According to the manufacturer's manual, the silvery tea set was made of a damage-resistant mithril alloy. Consisting of a serving tray and a teapot by default, it could generate cups, condiments, and utensils as necessary. The types and quantities of tea it could pour were limited only to the user's imagination. Cleaning was made simple by commanding the platter to dematerialize used items and spills and sanitize itself.

There was no need to use mithril when any material would have worked. The conjuring effect comes standard with any good magic tablecloth. Being able to pour unlimited tea is no different from the other infinite pots specialized in some type of liquid. A system to create teas based on the user's imagination limits its value to the average drinker. While important, self-cleaning comes as a standard feature on magical items related to food and drink. In short, this tea set was a budget item marketed to part rubes with their cash.

Nothing even worth producing, I thought as I continued walking in place. Every step materialized a yen and dropped it into my money bag. The cash was useless in a place like this unless converted into the local currency. Even in Japan, it was next to worthless, just like many other countries' low-denomination coins.

However, one-yen coins had two major advantages in this world. Weighing one gram each, they could be used as a reference for unit standardization to Earth's metric system. More importantly, they were minted from pure aluminum, still a precious metal over here. For now, I controlled the only supply, as this world hasn't discovered the secret of isolating the metal. I wasn't sure if they even had electricity for their labs.

Cheat catalogs for the next sales period still needed to be reviewed. I scrolled the holographic display to the appliances, returning to what I was doing before the tea set caught my eye. Unlimited drink production for mess halls was better accomplished with magical brewers. Hand-cranked churns for making infinite butter, mayonnaise, or whatnot had led to complaints of injuries among operators. The less said about the condiment bottles, the better.

Weapons, armor, and clothing came next. Folktale WMDs mingled with ultimate gear born from fiction and improvised weapons from the real world. Clothes, no matter how little their defensive properties, were designated as a subcategory of armor. We could probably open a cosplay shop with all the designs we had, except we'd go broke from a lack of sales.

Our cash cow remained in expendable materials. Ores, minerals, and chemicals are always in demand. This world still uses double displacement reactions to produce alkali hydroxides and nitrates, meaning slaked lime is a vital resource for industry. Alchemists love being able to buy concentrated sulfuric acid for their experiments. I didn't have the heart to tell them of how they were nowhere near the process for synthesizing a philosopher's stone, but at least they weren't treating me as their personal delivery service.

Other people aren't so respectful. Transplanted individuals from Earth are too accustomed to having everything available on demand. Nobles from this world believe they can use their power to take whatever they want. They're why I have to run around the planet between shifts at my official job. Exactly what that job is, even I don't remember. People from this world call me a saint, which hardly meshes with being deployed as the tip of the spear or relegated to courier duty.

I suppose my title didn't matter. The girl who was supposed to be summoned received a second chance at life back in Japan. Meanwhile, the gods were watching this case unfold and collecting evidence for later. After all, this world had essentially tried to abduct a minor to force her to work against her will. We frown on that.

After a total of one thousand steps, enough aluminum was collected for my purposes. What local craftsmen did with it would have been a waste of effort on Earth. My use for it was even more wasteful, but this was still my property.

So were the nineteen kilos of ammonium nitrate.

I'd recently stocked an indoor pond with common carp caught on Earth. Even with an aerator to oxygenate the water and a dehumidifier to control the room's climate, this was hardly an ideal environment for raising the fish. Their quality would decline if they kept getting spooked by distant shockwaves, like from the explosion outside. In any case, the carp would all be dead within the next two days, served to nobles and aristocrats with more money than sense. Even if I purged and purified my fish upon sale, consumers were complete idiots for liking a trash fish that was historically raised in cesspools.

Of course, there were worse fools out there. A number of pilgrims thought I could be converted into a true believer if they came before me with crying children at the forefront. The same disgusting use of strategic tears was prevalent on Earth, only with migrants instead. With their saint's help, they believed, nothing could stop them. Twenty kilos of ammonal begged to differ; the IED I'd placed in an abandoned cart along the roadside left many dead or wounded.

It was a risk to use ammonal. While I'd imported ammonium nitrate fertilizer from other worlds in great quantity, only renowned artists had access to aluminum powder in large quantities. Then again, it was much easier to explain the presence of aluminum than a peroxide explosive. Acetone peroxide in the detonator needed to be minimized to avoid giving away the bomb through smell.

The investigation would be short. All the casualties would be blamed on a demon lord who existed only on paper. The state and church were going to use this incident as a pretext for a purge.

In return, the state and church would be purged by my hand. This world, after all, tried to summon an innocent young woman and force her to do their bidding. If I hadn't been assigned to act as her substitute, she would have been trapped far from Japan with no one for support. While I understood worlds like these were desperate, this was no excuse for abduction and enslavement of foreign citizens. The culpable country had already signed its death warrant; I was here to gather evidence justifying my conclusion. Once I recorded enough proof, my colleagues and I would be given clearance to wipe them out.

And so, I had to handle the workload of so many personas by myself. To the gods, I was a private contractor known as a retailer of their products and for taking on special missions. This country's government and church labeled me a saint and spread the lies far and wide, their way of trying to keep me in a gilded cage. Nobles saw me as the merchant who brought delicacies directly blessed by a goddess to their tables. My creditors… well, I was the dumbass paying tons of interest on a shopping spree.

The Otherworld Innovations Expo left me in serious debt. This cycle, there were so many relics, skills, and cheats worth licensing that I financed them on credit. Many other attendees were left in far worse shape; my patron goddess' services come at a premium during labor shortages. Thankfully, gods from other worlds are always facing labor shortages after summoning humans from Earth started requiring informed consent from the summoned. By the way, engineering a death to reincarnate the soul in another world is also restricted—we're not careless enough to leave that loophole open.

A frantic banging came at the door. "Lady Saint!" a servant to some noble called from the other side. From the voice, he was a young man. His diction told me he'd served in the military at some point. The shortness of breath was a sign that he'd come from the road. Most likely, he had taken a chance as to whether or not I'd be here. "Please, for the love of the gods, hear me!"

Love of the gods, my ass. Oh well, it's showtime. I didn't turn around. There was too much of a chance that I wouldn't be able to keep a straight face. "Enter."

The door opened, bringing a whiff of blood into the room. Faint slaps of skin on cloth and a subtle change in his breathing clued me in that he was bowing. "Lady Saint, apologies for intruding! The prophet Xavier's procession has been attacked!"

"Casualties?" I asked. It wasn't unusual for me to sound so cold. The people of this world knew I needed to keep calm during purifications. Furthermore, no messenger was to be sent to disturb me on one of my rare breaks unless it was urgent.

"Too many to count! We were caught in an explosion! Only by the gods' grace did the prophet escape harm!"

"Very well." I turned around at last. As expected, the young man was covered in blood and dirt. He'd been close enough to the blast to be knocked down, but far enough to suffer only relatively minor injuries. His hearing was definitely impaired to some degree, which simply wouldn't do. I cast a spell to cleanse and heal him. "All right, you can head back now."

"Wait a moment, Lady Saint!" he protested. Didn't I just fix his hearing? "What about the others?"

"Yeah, that's why you're going back," I reiterated. "You'll be acting as my guide. Head to the centers of the triage areas. I'll lock on to you and cast area healing. Understood?"

"Yes, Lady Saint!" He saluted and took off. Yep, he was definitely a messenger boy, just like the ones I kill in major battles.

This plot was a failure. No matter how many I killed, this matter wouldn't be resolved until I took down Xavier and his cult. Prophet or not, a boy like him had no business leading any movements. He was an imbecile who fancied himself a holy warrior and somehow managed to keep recruiting other children to his banner. Because of his ineptitude, I'd already saved his life more times than I could count, and that was just the ones off the battlefield. The fact that I was considered one of the least likely individuals trying to assassinate him should speak volumes of how much he's hated.

Shortly after healing the casualties and seeing them off, parties from the Adventurers' Guild showed up in force. Stock quests for novice adventurers involved menial tasks like collecting herbs or subjugating weak monsters. Enlisting the aid of mages with mid-tier storage magic to transport fish proved this was a high-reward mission instead. Some rich inlanders must really love fresh fish to clean out my entire stock.

Part of me hoped that all those consumers were eating carp only because it was an exotic food blessed by a shady saint and an even shadier goddess. The alternative was that they were eating it because they liked the smelly, slimy, bony, bottom-feeding oily fish. Judging by the aristocracy's favored recipe of cooking it in milk and onion sauce, I feared it was the latter.

"Typical day off?" asked the last wizard to be served. Clean-shaven and short-haired, he was clearly a veteran adventurer who'd encountered his share of fire traps. A leather vest under his brown traveling outfit and a pair of thick gauntlets were signs that he knew the necessity of defending against melee opponents. His rucksack was a backup in case something interfered with his magic; otherwise, he had the ability to store vast quantities of nonliving objects within a space where time was stopped.

"Close enough," I answered. The next carp to be slaughtered got whacked with the flat of my cleaver before its gills were cut. "The usual explosion hit the old handcart. Xavier's procession happened to be passing by. They took casualties."

The wizard grumbled. "The little brat planned this."

"Always a possibility with X," I said, bleeding the fish over a sink. The order had specified minimal processing and no freezing, which left only this method. As far as I knew, I was the only person on this world who could store live objects in an item box. Therefore, the fish had to be killed and placed into stasis, leaving the rest of the preparation to the kitchen staff. "Were you at the Distillery Valley Massacre last month?"

"I wasn't, thank the gods." He opened his item box once I used magic to purify the fish. "He left his entire crusade to die while fleeing for his life. The Infantas lost most of their officers before the Twelfth covered their retreat."

I nodded, starting work on the last carp. "And now, X is rebuilding his Eighth Regiment with another batch of child zealots." Again, the cleaver came down. "He knew I have assassins launching harassment fire every so often. He still chose to march a tight column along an exposed road on a known date and time." I redirected the subject to business while cutting the gills. "Anyway, we're just about done here. You've probably heard by now, but I'll be switching to selling frozen pork for a fortnight. Her Divinity has a few thousand extra pigs to unload. Guess who's responsible for purifying them one by one?"

"A few thousand?" he echoed. "My condolences."

The day ended back at the divine realm. I exited the portal and stepped into my decontamination chamber, the essential first step after any trip to a foreign land. Even if I had magic to cleanse my body, nothing felt better than the sanitizing machines I'd picked up and reverse-engineered from some futuristic world early in my career. The food and drink there were terrible, though, and I only bothered to collect recipes as a complement to all the technology we stole.

My home base was an island fortress, bought at a steep discount from my patron goddess when she upgraded to an entire planet. Formalizing an apotheosis demands the candidates to meet certain asset thresholds, but once they're in, they only have to pay an occasional renewal fee. She could have ascended by taking charge of a populated region, but she has no interest in worshipers. A barren planet seemed a more attractive choice… until she realized the need to terraform it. In the end, she had to move back into this fort as my tenant until her planet is ready.

As I was being cleaned of every atom of dirt, I brought up a HUD from another world where we'd deployed. Switching to the party status menu indicated that most of our forces were off conducting airstrikes against the usual targets. The goddess herself was busy on Earth; those feral hogs in Texas weren't going to trap themselves. Still, when I checked this morning, there were only four digits, not five. We would have to purify them for quick removal of their gameyness, followed by three weeks of forcefeeding them corn for further fattening. At set intervals, we'd slaughter a few and roast them, ostensibly for quality checks.

The decontamination protocol finished as I moved on to my financials. Selecting the divine realm's file displayed my outstanding liabilities. With the money I'd earned from the saint gig, I could pay off the worst of my loans.

While the chamber started its next program of restoring me to a well-rested state, I summoned my item box and focused on the appropriate item type, a bunch of crystals of various shapes, sizes, and colors. Grown from purified mana on my assigned world, they were good as gemstones, power sources, and a dozen other uses. To me, they're like pearls.

They're a pain in the ass.

A pearl is essentially calcium carbonate and conchiolin coating an irritant, commonly a grain of sand. Crystallization is a process used to purify chemical compounds, and since I purified mana, that should be a hint that tainted mana also exists. Indeed it does, and we have a name for it: miasma.

When magic is used, mana is converted into its waste form, miasma. When enough miasma accumulates, polluted areas experience corrupted monster outbreaks. If it gets even worse, demon lords arise. To clean up the pollution, worlds summon heroes to exterminate the monsters or saints to purify the land. Whatever the method, the purified mana drops as crystals, its most concentrated form.

Mana crystals happen to be the interdimensional standard currency, even among the divines. The fact that they can be moved between worlds implies the possibility of mana depletion. Of the populated worlds, the most infamous case is Earth, leading to summoned labor becoming its primary export. We've been trying to restore mana to Earth, and while it's possible to convert other types of energy into mana, it entails seed crystals and a suitable source, like concentrated sunlight.

Anyway, I deposited the crystals I'd earned and paid off the two creditors with the worst interest rates. Scores remained, but I'd finally salvaged something from a busy day.

"Yo, Vagrant! Drifter One here!" Of course, the goddess just had to choose this point to interrupt. Perhaps wishing for a few minutes' rest was too much. "I'm coming in with a load of captives! Get on the tarmac ASAP!"

I sighed in defeat. "Drifter Two copies," I answered. "See you topside, Hobo."