The Half-Puny Priest Hopes To Retire

13 – Discipline

There may be some parents who say that children should not be scolded, but there are probably no parents who say that children should never be scolded.

If there is such a person, I wonder if I should punish that person.

What kind of disaster a child who has spent a free-spirited childhood without a guardian to correct his mistakes causes the world around him when he is released into society without proper measures.

It is a fact that can be easily understood by watching an animation of a green baby dinosaur using supernatural powers with his fingers.

Discipline is a duty, not a right, of guardians.

This is a book that was burned some time ago. 《The essence of parenting. It was a claim that the author of “Raising a child who is always in trouble without being shaken” repeatedly emphasized, even devoting 10 pages to the chapter.

”Let this go when you say nice things. well.”

”Uh, uh…?”

The saintess stutters and distances herself from me, as if facing a fact that is hard to believe, even that she wants to deny.

It’s just amazing that even I can have such a cold voice coming out of my mouth, but the saintess must have been horrified.

I have heard that there is nothing more frightening than the occasional anger of a person who is not usually angry, but I never dreamed that I would prove the reliability of the similar theory myself.

Of course, I wasn’t really angry. Because this is just a pretend.

Prior to the act of discipline, I just made up a mask that I thought was most appropriate and put it on.

In the first place, it was me who had adhered to a lethargic and functionless life to the point where I couldn’t even tell when the last time I was angry.

I have never been able to come up with a reasonable objection, to the point where I haven’t felt the need to comment on the comments of people around me who often criticized my soft nature, saying that I felt like I was seeing someone who had forgotten how to get angry.

Now, what do we do?

In order to avoid a predicament, the lucky number was recklessly thrown away as if it were going to happen.

It might not be an exaggeration to say that the gamble, which might have brought about the worst outcome, worked to some extent, and it was luck.

The problem is the next number.

Because I, who had built up a wall with the emotion of anger all my life, couldn’t create an atmosphere that was serious enough to spur someone on, other than just lowering my voice with a frown on my face.

Honestly, if only the facial muscles hadn’t stiffened from repeated agony.

Even that immature acting would have turned into a failure.

”Ooh, ooh…”

But this worked again.

Was the talent as a great actor inherent in me belatedly manifested?

Or, is the saintess’ knowledge dull enough to be fooled by my loophole-filled entertainment?

Unfortunately, I didn’t have the mental space to leisurely grade which answer was correct.

After confirming that even such a crude rage could work, taking advantage of this was my top priority now.

”Welna. First of all, take off this hanging on my body right now. Also, I promise you right now that the priest who came here earlier will return the frozen things as soon as possible.”

”Ooh, ooh…”

”Well.”

”Poetry, poetry…”

”Well!”

”Poetry, poetry! Sherrer… Sherare…”

The saintess, startled at my determined tone, but firmly holding on to my collar with both hands, trying to hold on to her stubbornness to the end, looked very pitiful.

The painful memories of adolescence that were imprinted on the body, where there were frequent cases of being stabbed in the head by older adults.

Thanks to informing me that the time to drive the wedge was right now, my original resolution was not broken.

punishment.

Although it is a disgusting act stemming from the outdated idea that hawks are medicine for children who don’t listen.

There are few parenting techniques that give direct feedback as much as this, so it is a so-called devilish means that makes even a benevolent parent take a cane at least once.

I didn’t want to mobilize even such a rough act as much as possible.

One person’s precious life is on my shoulder right now. my life. The lives of people who are not so precious. The life of a light novel priest.

It was no longer the time to choose the means and methods because the fate of about 1.5 servings was on top.

As time went on due to the invasion of divine protection, the senses of the body were gradually worn away.

The fact that I could still move my upper body at will was the difference between my life and my life.

clap.

He tore off the rosario that was hanging around his neck and pulled out the blade hidden inside it as if it were opening the blade of a Balisong knife.

There is a widespread perception within the system that using a Rosary with built-in memorization is a barbaric act to the extent that there is a culture in which priests from the capital implicitly consider it a taboo.

Most of the adventurer-turned-priests, like me, prefer and use memorized rosaries that can be used for self-defense in times of emergency.

On the battlefield, the presence or absence of weapons can mean the difference between life and death.

Even if it was at most a knife the size of the palm of your hand, that it was definitely better than nothing was common sense outside of this system even among children.

”····?”

It was around the time that the saintess, who had a slight embarrassment and suspicion blooming in her eyes, slowly tilted her head when she saw me as I had suddenly pulled the knife out of her bosom.

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Kwajik.

There was a creepy echo as the blade pierced the skin, and red blood flowed.

”···· Huh?”

A weak breath leaked from the saintess’ mouth.

bulging pupils. rapid breathing. Small quivering lips.

The emotions that the series of movements are narrating were clear.

astonished maybe horror.

It was worth it.

The sight unfolding in front of the saintess’ eyes had more than enough justification to bring about such dark emotions.

I plunged the blade into the back of my hand with my hand.

Yes, just like the saintess did in front of me one day.

◈◈◈

honey night. rod. thinking chair.

There must be many types of corporal punishment in this world, but it was difficult to come up with a punishment that would be effective against the saintess.

A corporal punishment enough to frighten a man who pokes and pokes until his hands become rags, just for the trivial reason of not yielding his lips obediently.

Berserk is also cruel, so there’s no way a small person like me, who dropped out midway, could come up with it.

Moreover, even if it is for the sake of education.

The idea that the guardian priest, who should put the saintess’ safety first, is seeking a plan to harm the saintess’s prison body, already constitutes blasphemy.

The corporal punishment that accompanied pain had to be abandoned sooner or later.

While I was thinking about it for a long time, I suddenly had this idea.

If you can’t hurt the saintess herself, why don’t you take something else that the saintess cherishes as a hostage? thought that.

When I first came up with the idea, I had no idea what the saintess would treasure.

In the end, I couldn’t put it into practice because I was concerned about whether it would be right to use such harsh measures for a saintess who was already emotionally unstable.

if now

It was because he clearly knew what the saintess valued.

If it were now that there was no other way to resolve the situation other than resorting to these rough means.

Could I put my evil plan into action?

”Whoa…”

Is it the aftermath of the mind and senses collapsing due to the invasion of divine protection?

In my mind, bizarre logic and concepts floated without order.

Even arranging the occasional fragments of an accident in chronological order was beyond my strength.

The pain in the back of my hand was more tolerable than I thought. Rather, there was nothing to see.

For example, the strange feeling that the body is in an anesthetic state while the consciousness is awake.

The line between dreams and reality is blurring.

Only the vague presence of an unfamiliar piece of metal penetrating my skin and touching my bones made me vaguely aware that the existence that I called myself was still maintaining its original form.

I hate to say this, but I did a good job stabbing.

Although self-injury itself was a planned act.

Since the original plan was to draw a knife and pretend to stab, strictly speaking, sticking a knife into the back of the hand should be classified as an accident.

But my intuition, which has been through dozens or hundreds of life-or-death situations together, tells me.

At this moment, if you don’t create a stimulus to the extent of punching a hole in your hand.

Because my mind will be completely consumed by something formless.

Like a spinal cord reflex, when I came to my senses, my right hand was already driving a blade into the back of my left hand.

”Ouch… Now that my hands have become like this, I can no longer give Welna a hug or stroke her hair… How about this…”

”····”

As if buffering was caught in the brain.

Right after that, the saintess didn’t move at all, without even blinking an eye.

I just stood there, staring at the blood flowing from my left hand.

I hope that the lukewarm drops of blood flowing down the blade will throw their bodies on the floor one after another, leaving dark red stains on this pure white world.

Eyelids getting heavier. Blurring pain.

Shortly after belatedly realizing that the only range of movement left in the body other than the left hand with which the knife had been inserted was the upper part of the neck.

In the end, I decided to take out my last remaining means.

He brought the blade protruding through my palm to my neck.

In a hero movie I saw as a child, the main character with a knife coming out of his hand couldn’t have looked that cool.

If I do it, how can I be so insignificant?

After all, it seems that not everyone is a hero.

”Wellna… This is the final warning… Solve this right away and fix it properly, priest too…”

Immediately after spitting out those words, my mind was already half submerged in darkness.

To the point where I thought there was no way to know what kind of expression the saintess would make or what kind of answer she would give to those words.

Will you shed tears in sorrow? Would you be angry at the feeling of betrayal?

Perhaps you will express your disappointment at my cunning attitude for carelessly putting my own life on the balance.

It was a car that was barely, barely holding on to the consciousness that seemed to be cut off at any moment, making up its own resolution.

A pathetic voice that was familiar to the ears, but somehow felt strange.

”Okay, wrong… hehehe! Now, write it wrong…”