A Hospital in Another World?-Chapter 877: My Divine Arts Do Not Come from the Church

Gene Madeline was wandering anxiously in the church.

He had a bad feeling even before Bishop Miriam left. Three thousand pounds of grain, what use is three thousand pounds! It’s less than half of what the mission required!

If it were the villagers handing over the grain, they would surely be beaten to death; even for the bishop, falling into the hands of those who eat people without spitting out bones, it wouldn’t end well!

"Bishop, Bishop, please take the grain in the cellar with you! Get through this first! Save yourself, so you can save others!"

He stood in front of him, pleading bitterly. His lips were chapped, his saliva had dried up, but Bishop Miriam just smiled faintly:

"The Lord says, you must be honest with others, and not betray those who trust you. Gene, what the villagers entrusted to me is not just seeds, but also their hope for surviving next year and their trust in the Lord."

And such trust, no matter what, cannot be betrayed.

Gene's bitter pleas were in vain, he could only watch as the villagers loaded bag after bag of grain onto the carts and pushed them, following behind the bishop. He hesitated, hesitated again, and suddenly stomped his foot and rushed into the house, carrying out a pair of silver candlesticks, and shoved them into the bishop's arms:

"Sir, take these! Just in case, just in case..."

He couldn’t continue. But from Bishop Miriam’s smiling eyes, he could see that the other person understood his meaning:

If those above get angry, having such a valuable item could save you from suffering...

"Hehe, I won't take this." However, under Gene’s hopeful gaze, the old man still pushed the candlesticks back:

"This is your belonging, what use would I have for it?"

"It’s yours! You gave it to me!" 𝚏𝕣𝕖𝚎𝚠𝚎𝚋𝚗𝐨𝐯𝕖𝕝.𝕔𝐨𝕞

Gene growled in a low voice. Bishop Miriam smiled even more kindly:

"This was the price I paid to redeem your soul and place it in the hands of the Lord. Gene, promise me, keep it, and every time you see it, remember your covenant with the Lord."

"Yes, Bishop, I will remember..."

Gene nodded repeatedly. His thick fingers gripped the candlestick tightly, and after a brief prayer, a faint white light rose from the candlestick. Bishop Miriam nodded gently, his smile even kinder:

"Now I can rest assured. Remember, remember the Lord's mercy, and never fall into darkness!"

He left and did not return. Gene held the pair of silver candlesticks, watching the convoy disappear, leaving behind two deep ruts;

Watching the sun rise to the zenith, then slowly descend from the zenith;

Watching a group of cavalrymen swaggering in, searching everywhere in the church;

Watching the second group of people arrive, taking away all the grain in the church cellar...

Instinctively, he wrapped the silver candlesticks in a rag used for wiping the floor, pressing them under him.

The cellar was swept clean, the cavalrymen came and went. Gene curled up in the empty corner of the cellar, his eyes vacant. He didn't know how long it had been until he was shaken awake by two anxious villagers:

"What are you still doing here? Bishop Miriam is going to be burned alive!"

Gene jumped up, clutching the bundled silver candlesticks, and dashed out.

Huff, huff. He didn’t know how long he had run, only that his strong body, like that of a knight, had run until his lungs almost burst. Closer, closer, the stern military camp was closer, closer to the tent of the Holy Radiance—

What is that?

What is that pillar of black smoke?!

Why are so many people crowded around the black smoke, why are a few villagers he recognizes kneeling in the distance, crying?!

"You're late... Gene, you're late..."

Among the kneeling and crying villagers were the two leaders who came to store wheat on that rainy night. They just shouted this one sentence, then buried their heads, sobbing.

Gene stared blankly at them. For a long time, he let out a long howl. He pulled out the candlesticks, frantically tearing off the rag, and charged straight to the camp gate:

"Bishop Miriam is innocent! Innocent!" He raised the candlesticks high, letting the setting sun's rays shine on them, brilliant and radiant:

"It was me, it was me! I secretly sold the military grain and exchanged it for these candlesticks! Let him go! Let him go..."

"Sigh..."

A soft sigh sounded at the camp gate. Then, a thick beam of white light shot out, hitting Gene’s chest, knocking him and the candlesticks flying.

"Edict: Immobilize."

A clear shout. Gene immediately felt his whole body stiffen, unable to move, unable to speak, even his fingers couldn't move. A bishop dressed like Miriam walked out of the camp, looking down at him:

"Miriam was not executed for lacking military grain. Don’t shout, get away from here, don’t get caught with him—understand? If you understand, blink, and come back for his body after the execution is over."

Gene didn’t understand. But he knew this strange bishop meant well. Moreover, Bishop Miriam couldn't be left without someone to collect his body...

He obediently blinked. The bishop sighed lightly and turned away. After a long time, Gene felt his limbs move, and he scrambled to his feet.

He retreated, retreated, tightly holding the candlesticks, retreating to a place farther than the villagers. Then, he looked at the tall pile of firewood in the distance, let out a long howl, and knelt down:

"The bishop is innocent! Innocent! Look, the Holy Light! He still has the Holy Light on him! You are burning a saint alive!"

He banged his head on the ground, howling incessantly. Perhaps because he was too far away, or perhaps because someone had instructed them, no one from the camp came to deal with him.

Until the flames gradually died down, until fewer and fewer people were around the pyre, until only a few soldiers remained. Gene carefully approached them, trying to negotiate:

"Brother... can you do me a favor, let me collect the body?"

"Scram, scram, scram!"

The squad leader guarding the execution ground impatiently drove him away. Gene stepped back, smiling more respectfully, bowing lower:

"Brother, please be kind... After all, he was from the church, even if he's dead, leaving the body exposed would damage the church's dignity..."

"What dignity?"

The squad leader raised an eyebrow. He had been roasted all afternoon, hot, smelly, and choking, in a foul mood. He rubbed his fingers impatiently, and when he saw no response from the person in front of him, he raised his voice and shouted:

"A heretic, burned to death, what dignity? You want to collect the body? Are you a heretic's accomplice?"

The voice grew louder. As expected, just after the last sentence, someone followed up:

"What’s going on?"

"Sir, there's a heretic’s accomplice here!"

The squad leader reported loudly. Behind him, heavy footsteps approached, a knight in clanking armor walked up, his gaze sweeping around with authority, he snorted:

"Is it him? Arrest him!"

The squad leader responded and stepped forward to grab Gene. In the blink of an eye, Gene finally reacted, hurriedly prostrating himself. He raised the candlesticks high, secretly praying for a bit of holy light to shine on them:

"Sir! Please have mercy, sir! This is a small token of my heart, I beg you to offer it to God, give the bishop some dignity!"

The knight made a surprised sound and waved his hand. The two soldiers immediately stopped, the squad leader took the candlesticks and respectfully presented them to the knight:

"Sir, look at this..."

"This country bumpkin is quite wealthy." The knight mumbled softly, walking away slowly with his hands behind his back. The squad leader quickly followed with the silver candlesticks, the soldiers behind him also followed, and soon there were no guards left around the execution ground.

Gene knelt on the ground, watching the holy light on the candlesticks slowly dim, slowly fade away. His eyes also dimmed, as if his covenant with Bishop Miriam, with the Radiant Lord, was also leaving him—

"Hey, kid!" The squad leader, reluctant to part with the candlesticks, suddenly stopped. He shoved the candlesticks into a soldier's hands, took three quick steps back to Gene:

"Don’t think about burying him in the church cemetery! Heretics like him—and you, his accomplice—will be excommunicated and punished with absolute penalties!"

Gene's eyes were empty, as if he hadn't heard. Until everyone had left, he let out a long howl, threw himself onto the pyre, and started digging frantically:

"Bishop! Bishop! Bishop..."

The fire had gone out, but the ashes were still hot. Gene seemed not to feel it at all, kneeling on the ash heap, digging with all his might. Scooping up a handful of ashes, placing it beside him, then another handful...

In no time, his fingers and palms were blistered, then burnt to a crisp. But Gene didn't care, focused solely on digging through the ashes. After a while, he scooped up a bone, tears streaming down:

"Bishop! Bishop..."

Most of the human bones had turned to ashes and granules under the divine flames, mixed with the wood ashes, indistinguishable. However, the bone Gene scooped up was intact, solid, with a

faint silver glow.

In the cathedral where the bishop had taken him to worship, in the stories the bishop had told him, this was the sacred bone that only saints could condense.

"He was a saint... You burned a real saint..."

He collapsed on the ash heap, wailing. After a long time, the villagers cautiously pulled him up and persuaded him away from the pyre. Holding the sacred bone, he watched the villagers scoop up the ashes and put them into a wooden box—

"Gene! Your hands! Heal yourself!"

Gene looked down at his hands in confusion. He lowered his head, closed his eyes, and prayed softly. Once, twice, no matter how many times, no healing light fell on his fingers.

"Oh... I am a heretic." He said softly, opening a smile that grew wider and more terrifying:

"I am a heretic’s assistant. People like me are excommunicated and punished... I can't use divine arts anymore..."

He swayed to his feet, took the wooden box from the villagers, and placed the sacred bone inside, closing the lid. Holding the box, he staggered into the wilderness:

"Bishop, I will find you a grave... find a grave... they won’t bury you next to the church... we will find a good one..."

He walked slowly into the twilight. Behind him, a group of villagers watched, pulling the cart, following him. They walked through the night, through half a day, until Gene suddenly looked up and found himself near the village next to the church:

"Deacon Madeline, bury the bishop here." Two villagers timidly approached him:

"We have our village cemetery here, our ancestors have been buried here for generations... It’s not as good as the church, but please don't dislike it..."

"Dislike? I don’t dislike it, and the bishop wouldn’t dislike it either." Gene gently touched the surface of the wooden box, leaving a trail of blood and soot:

"Here, this is good, this is very good..."

Without much prompting, the villagers gathered at the cemetery. Some dug the pit, others collected stones. Even three or four-year-old children, under adult supervision, helped pull out the weeds around.

Gene bent down, placed the wooden box with the sacred bone into the stone-lined grave, and immediately someone helped cover it with soil. Once everything was done, someone brought a small boy over:

"Deacon Madeline, can you look at the child... he's been feverish for two days..."

"But I no longer have divine arts." Gene extended his hand, looking down. His hand was blistered and raw, some parts already festering:

"I am a heretic, they said, I will be excommunicated, punished... I can’t use divine arts anymore..."

Sighs of despair echoed. Suddenly, the village's strongest young man spat angrily:

"They say you can't so you can't?! If the Radiant Lord is watching, wouldn’t He strike them down with lightning! If the Radiant Lord isn’t watching, why should their words matter?!"

"Yes!"

"Yes, yes!"

Gene Madeline slowly lifted his gaze. The emptiness in his eyes gradually brightened:

There was Bishop Miriam’s tombstone, an ordinary wooden board, with "Here lies a good man" written by his own hand;

There was the sacred bone in the wooden box, glowing faintly, even buried in ashes;

There was the holy light that never extinguished, even in the flames and black smoke of the pyre!

"They say I can’t. But they, who are they?!"

He suddenly raised his hand. With a flexed arm and a wrist rotation, he drew a circle on his chest, dotting seven points around it:

In an instant, bright holy light burst from his scorched fingers. Where it touched, wounds healed, scabs fell away:

"My faith, my divine arts, come from the Radiant Lord, not the church!!!"

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