I Became the Fall Guy (Please Keep Reading!)

"Things aren't looking too good."

Under everyone's scrutinizing gazes, Herbert felt his back tense slightly and pressed his lips together.

Suspicion, speculation, even outright hostility... he bore all that malice from others alone.

Herbert could actually understand why they were treating him with hostility-on a purely rational level.

As a newcomer who had arrived barely a month ago and had yet to fully settle into the Misty Monastery, Herbert was an outsider in everyone else's eyes.

And a noble from the Kingdom with a dubious background at that, a loner who never interacted with anyone.

So, with a murder on their hands, who was the most suspicious person among them?

Hey, it really was me!

So Herbert understood their suspicion and hostility toward him.

But... understanding was all he could offer.

Emotionally, Herbert could not accept the injustice of being treated as a suspect.

Because he hadn't done it.

If I didn't do it, why should I be treated like this?

What gave them the right?

Besides, a wrongful imprisonment was precisely what had forced him to come here.

It had happened once already. Was it really going to happen again?

And although Herbert understood the importance of cooperating with an investigation, he couldn't be naïve enough to trust everyone else.

Back in the Kingdom, things had been different. Though he had been wrongfully imprisoned, no one had dared torture him.

But here?

The "great memory restoration technique" wasn't exclusive to his previous life. Beating confessions out of people had always been a time-honored tradition across worlds.

What decent people could there possibly be in the Tribunal!

Would these furious inquisitors really care that I was a noble?

No.

These people would rather kill an innocent than let a culprit escape. At most, they would provide the finest healing afterward-but what fucking good would that do!

Being restored to perfect health didn't mean the pain one had suffered could simply be brushed aside.

Wounds might eventually heal, but the scars they left would never disappear completely.

A certain gentle college student who had only wanted a girlfriend had been tortured until his hair turned white and his entire personality changed.

My hair was already white. There was no need to go through all that just for the occasion.

So Herbert absolutely could not show weakness now, much less volunteer to cooperate with their investigation!

His mind made up, Herbert's expression shifted slightly, and he gave a soft scoff.

"Heh."

His expression was as calm as still water, his gaze turned disdainful, and the corners of his mouth rose slightly as he met everyone's eyes without either submission or arrogance.

But Herbert did not take the initiative to challenge them.

He was waiting.

He knew he didn't need to make the first move now. Someone would inevitably lose patience first and lash out at him, the "suspect."

He didn't have to wait long before an angry voice broke the silence in the great hall.

"What are you all waiting for!?"

A tall, bald nun stepped out of the crowd and glared at Herbert, her right fist clenched tight as she spat through gritted teeth, "Why haven't you seized this murderer!"

Everyone's eyes fell on her. Some were clearly tempted to act, but stopped when they saw that the middle-aged disciplinary nun had made no move.

The middle-aged disciplinary nun did not immediately follow the bald nun's urging and attack Herbert. Instead, she asked slowly, "Why do you think he's the murderer? I don't believe he's strong enough to hurt Frank."

At those words, some of the monks frowned slightly.

Right. With his strength... he really didn't seem capable of it.

"Because he's a blasphemer!"

The bald nun remained firm in her conviction and spoke as though throwing caution to the wind. "That day, I saw him coming out of the kitchen! He must have done something to those grass carp!"

Grass carp?

Herbert blinked, feeling that things were heading in a rather unexpected direction.

Wait, had I become someone else's fall guy!?

Girl, that really wasn't me!

Before Herbert had time to explain, another monk's expression changed at the mention of "grass carp." After a moment's hesitation, he raised his hand too and said slowly:

"Well, I also once found signs of blasphemy beside the Well of Mourning. That day... he passed through there too."

Both of them had noticed faint signs of blasphemy, but without finding conclusive evidence of the culprit's identity, they had kept quiet for fear of alerting the perpetrator and told no one else.

And, as luck would have it-Herbert could be placed at the scene every time.

Oh, shit.

There was no explaining my way out of this now.

Just as Herbert was about to offer an explanation, his pupils abruptly contracted.

A torrent of malice surged toward him, even greater than before!

The moment the word "blasphemer" rang out, the monks, who had begun to show signs of calming down, tore away their superficial masks and bared their hideous, bloodstained fangs.

Countless chilling gazes fell on him from every corner of the hall, as though their owners might rush out to judge and purify him at any moment.

Just as Herbert had concluded at the very beginning, the Penitents felt no qualms about exterminating potential heretics.

Even if the target was a young man who had eaten and lived alongside them for an entire month and knew their names, it made no difference.

Heretics were to be killed on sight.

Eliminating heretics took priority even over hunting down a murderer!

"..."

The roiling, swelling malice nearly swallowed Herbert whole. One wrong step would send him plummeting into the abyss, yet at that moment, he was unexpectedly calm.

Once he had calmed down, he even felt a little like laughing.

Herbert made no response. He simply looked around in silence, calmly meeting the monks' gazes.

Some met his eyes, but more instinctively looked away.

"Heh."

After looking around, he turned toward the disciplinary nun in charge and found that her expression had remained calm throughout.

Seeing him look her way, the disciplinary nun asked evenly, "Herbert, do you have anything to explain?"

Herbert nodded, then shook his head.

He offered the disciplinary nun no explanation. Instead, he turned toward the two who had "reported" him and slowly asked in an exceptionally calm voice:

"Sister Ivanka, Brother Jeffs, may I take what you just said... as a challenge to my purity?"

Explain?

Explain what?

[Rule one of confrontation: don't try to prove your innocence. Don't let your opponent dictate the terms.]

Without waiting for their answer, Herbert unwound the bandages around his left hand and raised it high, the blood on it not yet fully dry.

The very next instant.

Brilliant golden light erupted from the back of his hand, and the dazzling Holy Mark pierced everyone's eyes like a sacred sword.

That was-the Mark of Purity!?

Only then did some of the monks learn exactly what oath Herbert had sworn.

The oath of purity.

If Herbert was a blasphemer, then what was this unmistakably genuine Holy Mark?

Surely it couldn't be an illusion?

Amid the uproar, everyone heard Herbert's second question.

He said:

"So, are you questioning the god who bestowed this blessing upon me?"

[Rule two of confrontation: all offense, no defense-unrivaled under heaven!]