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Chapter 70 - Chapter 70: Violence Is Meaningless If It Is Not For Killing

"Thank you, Father. I know I'm a good person, even if I've had an abortion, picked fights, and used... a few drugs."

Robert didn't even flinch. "May God forgive you, child."

He checked the floating system screen in front of him.

[Achievement Progress – Convince 15 Villains to Change Their Minds: 14/15]

Fourteen down. One to go.

Robert had been sitting in the confessional booth for hours, and at this point, he was basically a professional. He'd heard it all—infidelity, fraud, assault, theft, illegal crypto mining... you name it. Turns out a lot of people liked to confess to outrageous sins to feel better about themselves.

Most of them weren't genuinely remorseful—they were just looking for a free emotional reset. A verbal cleanse, like downloading a therapy app and checking "I feel sad" before moving on with their day.

Robert didn't mind. He wasn't here to judge. He was here to farm achievement progress. And if someone wanted to cry into a curtain and pretend they were reborn, well, that was their choice.

At least they were paying customers in the morality economy.

Just as he was getting comfortable, the curtain rustled and someone new entered the booth.

[Target does not meet conditions]

Robert sighed. "Another one of the mild sinners," he muttered.

Still, he had to keep up the act.

"Father, I've sinned."

A familiar line. A familiar voice.

Robert leaned forward. Wait... that voice?

The confessor continued: "I used to believe in justice. I thought the courts would do what's right. I tried to help people. I really did. But the system failed. And so... I used violence. I became the violence. I used fists to answer fists."

Robert squinted through the gauze screen.

A tailored suit. Sunglasses indoors. Calm voice with just a touch of melancholy...

"Oh no," Robert muttered. "It's him."

It was Matt.

Matt Murdock. The blind lawyer with fists of steel and a Catholic guilt complex so heavy it could sink a boat.

Robert suddenly regretted not reinforcing the booth with garlic or holy water.

Matt let out a long breath. "So tell me, Father. Do you think violence can truly solve anything?"

Robert adjusted his voice into somber priest mode. "No, child. Violence can never be the answer."

Matt nodded solemnly. His shoulders sagged.

He looked... genuinely troubled.

Of course, Robert didn't stop there. He leaned in, voice soft and conspiratorial.

"Violence can't solve anything," he repeated. "But it can solve the people who cause the problems."

Matt froze.

Was... was that supposed to be profound?

"I'm sorry... what?"

"Think about it," Robert said calmly. "If the problem is a guy robbing banks and punching old ladies, and he's gone... then there's no more problem."

Matt rubbed his temple. "That's... that's not how priests talk."

"I'm just saying, sometimes peace is found at the bottom of a trench."

Matt blinked slowly. "Are you saying violence is good now?"

"I'm saying," Robert said with complete sincerity, "that violence is meaningless… unless it's used to kill."

A long, awkward pause filled the confessional.

"…You're not a real priest," Matt said flatly.

Robert feigned surprise. "What? How could you say that, my child?"

Matt narrowed his eyes behind the glasses. "Your heart's too steady. Your scent is familiar. And you're quoting more action movies than scripture."

Robert chuckled. "Well, when you put it like that…"

Matt focused. His senses flared out, sweeping the area.

He heard it.

A faint, slow heartbeat just a few feet away. Someone unconscious.

"That heartbeat… You knocked out the real priest and took his place!"

Robert sighed dramatically. "He was tired. I'm just helping him catch up on some sleep."

Matt clenched his fists. He was on the edge. One wrong word and the booth would become a boxing ring.

"If you think I'll let you keep impersonating a man of God—"

"Whoa, whoa, let's not do anything hasty," Robert said, holding up his hands behind the curtain. "I'm not hurting anyone. Just giving out advice. Think of me as… a freelance priest."

"There's no such thing!"

"Well, I'm pioneering the role."

Matt ground his teeth. "I'll be watching you."

"I hope so. Free spiritual guidance included."

Matt stood up abruptly, muttering something about lawsuits, fake clergy, and the terrible aftertaste of tofu.

The booth felt calmer without him. Just as Robert began to relax, another person slipped into the confessional.

A soft voice asked, "Father, my cat died. Could you say a prayer for it?"

Robert blinked. "...A cat?"

"Yes," the woman sniffled. "Fluffy was everything to me."

"Ma'am, I'm sorry," Robert said gently, "but our prayers are strictly for human souls."

"Oh, I don't mind paying."

"…Come again?"

"I'd like to donate $50,000 to the church in Fluffy's memory. Could you… say something nice?"

Robert leaned forward instantly. "Well, when you put it that way—of course! Fluffy was a brave soul. One of God's fluffiest creatures. Taken too soon. Do you have the cash with you, or should I bless your Venmo?"

Outside, Matt—still lingering in the church—winced.

This guy's robbing grieving cat owners now?!

If there was ever a time for a thunderbolt from ab

ove, Matt thought grimly, this was it.

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