“I won’t disgrace myself by denying it. I am Ishmael. The writer and ideological criminal your Saintess and your Church have been so desperately seeking.”
Now that my identity was exposed, there was no need to keep up appearances.
I dropped the formality, shifting my tone.
Still polite, but with a subtle hint of condescension.
“How did you find me? I made sure to cover my tracks thoroughly. Did you get help from that damned goddess again? Did she tell you where to go?”
“How dare you speak of the deity in such a way—”
“That’s enough, Arhan!”
As the knight escorting her unsheathed his sword in fury at my contemptuous words, the Saintess stopped him.
Yeah.
At least she’s not completely clueless.
If they attacked me recklessly here, they’d be the ones at a disadvantage.
“So, Saintess.
What are you going to do now?
Are you going to arrest me?
You’re not seriously thinking of holding an execution right in the middle of the Academy grounds, are you?
Maybe kidnap me and have the inquisitors torture me like heretics?”
“…You will be taken into custody. And your crimes will be made known to the world, spreading the glory of the Church.”
“And after that? A public execution or life imprisonment?”
“That depends on how things unfold.”
Not even calling me ‘Instructor’ anymore, huh?
Expected, but still a little sad.
We were teacher and student for at least a few weeks, after all.
“How pathetic.”
Still, that aside—I couldn’t help but chuckle at the absurdity of the Saintess’s plan.
To parade a criminal’s identity and use it to rally support for the Church?
It’s far too simplistic, and there’s no way it’ll go as smoothly as they think.
“And how exactly do you plan to prove that I’m Ishmael?”
“What?”
“Right now, you believe me because the goddess gave you a revelation and I openly admitted it.
But will it be the same after my arrest?
When you parade me in front of the ignorant public, do you really think they’ll believe you?
No, more than that—do you even think they’ll care?
If you assume people will gladly accept your claims, you’re sorely mistaken.”
“T-that’s something that can be explained! I’ll tell them I received a divine revelation!”
“Yeah, good luck with that.”
It’s common knowledge among believers that the Saintess is the only one who can communicate directly with the goddess.
But that doesn’t automatically make her claims credible or convincing.
Even if she puts me on display, how would anyone know if she actually caught the criminal or just nabbed an innocent scapegoat?
She could be faking it all to boost the Church’s prestige and claim some achievements.
Saying “the goddess told me” won’t hold water here.
Plenty of people have lied using divine names and never been struck down for it.
‘That goddess is lazy as hell.’
Even if she argues that the Saintess would never lie, it’s likely to be just as unconvincing.
Whether it’s the truth or not, the problem is that the claim won’t easily earn the people’s trust.
“You shouldn’t overestimate your reputation, Saintess. People don’t always think the same way the Church does.”
Wasn’t it just a few months ago that the diplomatic delegation touring the continent to promote peace suffered a crushing failure?
It wouldn’t be strange if the public thought the Church was overcompensating in response to that backlash.
From their point of view, it’s a plausible scenario.
“And even if people do believe you—what does that actually mean?”
Even if she earns their trust, there’s a high chance the public won’t see my existence as seriously as the Church does.
Frankly, it’s very likely.
“Tell me honestly, Saintess. Have I actually committed any crimes? I haven’t killed anyone, stolen anything, or deceived people for profit.”
To them, I’m just a bestselling author.
All I’ve done is write books and sell them.
That’s the entirety of my record.
“S-Silence! Your writings led to war, people are suffering—!”
“You’re twisting things now. That makes it sound like everything is my fault.”
I sneered at the Saintess’s furious rebuttal, filled with mockery for her naïveté.
If she truly understood how the world worked, she wouldn’t say such things.
“You seem to think I’m some grand mastermind pulling the strings behind war and international politics. Keep your delusions in check. I’m a writer. Just a writer who pens unusual, intriguing content.”
I raised a finger and pointed toward the direction of the royal palace—where that so-called King Betelgeuse would likely be.
“You’ve been around enough to know, haven’t you?
Do the kings and emperors really look like they were forced to start wars?
Like someone made them mobilize troops and supplies against their will, exploiting their people and throwing them into battle?”
*****
The Saintess didn’t respond.
No—she couldn’t.
Even to her eyes, it must’ve been obvious how eager they all were.
They hadn’t looked like they were being coerced into an unwanted fight.
“The Helvetian Republic attacked the Navre Kingdom and the Kram Empire.
The Kingdom of Allein tried to backstab both and failed.
Then they built prisons to hold the demons and launched a nationwide conscription campaign.
I wasn’t involved in any of that.
I had no authority, no connections to influence such matters.”
“……”
“Don’t delude yourself, Saintess. Everything was the result of choices made by the people in power.All I did was provide them with materials to assist in making those decisions.”
It’s no different from a domino you only need to tap to topple, or a dam riddled with cracks on the verge of bursting.
The kindling that ignited this horrific war had already existed long before I ever arrived.
It had been growing steadily for hundreds, even thousands of years.
All I did was provide the fuel and firepower to raise the heat.
But it was they—the ones in power—who decided to toss it onto the spark.
“Though… I did keep fanning the flames from time to time.”
Something like The Wealth of Nations wouldn’t have even been published if there weren’t wars breaking out everywhere.
I only decided it was safe to release because full-scale conflicts were already underway.
“Ah, no matter how much you make excuses, the fact remains that you wrote heretical texts, didn’t you!”
“Y-Yeah! You dared to deny the divine right of kings that the Goddess bestowed upon mankind!!”
As soon as the saint made her retort, this time the paladins fired back at me.
Well, that part is actually true.
They’re probably referring to Leviathan.
Depending on one’s perspective, it could definitely be considered heretical.
“Then that would make me nothing more than a fool who wrote strange stories. Not some dangerous ideologue trying to control the world, like you say.”
But clinging to that as a point of attack doesn’t really mean much.
Like I said earlier, the only evidence tying me to the name Ishmael is verbal testimony.
Even if they punish me based on that accusation, it won’t have the effect they’re hoping for.
It might even backfire.
Oh, the monarchs might be displeased if they learn they’ve killed a valuable talent who produced useful knowledge and information.
According to intel from our organization, there are quite a few people who wanted to scout me or recruit me as an advisor.
“And besides… do you really think punishing me now is going to change anything?”
“…What do you mean?”
“Exactly what it sounds like.
The world is already twisted beyond repair.
Most nations are burning through manpower and resources, selling off their futures just to keep waging war.
In a situation like this, what does killing a single writer even accomplish?
Nothing will change.
If I disappear, the war will simply go on without me, and people will keep dying.”
The time when there was any way to stop the war and recover from the damage is long gone.
Starting a fight might be an individual decision, but ending one is a different story.
Taking advantage of the fact that every nation has already thrown everything into the fire to upend the old order?
That kind of strategy is entirely doable.
It’s not even hard to manipulate them into it.
In fact, that’s exactly what our organization’s long-term plan entails.
But stopping the war midway and cleaning up the mess?
Even I couldn’t do that.
Unless some divine being descends and enforces peace with a godly decree—though it seems like that damn Goddess has already lost even the power to do that.
The fact that she hasn’t taken any action makes it pretty clear: she either doesn’t have the energy or simply doesn’t care to.
So what choices are left?
All that’s left is to watch everyone march eagerly toward destruction.
“The next time you receive a divine revelation, give this reply: tell them the world ended up like this thanks to you ruining an innocent person’s life.”
Sensing that it was time to end the conversation, I stepped back.
I’d had enough of being surrounded by these sweaty, hulking men.
“…Where do you think you’re going?”
“To the faculty office. I need to organize materials to hand out to the students.”
“You think I’m just going to let you go?”
Of course not.
I’d been prepared for something like this ever since I came out for this meeting.
“I’ll just break through by force. Miss Kalia!”
Whoosh!
“Gahk!”
The moment I called her name, a dark silhouette appeared in the sky.
As it descended rapidly, it plunged a dagger into the necks of the paladins.
Three slashes.
Three dying screams.
That was enough to eliminate all the guards accompanying the saint.
“You should’ve called me a little earlier. You almost got hurt.”
“I’m fine. I trusted you, Miss Kalia.”
I left the cleanup of the bodies to Kalia, who was grumbling with concern, and turned to the saint whose ceremonial robes were now soaked in blood.
Then I gave a polite nod.
“Well then, Saintess. I’ll be on my way. If fate allows, we’ll meet again someday.”
With a trembling voice, she forced herself to sound brave and spoke to me.
“…I’ll stop you. I won’t let the world fall apart the way you imagine.”
“Now that’s something I look forward to.”
I wondered how long it would take before her hope broke and she fell into despair.
There was something to savor in the wait.