Chastity-Reversed Hard Mode: Surviving as a Steel-Minded Adventurer in Another World - Chapter 18: Playing the Saint with a Steel Mentality

Chapter 18: Playing the Saint with a Steel Mentality

We arrived at the city, spent one night at an inn, and the next day Deabolica dragged us off to the mansion of Count Longfield, the local ruler.

By the time we were heading there, it was already near sunset. Which made me wonder—wouldn’t it have been smarter to just visit yesterday, right after we got in?

When I casually brought that up at the inn, Deabolica gave me a look of pure exasperation.

“You idiot. She’s a count. Even if we sent a herald ahead, you don’t just waltz in and meet a noble right after arrival. This is already fast—she cleared her schedule because the diagnosis was urgent. With the difference in rank, making us wait a week would’ve been perfectly normal.”

“Heh. Guess nobles really are busy people. Here I thought they just shoved work on their underlings and spent their days hunting rabbits.”

“…If you even think about saying something like that in front of the count, I swear I’ll kill you. Aside from necessary words, keep your mouth shut. Unless you want to find out firsthand what it’s like to die for offending a noble.”

“Yes, yes.”

Not like I had any burning desire to cozy up to nobles anyway.

From behind me, Ursna was covering her mouth, shoulders trembling as she tried to hold back laughter.

…Really? That actually hit her funny bone?

Lately, I honestly had no idea what was going on in Ursna’s head anymore.

“And this—put it on. It’s your ‘work uniform.’”

What Deabolica handed me looked like some oversized, baggy garment.

Ah, wait—I’d seen this before, even with my weak grasp of history. Pretty sure important Roman senators wore this back in the ancient empire. Shows up in fantasy stories too. A toga, right?

“As I told you last night, let me remind you again. From this point on, your title is ‘Saint.’ If anyone asks about your background, say you came from the East on a pilgrimage, and upon reaching the Great Brishav Isles, God granted you the power to heal. That’s it. No extra details.”

“And this outfit? Looks kinda hard to move in.”

“That’s a replica of what senators in the ancient Loman Empire wore. I can’t very well let you meet a count in those shabby rags. But we also can’t dress you like an Old Church priest dripping in ornaments—we’re a New Church nation. I needed something without religious baggage, yet still carrying a sense of tradition. This struck the right balance. Outdated, maybe, but it gives you an exotic flair. Naroppa folk idolize the old Loman Kingdom, so this look will sell the image.”

“So basically, I’m supposed to look like some big-shot from the land of our super-ancestors?”

“Exactly. Now hurry up and change.”

But, why the hell is an East Asian guy wearing a Roman senator’s outfit?

Talk about a cultural mashup gone wrong…

Still, compared to my half-year-old T-shirt and jeans, or the patched-up junk clothes I bought after arriving here, this was probably the less embarrassing option.

So I went back to my room and tried it on.

…Wait. How do you even wear this thing?

There were way too many folds. Did I wrap it right?

Hold up. Isn’t there just… not enough fabric?

No matter how I adjusted it, the chest part gaped wide open—like my right nipple was seconds away from a grand debut.

“Hey, Deabolica, am I wearing this right? Feels like there’s not enough cloth here.”

I stepped back into the room where everyone was waiting.

The girls froze—eyes glued to me.

““…So damn sexy!!!””

“Never have I felt the cultural gap with this world so strongly as today.”

Ursna and the others were staring like their eyeballs might fall out.

Irene, face blazing red, pinched her nose shut and turned away.

Then peeked. Looked away. Peeked again. Total sneak-glances.

What even was this? I couldn’t wrap my head around it.

This baggy, fold-heavy, chest-baring toga was supposed to be sexy?

What the hell was hitting their sweet spot here? Someone, please explain.

≪Explanation Time!

This outfit is a never-before-seen fashion statement that fuses ancient tradition with divine aura… while dialing the sex appeal up to eleven!

Picture it: a goddess leading her starry knights, clad in a white dress with the neckline plunging scandalously low—that’s the kind of impact we’re talking about!

And thanks to expert tailoring, the hem hugs tight to the legs, showing off every curve below the waist. Even the crotch outline is crystal clear!≫

“Not bad. For something we had rushed overnight, the craftsmanship is quite good.”

Deabolica nodded, looking smug.

So basically… this was all her idea of “fashion.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever truly understand you.”

“You only realized now? As for me, I already gave up on understanding you.”

“Seriously though, why design it to be so skimpy? A regular toga would’ve been fine.”

Deabolica tilted her head, looking genuinely puzzled.

“What are you talking about? Sacred figures have always been expected to wear revealing clothes. That’s been the standard since ancient times.”

“…”

Oh. Right.

This was Naroppa—the land where gender values were flipped upside down.

Well… guess that explained it.

≪Explanation Time!

In regular old fantasy stories, it’s the priestesses and saintesses who strut around in outrageously skimpy outfits.

But here in Naroppa, where gender values are flipped, it’s the male priests and saints who wear the scandalous getups like it’s perfectly normal!

Meanwhile, the female clergy are bundled up head to toe.

Also, fun fact—Deabolica’s actually been calling Yuji the male equivalent of “Saintess,” basically “Saint-Man.” But Yuji’s brain refuses to process such cursed Japanese, so his [Otherworld Language Proficiency] skill kindly auto-translates it into the much more tolerable “Saint.”≫

Back in my gacha-game days, I used to laugh like, “Pfft, look at this so-called saintess in her swimsuit armor—those high-cut leotard lines are ridiculous! No way she’s holy!”

And now here I was, wearing a porno-tier outfit myself, forced to play the role of Saint.

Yeah. Karma’s a bitch.

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“An honor to make your acquaintance. I am Deabolica, third daughter of Gigantia Hottaste, lord of Thousand Leaves City in West Essex. I am deeply grateful for the chance to stand before you today.”

“Welcome, Lady Deabolica, even from so far afield. I am Rose, head of the Longfield family. Let us give thanks to God for blessing us with this opportunity to forge new ties on such a fine day.”

Deabolica and I were ushered into the reception room of the Count’s mansion.

The adventurers had to surrender their weapons to the Count’s retainers and were left waiting in the next room—apparently, weapons were strictly forbidden inside.

The Count remained seated while Deabolica performed a deep curtsy. You could feel the weight of the status gap in that single gesture.

Sure, Deabolica was technically a noble, but only the third daughter of a landless gentry family that ruled a single city and a few nearby villages.

Meanwhile, her host was the head of a full-fledged count’s household, holding multiple territories.

That’s like comparing the CEO of a top national corporation to some middle manager at a small-town company. Brutal.

And so much for her “acquaintance.” This was obviously their first meeting.

As for me, I was kneeling behind Deabolica, one knee on the ground and head bowed.

Apparently, even lifting my face without permission counted as disrespect.

Man, this world was suffocating.

Shouldn’t Naroppa be more like: “Yo, Count old man! Pleasure to meet ya!” and then, “Ha! Lively lad, I like your spirit! Wahahaha!”?

But no—according to Deabolica, nobles here cared so much about their pride that if they felt even slightly slighted, they’d just kill you on the spot.

What were they, Kamakura samurai?

Anyway, I wasn’t about to test it. No way was I risking my life just to crack a joke.

“And the one there is…?”

“Yes. This is Yuji, a saint from the East, here to purge illness and disease.”

“Raise your face. I grant you special permission.”

At Deabolica’s signal, I raised my head.

I didn’t say a word—just looked up.

No telling what might set a noble off, so better safe than sorry. Silence is golden.

I’d expected the Count to be a man, but nope—she was a woman.

Looked to be in her mid-thirties, hiding her mouth behind a fan made of bird feathers.

Ah, must be one of those “refined noblewoman” habits.

I couldn’t see her whole face, but her eyes were elegantly shaped—probably a beauty.

…Wait. Did I just spot something red around her nose?

Nah. Couldn’t be. Right?

I wanted to check more carefully, but staring would definitely be rude.

The Count kept her gaze fixed on me, fanning herself lightly.

“Stand.”

I nodded in silence and rose to my feet.

Should I be giving a greeting here? …Nah. Deabolica told me not to say anything unnecessary.

Worst case, I could always play the “dumb foreigner” card—“Oh, sorry, didn’t understand the words”—and slip by.

“Hmm… quite a fine body you have. Tell me, how many have you lain with so far? You’re from the East, are you not? Surely you’ve sold your body for travel money before?”

…Excuse me, what?

Lady, who the hell asks that right off the bat!?

That’s way more insulting than me strolling in like, “Yo, Count old man, sup!”

And seriously, how was I supposed to answer that?

This line of questioning was definitely not in the script.

As I floundered, Deabolica opened her mouth.

“My lord Count, this man has never known a woman. As you are aware from the prophets’ stories, one blessed by God with such powers must remain pure of body. Should he lie with a woman, his gift may be lost forever—thus, he has sworn lifelong chastity.”

…Oi, oi, oi.

Did she just declare me a permanent virgin in front of everyone?

Sure, if I don’t meet anyone in this world, I might just carry my virgin bonus all the way into my next life… but still.

“Hmm… I see. Such a waste of a body, though…”

The Count’s eyes roamed over me, lingering on my chest and—oh come on—straight down at the bulge pressing against the fabric.

Ugh. Bad chills all over.

…Yeah, got it now. She didn’t see me as an equal human being.

To her, I was a foreigner—basically no better than a slave—so she thought she could stare as crudely as she wanted.

Damn. If all the nobles here were like this, then Deabolica was actually… one of the better ones.

…Nope. Couldn’t. The disgust won out.

Let’s just heal her and get the hell out.

“Shall I begin the examination right away?”

Deabolica shot me a glare that screamed, Don’t you dare speak out of turn!

I ignored her.

“Oh? You can speak? And so fluently, too. Why, that’s even the upper-class tongue—Posh, no less! Where did you learn it?”

Posh? What the hell’s that supposed to be?

I’ve been speaking plain old Japanese this whole time.

Eh, whatever. I’ll just play along.

“I studied because it was necessary for healing.”

“I see. So you stole both the knowledge and the language from some physician, did you?”

“No. But I can cure any disease.”

“Hahahaha! A lowly Eastern monkey dares boast he can cure what the greatest doctors of our glorious Brishav Empire could not!? How amusing!”

…Except her face didn’t look amused at all. She looked one breath away from snapping.

“If you truly thought I couldn’t heal you, then why summon me in the first place?”

“An old acquaintance reached out after more than a decade. I merely obliged. Should this turn out to be a fraud, I’ll gladly send her your head as a gift.”

An old acquaintance?

Didn’t sound like she meant Deabolica.

Something else was moving behind the scenes… but honestly, not my problem.

“Well then, that’s convenient. At least you won’t have to pay shipping fees when my head doesn’t go out.”

“Hmph. So even among monkeys, there are some who grasp humor. Surprising.”

With that, the Count lowered her fan, revealing her face.

“Now that you’ve seen this ugliness, know this—your filthy body won’t leave this house alive. If you wish to depart, it’ll be your head alone.”

Ah, I see now.

The moment I looked at her, I understood. I’d seen this exact condition just two weeks ago.

“Syphilis, isn’t it?”

“…So, you are a doctor after all.”

Her lower face was ravaged—angry red sores spreading across her skin, lips cracked and blackened with rot.

Far worse than the mage I’d treated back in Deabolica’s city.

“They call it an incurable disease. My physicians tried everything, but in the end, they gave up. Claimed it was divine punishment for my sins. If I wished to be healed, I was to strip naked, soak myself in a lake, pour ice water over my head again and again, and beg God for mercy in my suffering. Utter nonsense. I had his head chopped off so he’d never spout such drivel again.”

“Well, he wasn’t completely wrong about one part—you did commit a sin. But that’s just a sexually transmitted disease.”

“I merely fulfilled my duty as a noble-born woman. To be the hearth from which the next heir is born—how could that be called a sin?”

“That’s fine… as long as you stick to one partner when making kids.”

“Hmph… And so? Can you cure it?”

“Of course. I cured the exact same disease just two weeks ago.”

“…Lies. An Eastern wretch like you surpassing the medicine of Great Brishav? Impossible.”

“Oh, shut up already! Patients should sit down and do as they’re told! You want to be cured, right? Then stop yapping and stay put!”

“…”

Since she kept dragging things out with useless talk, I finally snapped and shut her down with some strong words.

From the corner of my eye, I caught Deabolica going pale as a sheet—but whatever.

I didn’t have the luxury of playing a never-ending bomb-defusal game with someone who could kill me at any second just because I said the wrong word.

Better to risk pissing her off and force the treatment forward than waste time and end up dead.

Call me a cocky transmigrator if you want—no way was I going to bow and scrape to someone who looked down on me.

Count? Ha. I’m a Saint. In the most sacred name of God, I command you—hold your tongue (shut the hell up).

The Count blinked in surprise and fell silent. Perfect. I seized the chance to push the “ritual” forward.

From my pocket, I pulled out a stylish triangular bottle—my so-called sacred holy water.

“With this holy water, the sickness shall be weakened. Reflect upon your sins and beg forgiveness from God.”

I dripped it onto the Count’s head, letting it trail down her face.

According to the “lore,” this holy water had been sanctified under the full moon, in a purified sanctuary, after a saint spent the entire night in prayer. A one-of-a-kind, priceless relic of the world.

In reality? Just plain well water.

As I smeared it over her face, the Count closed her eyes and began to pray—maybe resigned, maybe genuinely feeling something holy in the moment.

Truth was, I could’ve healed her with a single glance.

But Deabolica had insisted: “If you’re going to take money from nobles, the ritual has to look elaborate and convincing.”

So here I was, stuck going through this pointless performance.

Funny thing was, Deabolica had explained the whole religious setup to me—this country’s official faith was the New Church, right?

Didn’t they ditch the Old Church specifically because of its gaudy, money-grubbing rituals?

And yet, the rich here still worshipped anything that looked needlessly fancy.

Talk about hypocrisy.

Yeah, total contradiction.

Basically, they couldn’t stand the church lording its power over them—but when it came to flexing their own wealth and status? Oh, they were all over it.

“Next, I shall recite the holy verses to drive out the sickness.”

I began chanting a passage from this world’s scripture—one where a prophet cast out demons.

Deabolica had read it to me once, and I memorized it word for word. My memory’s not bad, so stuff like this is easy. Sure, unlike a real priest, it had zero effect… but hey, I was like that temple kid who recites sutras without having a clue what they mean.

“And the prophet said: Begone, demon! You shall no longer torment this soul…”

Ah—crap.

Forgot the rest.

Uhh…

“Jugemu jugemu, gokō-no-surikire, kaijari suigyō-no suigyōmatsu, unraimatsu, fūraimatsu, kūneru tokoro-ni sumu tokoro…” #(Everlasting Everlasting, Worn-down of Virtue, Pebble-and-Carp of the Waterfall’s End, Cloudy Pine, Windy Pine, Dwelling-Place-Where-You-Sleep-and-Eat…)

“…What’s this? A verse I’ve never heard before…”

“This is a very sacred chant from my homeland in the East.”

“I see.”

No, you don’t.

Well, I guess technically it was a string of auspicious words. Still, it was actually just the punchline from a comedy skit.

“Paipo paipo, paipo-no-shūringan, shūringan-no gūrindai, gūrindai-no ponpokopī-no ponpokonā-no…” #(Paipo Paipo, Paipo’s Ever-Rolling-Eye, Rolling-Eye’s Great-Green-Shell, Pompoko-Pea and Pompoko-Na…)

“And what does that mean, translated into Brishav—”

“Chōkyūmei-no Chōsukeeeeee!!!” #(Long-Long-Life Chosukeーーー)

Before she could ask me anything else—smack! I slapped the Count right on the forehead.

Hell yeah. Took a swing at a noble’s head, and it felt amazing!

“H-Hey—what are you—”

“Yes, all done! You’re completely cured now! Congratulations on your recovery!”

I shouted louder than Deabolica, cutting her off and declaring the miracle myself.

“…”

The Count looked down at her body, then with trembling fingers pulled off her gloves.

Not a single wart remained on her hand.

Slowly, she picked up a silver bell.

“Someone—fetch me a mirror! Now!”

A servant rushed in, flustered, carrying a hand mirror.

…Huh. Guess “maid” was a guy’s job in this world. At least he was dressed like a butler. If a burly man in a frilly maid dress had walked in, I might’ve gouged out my own eyes on reflex.

Well… with [Pain Resistance], I probably would’ve endured that too.

The Count peered into the mirror—then tears spilled freely down her cheeks.

She stared at her reflection for a long moment, then pressed the damp mirror face-down on the table and seized my hand.

Her grip was strong—really strong—as she bowed her head.

“I spoke to you rudely many times. When I saw your appearance, I thought it impossible you could heal me. I judged you a fraud dressed in provocative garb. To spurn the kindness of Lord Goldon… that was my own ignorance.”

Oi! So the outfit was backfiring after all!

I mean, duh. If some half-naked SSR-tier babe popped up in a gacha game saying, “I shall heal you~,” my first thought would also be, “What, is this just fap support?”

Damn it, Deabolica. Don’t tell me the whole point was to shove me into a skimpy costume just to humiliate me.

What are you, a closet perv-yakuza?

“Yet despite my repeated insults, you swallowed your pride and treated me with sincerity. Such tolerance—you truly must be a saint with virtue beyond doubt. Please, forgive my rudeness.”

“In the sacred name of God, your sins are forgiven. From here on, keep yourself pure.”

“Your merciful words strike deep into my very bones.”

Phew. Good, good. I’d blown up at her, ready to risk it all—but inside I’d been panicking like, “Uh… what do I do after this?”

…But wait. Did she even understand what I just said?

Better spell it out.

“Look, the syphilis symptoms are gone, but the germs are still in your body. They’ll eventually get flushed out through, you know, natural waste. But if you have sex before that, you could infect your partner. So seriously—no sex for a while, okay?”

“Hmm, very well. Then, Saint, I’d like you to begin the next treatment.”

“…Next treatment?”

“Bring them in!”

The Count clapped her hands sharply, and the door at the back of the room swung open.

Men filed in—some in finely tailored suits, others in butler uniforms, some dressed like cooks or gardeners.

Every single one of them either had red-black sores on their faces… or wore masks covering everything below the nose.

And it wasn’t just five or ten.

There were nearly twenty…!

“These are my husbands and lovers. I’ll need you to heal them as well. If only I recover, I’ll be left without partners in my bed! Naturally, you’ll be well compensated for your trouble, hahahaha!”

I couldn’t help it—I staggered back and wiped my hand on my pants, the same hand she’d been clutching earlier.

You can’t blame me for that one. Even Deabolica, off to the side, was visibly twitching with horror.

The men themselves weren’t guilty of anything—they’d just been unlucky enough to catch it from the Count.

No sin on their part, but still…

T-This old hag… pure ick!