The hall had fallen into the kind of silence that makes even breathing feel like a betrayal.
The priest raised a hand and pointed at the crowd. "You," he said simply.
As if on cue, two guards helped the old man onto the podium. As his feet dragged on the marble, his broken sandals slapped faintly as if protesting with each step.
Soon, they laid him on the altar.
Talia tilted her head and smiled as though greeting an old friend. "Your name?"
"Orren, Your Holiness."
He hesitated, eyes flitting briefly to the statue in front before he bowed his head.
"I... I helped a fugitive to hide," he rasped. "E-even when knowing that he was the runaway s-slave I still hid him in my h-home."
A whisper ran through the congregation.
Talia said nothing, only continued to smile, like a teacher pleased with a student who finally confessed to cheating on a test.
"H-He was my son, Y-Your Holiness," Orren’s voice cracked in desperation. "I couldn’t l-let them take him back. I-I couldn’t—"
He begged while repeatedly bowing to the statue, but never once dared to lift his eyes toward the ’face’ of the goddess.
A slender blade with a bone-white hilt was given by the equally slender hand.
Orren stared at it before recalling what he had witnessed just now. With trembling fingers, he accepted it.
Mirroring the Saintess’s earlier gesture, he pressed the blade against his palm. His flesh split with a soft gasp, and the blood came.
It slowly dripped to the altar. But unlike Talia, he didn’t heal.
His blood smeared his fingers, dripped down his wrist, and pooled in the creases of his shaking hand. When he turned back, perhaps to ask if this was enough, his eyes caught the goblet.
One look was all it took.
His wrinkled eyes widened in horror as he slapped his bloody hand over his mouth. He gagged, right there, on the altar.
It would’ve been considered utterly disrespectful to vomit on the sacred altar.
But could Xion blame him? The others were in some kind of trance, but he wasn’t. And with the system’s help, he could more or less guess how horrifying it really was.
The thing inside the goblet moved again. It was no longer slurping but twitching, quivering, pressing against the inside of the goblet like it was hungry and expectant.
Orren opened his mouth to speak, maybe to beg forgiveness for his behavior, or maybe to ask what that thing was.
Regardless, Talia didn’t give him the chance.
Her smile never wavered as she snatched the knife back and in the same breath plunged it deep into the old man’s neck.
A sickening gurgle and a heavy gasp tore from his throat.
The congregation didn’t scream nor did they move.
Perhaps this was not new to them. But how was Xion supposed to stomach it?
His feet were frozen to the ground as he watched how the poor Orren collapsed onto the altar. His feeble struggle only hastened the stream of blood pouring from his wound.
The crimson traveled along with the carved runes and then flowed gently into the goblet.
Xion’s guts churned with alarming oppression.
[H-Host... T-That’s not a statue, that’s not a statue, that’s not a—]
Xion tore his gaze away from the old man and onto the statue. Others didn’t dare to look but Xion did. That was when he discovered that the ring of teeth at the center of the hollow ’face’ was faintly red.
It was just a small smear, and yet, so disturbingly vivid against the white marble.
Talia wiped the few drops of red splashed on her finger with a silk cloth.
One life was lost just like that while the smile on her face only became more radiant.
"The confession wasn’t sincere enough. Let no soul believe they are above penance," she said, turning to the hushed crowd, "for even love must bleed for redemption."
The crowd bowed their heads in unified, chilling silence.
Xion’s mind raced with a thousand desperate possibilities. He, who prided himself on being a doctor, had actually let someone die in front of him because fear bound his limbs.
The barely suppressed bile started to claw at his throat when he heard Talia’s voice.
"A sinner hides among you—a soul who should have been purified. But in his evasion, he burdens us all with his unrepented sin. I ask you now: be merciful. Extend your compassion, that he too may be guided toward the light."
The blatant hatred that rose in the hearts of these people was enough for Xion to clench his hand. He was about to run forward and check on that old man.
However, with just a few words, he had painted a fugitive and a heinous sinner.
If he showed his face, he would be the next one to be pushed on the altar. And with the way the situation was, he doubted he would make it alive.
So what now? Should he stand by while others die, or step forward and draw their eyes to himself?
[Host, don’t do anything reckless, okay? We need to think of a way to keep you safe- Hey!]
The loud shout nearly made Xion wince.
’What? Are you okay?’ Did something happen to his system?
If it wasn’t for the obvious happiness in the loud voice, Xion might’ve muted the system.
[Host, the system lord has given us special permission to open the mall again. We can use the things at will just like before!]
It was the first time the Mall System had violated any law since its manufacturing, so the lord system had eased the punishment after reading about the situation in this small world.
It took Xion a moment to process before he exhaled a long, tired breath.
’First, give me a health preservation potion and then...’ Xion murmured, the corner of his mouth curling upward in an arch that resembled Darius’ smirk. ’And then... let’s show them what a true ’fake saint’ looks like.’