The smell of disinfectant mixed with the quiet presence of death in the ICU.
Rowen stood at the edge of the hospital bed.
The hem of his black robe brushed the bloodstained floor as his bandaged left hand held a silver crucifix, and his right hand gently gripped the frail hand of the pale old woman lying before him.
"...I am the perfect teacher, the Holy Spirit of truth, your salvation," Rowen recited softly, improvising a half-remembered prayer with practiced sincerity.
"And so, I shall hear your prayer. In my name, I bless you on your journey to paradise, that you may rest eternally in my promise and be answered in your final plea."
Sunlight filtered in through the blinds, casting dappled shadows across his face. Combined with his solemn expression, the scene looked genuinely holy.
The old woman, her face contorted from illness, slowly turned her clouded eyes toward him and rasped, "Father... I never believed in Christ, but those words... they sound..."
"If they feel strange, it must be your imagination. Trust me, I'm a professional," Rowen cut in smoothly, adopting the measured authority of an expert.
Footsteps echoed in the corridor outside—the nurse on her rounds.
Rowen silently drew the curtain tighter, shrouding the bed in shadows. The woman suddenly began to cough violently, dark red blood spotting the pristine sheets.
"Will I... still be able to go... to heaven?" she wheezed, her skeletal fingers clinging tightly to his.
"With my blessing? Absolutely."
"That's... a relief. But... one last thing... can I ask you a favor?"
"Eh? Uh... if it's money, I've kind of been living off others lately, so..." Rowen grimaced. He really didn't want to get into financial matters with someone who couldn't even afford anesthesia.
"I-it's not about money... actually, I still have some left..."
"Then why no anesthetics?"
"I just..." Her unfocused gaze stared at the ceiling. "...didn't want to keep living."
"That's... honestly, a bit sad."
"Heh... you're the first one to hear me say that and not try to convince me to keep fighting."
"I've always believed: 'Don't preach virtue to someone whose pain you've never lived.'" Rowen shook his head slowly, then looked her straight in the eyes. "But your pain, your sorrow\.. I can feel it."
"If anyone else said that, I wouldn't believe them... but you... somehow, I do."
"Thank you. Your trust means more to me than anything."
"Do you think... in my next life, I'll get to see my husband again?"
"Of course." He didn't even pause.
"...Really?"
"I swear it in God's name."
"Then... that's good enough for me..."
In that moment, Rowen could feel her fear ease. Even the murkiness in her eyes seemed to clear just a little.
He didn't say much more, nor did he feel any resentment. After all, in exchange for harvesting her pain, he was more than willing to offer her peace of mind.
As for whether heaven actually existed... how would a demon know?
He was just a demon who offered comfort and took payment. This was what you'd call a win-win.
But after a moment of silence, something tugged at his memory. "By the way, what was that favor you wanted?"
"...When I die... bury me in the backyard, beside my husband. And... burn the house down."
"Wait, what? Why? Also, I'm a priest—aren't arson and priesthood kind of... mutually exclusive?"
"All our children... they're already gone. So everything—my savings, the house—it all goes to you. Consider it... a donation..."
"Well, if you insist. I suppose it'd be an honor to serve such a devout follower."
He didn't know all the details, but the word "inheritance" was enough to make Rowen puff up his chest and agree on the spot.
Later, as she recounted things bit by bit, he learned she feared that after her death, distant relatives she hadn't heard from in years would take the house and move her grave out of their lifelong home.
That night, with her worries eased, the old woman passed away peacefully.
Rowen retrieved her hidden savings from the house, hired someone to take care of the body, and oversaw the burial himself—just as she'd wanted. The grave marker had already been prepared.
According to her will, everything was kept simple.
Finally, the old wooden house went up in flames.
The crackling of fire devouring the home rang unnervingly loud in the quiet night. Rowen stood before the blaze, the heat washing over him, while ashes danced around him like black butterflies.
They hadn't known each other long—too little for him to feel real grief.
But still, to speak to someone in the afternoon only to see them gone by night… it left a strange melancholy in his chest.
And...
"I feel like I'm forgetting something... oh—crap! I had a meeting tonight!"
After a long pause, he finally remembered. He hastily grabbed the Bible he'd dropped and took off running toward his next appointment.
That's right—the casino was also one of his workplaces. Though... the methods there were a little different. Mostly, he offered biblical repentance. Sometimes enforced repentance. For a fee.
The man he was meeting was the son of yesterday's client. That part was confidential—only the two of them knew he'd been hired.
...
The quiet streets swayed under flickering lamplight.
Rowen jogged toward the meeting spot. Right away, he spotted the familiar scrawny man—and next to him, a burly thug with a face full of scars and a grotesque tattoo on his arm, flanked by two obvious goons.
"You the meddling priest?" the thug sneered, looking Rowen up and down. "Thought you'd run off. Didn't expect you to have balls."
"You must be mistaken," Rowen said, smile tugging at his lips. "I don't rely on courage—I walk into casinos armed with the Bible."
He raised the hefty book and gave it a shake.
"Gambling, after all, is nothing but a pact with demons. I came tonight to offer you all a chance to repent."
"Repent?" The thug barked a laugh like it was the funniest thing he'd heard all year. He stepped forward with menace dripping from every movement. "Kid, sounds like no one's taught you a lesson before. Guess I'll see which is tougher—my fists, or your Bible!"
"Oh? So we're doing this? A pity. But if words won't reach you, I can always resort to other methods."
"—YOU'RE DEAD!!" the man roared and swung his massive fist straight at Rowen's face.
Rowen didn't flinch. With a flick of the wrist, he swung the Bible like a hammer—smashing it down onto the thug's skull.
BAM!!
Before the punch even connected, the thug's vision went black. A wave of searing pain slammed into his head as he stumbled backward and collapsed, blood pouring from his nose.
"Boss!!"
"Kill him!!"
The two goons pulled knives and lunged.
But Rowen, even one-handed, moved like lightning. His enhanced strength made the Bible in his grip swirl through the air with terrifying force—each strike slicing the wind with a heavy whoosh.
First strike—shattered wrist.
Second strike—cracked collarbone.
Blood sprayed in arcs beneath the streetlamp.
Before long, the final thug was lying in a pool of red, groaning, no longer able to stand.
"Looks like... my Bible's harder than your fists."
Rowen whispered with a grin, opening the hollowed-out Bible to reveal a metal plate tucked inside the cover. Then he turned to the scrawny man and gave the blood-streaked book a little shake.
"You called me here to understand the mysteries of the Bible, right? So what's it gonna be—are you coming to me, or am I coming to you?"
"I-I won't gamble again! I swear! Never again!" The man dropped to his knees, hands clasped in a desperate prayer, as if begging not to get Bible-smashed like the others.
"Fine. But if I catch you in a casino again, I'll beat you to death with the Word of God! Ahem. By the way... ever heard of tithing? Since I've saved your soul, a donation seems fair, right?"
The client couldn't pay, so Rowen decided to charge the son instead. Basking in the man's terror, he strolled over and tapped his cheek with the bloodied Bible cover.
Faced with no other choice, the man whimpered and handed over his wallet.
Rowen didn't rush.
He casually looted the wallets of the guys on the ground first, pocketed the cash, then tossed their wallets aside.
He soaked in the mix of humiliation and fear in the air with a blissful expression as he tucked the well-earned "service fees" into his coat. He even leaned down to taunt each of them a little before finally—reluctantly—leaving the scene.
Downtown, near a food stall buzzing with late-night energy—
"Tonight's take was better than expected~ Got a bit of a workout, too... Hmhm~ might as well grab something for Kanao... ah—damn it! I forgot!"
Just as he was about to treat Kanao to a midnight snack, Rowen suddenly froze mid-thought, remembering what he'd almost overlooked. Beyond his demon duties and casino brawls...
He still had dinner duty.