Kays Translations
Just another Isekai Lover~
Chapter 58: Traditional Virtues
“To brazenly insult the dignity of a noble deity?”
Benjamin von Stein froze for a brief moment, his expression stiffening as he stared at Marlon — a young man whose face was aglow with confidence. With an almost instinctive caution, Benjamin’s sharp eyes swept up and down Marlon’s figure, searching intently for any trace of a divine emblem — the sacred mark of a god’s chosen follower.
He found none.
And when his gaze flicked briefly to the petite fox-eared girl standing beside Marlon, he found none there either. Relief — cold and heavy — sank back into Benjamin’s gut like a stone dropping into a deep well. The tension that had spiked in his chest eased. So, he thought grimly, this upstart youth wasn’t under any god’s protection after all.
Not far away, the town’s small police captain, Bernard Yebler — who had only moments ago been considering stepping in to smooth things over — now stood frozen in disbelief, his mouth slightly open.
Benjamin’s wrinkled lips curled into a mocking sneer. “What a joke! Boy, do you really think an old man like me would be frightened by your cheap tricks? Your flashy toys and deceitful contraptions — no god would ever favor such blasphemous gimmicks!”
His words cut like a lash, and the derision in his eyes made it clear that, in Benjamin von Stein’s mind, Marlon was nothing more than a fool — a pathetic youth pretending at grandeur, only to expose his own idiocy.
“So,” Benjamin pressed, voice sharp as a blade, “answer my question!”
In his mind, the situation was already decided. As long as Marlon was not a true follower of any of the Quin pantheon, and as long as this so-called “projection dueling device” had not been blessed by divine power, then Benjamin was certain he could crush the invention before it took root. Crush it — and with it, the boy’s reputation — before it threatened his own trade as a barrier master.
What a neat little victory that would be.
But no answer came.
Marlon merely turned his gaze — calm, unflinching — toward the crowd that had gathered. And then, to everyone’s surprise, his eyes came to rest upon one man in particular: a dwarf standing among the front ranks, clad in the metallic robes of a priest of the God of Contracts and Machinery.
The air shifted.
Under that unwavering stare, the dwarven priest hesitated, his mouth twitching before he sighed deeply. Then, reluctantly, he stepped forward, parting the crowd as murmurs rippled outward like waves upon water.
Tens of thousands had gathered in the city square, and now, all of them buzzed with bewildered excitement — for this sudden turn of events was far beyond anyone’s expectations.
“Benjamin von Stein,” the dwarf’s gravelly voice finally rang out, calm but resonant, “would you say that my standing here counts as the answer you sought?”
The moment he spoke, Benjamin’s entire body trembled. His face drained of color.
Because he knew that voice.
He knew this dwarf.
Lisp Copperbeard — Elder Priest of the White Sand Cathedral, high servant of the God of Contracts and Machinery, Yorahan.
A man whose title carried a weight far beyond that of any ordinary priest.
Unlike most clerics, the followers of Yorahan were far from gentle shepherds of faith — they were executioners bound by divine covenant. Every one of them was trained to hunt and eliminate those who violated sacred contracts. They were known, in whispers, as the Assassin Priests.
And Lisp Copperbeard — this stout, steel-eyed old dwarf — was the Elder among them. The overseer of White Sand City, home to over three hundred and sixty thousand citizens. An assassin priest among assassin priests.
Now even a fool could see it — the Elder had stepped forward not to condemn Marlon, but to defend him, to prove that the young man’s creation bore no hint of blasphemy.
Benjamin’s knees nearly buckled as the realization struck him.
He had insulted a god. Not just any god, but Yorahan — the God of Contracts and Machinery — in full public view.
His voice quavered as he tried to speak. “E-Elder Copperbeard, I… no, what I meant was merely—”
But Lisp cut him off coldly, his tone carrying the calm weight of divine authority. “Benjamin von Stein, cease your hollow excuses. Whether you have insulted my Lord — that is for Him alone to decide. I stand here only to make this clear: our young Marlon’s invention has been blessed by my Lord’s will.”
At those words, the square erupted. Even the air seemed to hum.
Then Lisp’s stern face softened, his lips curling into a small, knowing smile as he turned toward Marlon. His voice dropped, smooth and alluring, almost conspiratorial.
“Our young Marlon,” he said warmly, “your faith has been tested and found sincere. Would you be willing to formally become a follower of my Lord?”
Marlon hesitated only a fraction of a heartbeat before answering with absolute resolve. “I am willing! I will devote myself to the service of our Lord — and offer one-tenth of all future profits from this invention as tribute!”
The decision, to him, was simple.
First — the Wall of Believers. In this world, any soul without a divine patron was destined, after death, to be trapped within that accursed wall — tormented for eternity. Eventually, he would have had to choose a god anyway.
Second — if one must choose a god, why not choose one who aligns with reason and craft? The God of Contracts and Machinery suited Marlon perfectly. Back on Earth, his former world had revered both those things — contracts and machines — in its own secular way.
As for the ten percent offering… Marlon saw it for what it was — a protection fee.
In exchange for that steady tithe, he would gain the Church’s shield. If someone like Benjamin von Stein ever tried again to destroy him or his work, he could expect the full might of the God’s assassin priests — including Lisp himself — to intervene on his behalf.
And the amount wasn’t random either. The ancient tradition of the tithe — one-tenth — was common among the old faiths. Marlon was simply honoring precedent.
Lisp Copperbeard’s eyes gleamed with a flash of surprise — and amusement.
The old dwarf understood perfectly what Marlon’s words truly meant: I offer faith and tribute — in return, you protect my interests.
A sharp laugh rumbled from Lisp’s chest. He was impressed. Deeply so.
This boy was clever — dangerously clever — and yet sincere enough to be worth investing in.
“My young Marlon,” Lisp finally said, his voice kind, “you think too much. My Lord requires no tithe of coin — only the devotion of your heart.”
But even as he spoke, his mind whispered a different message, sent directly into Marlon’s thoughts through divine telepathy:
‘Child, the tithe is forbidden here in the Republic of Loring. But I understand your intent. Simply take on more of Yorahan’s contracts — that will suffice.’
Then, from the side, came a trembling voice — Benjamin’s again, bitter and desperate:
“Wait! You mean to say that this boy — no, our young Marlon — isn’t yet an official follower of the God of Contracts and Machinery?”
Lisp’s expression turned glacial. “And if that is so,” he asked quietly, “what of it?”
The sudden chill in his words was enough to make Benjamin flinch. Lisp’s smile vanished, his face hardening into a mask of divine judgment.
“Benjamin von Stein,” he said, his voice echoing coldly across the square, “the only question that concerns you now is this — how will you atone for the blasphemy you have spoken against my Lord?”
“Elder Copperbeard,” came a new voice — calm, almost playful.
It was Marlon.
Despite the tension that gripped the crowd, the young man raised his voice through a sound crystal, ensuring every word rang clear across the vast square. “Though Elder von Stein has gravely offended our Lord’s majesty,” Marlon said, smiling faintly, “I believe that, in consideration of his… advanced age and declining wisdom, we might show him mercy — just this once.”
The phrase ‘advanced age and declining wisdom’ drew a ripple of laughter from the onlookers.
Yes — Marlon had done it on purpose.
He was mocking him.
Those who had dared humiliate him would be humiliated in turn. Marlon’s gentle nature had its limits, and Benjamin von Stein had long since crossed them.
The old man’s face flushed from red to white, rage and humiliation warring in his chest. But with the Elder watching — with tens of thousands of witnesses — he could do nothing.
He could only stand there, trembling, suffocating beneath the weight of his own disgrace.
And yet, Marlon wasn’t finished.
With the same polite tone, he turned to Lisp and added, “Still, wrongdoing must be punished — even lightly. Therefore, in the spirit of respect for the elderly and love for the young, I propose that Elder von Stein spend one week cleaning the city square as penance to the God.”
A hush fell. Then, laughter — loud, uncontrollable, rolling through the square like thunder.
Benjamin von Stein’s humiliation was complete.