ian, right?"

Sister Mionia bowed her head.

"I’m really grateful for everything today."

Ian nodded absently, weary from the constant thanks.

But one question lingered in his mind.

"Who modified the habit?"

Since a nun’s habit is also a religious garment, laypeople usually wouldn’t dare to touch it, fearing divine punishment.

"Oh."

Mionia blushed, apparently aware that her attire was considered indecent.

"I mended it myself."

"Oh, yourself? You’re quite skilled, aren’t you?"

Expecting harsher criticism, Mionia was baffled by Ian’s praise.

Given his devoutness, she had expected a lecture on the propriety expected of clergy, not a compliment on her craftsmanship.

"Hmm..."

Whether Mionia was puzzled or not, Ian was already harboring a rather quirky thought.

With such skill, wouldn’t she do well professionally making clothes?

He briefly imagined Lucy in a modified nun's habit.

Oh, it was sacrilegious, but he liked it.

Ian seriously considered suggesting that Mionia think about switching careers to become a designer.

This 𝓬ontent is taken from f(r)eeweb(n)ovel.𝒄𝒐𝙢