#2-5 The Saintess Trapped in the Trap (Heart - Slave Fellatio Service, Dancer Outfit♥) (1)

The grand cathedral of Bereya in the capital was my first visit. As the heart of the Holy Light Kingdom, a theocracy, it was enormous and majestic. Despite boasting over a century of history, it showed no signs of wear, and a faint glow emanated from the entire structure, filling me with an inexplicable reverence just by gazing upon it.

I'd dabbled in religion back in my old life and wasn't opposed to the idea of gods. Wandering through the sacred halls stirred something almost like budding faith in me—strangely enough.

The meeting with the saintess went smoothly, and along the way, I'd slipped hypnosis onto a few priestesses I bumped into. Nothing specific in mind—just insurance for whatever might come up down the line.

'The whole church will be mine eventually anyway. Early or late, the outcome's the same.'

Establishing a connection with the saintess was a success. With time, I'd create more opportunities to stay by her side, layering on periodic hypnosis until she was utterly mine.

"—That's the plan, anyway."

Upstairs in the Mera Laundry, in the couple's living quarters, I lounged in the living room wearing nothing but a bathrobe fresh from the shower. A status window hovered before my eyes.

It still held functions I hadn't fully grasped. I'd meant to poke around a bit, but I gave up quickly and shoved it aside, pulling up the familiar screens instead.

I could now manage Stonevic partially through the status window, checking on Lete's dispatch. She'd sweet-talked the mayor and was smoothly wresting control of the city. It'd take longer without my direct involvement compared to last round, but just a few days' difference—soon, the whole place would be mine.

I'd already passed along intel on the Doom Cultists. Last time, three of us raided them together, but now Lete was solo. No worries, though. I'd leveled her up once more before coming here. At Lv.4, she could sweep them single-handedly. Still a ways off from taking on Eve, but...

'And honestly, failure's fine. A single city blowing up? Whatever.'

Even now, Seeds of Ruin and apostles of ruin were spawning everywhere. Turn by turn, chaos erupted somewhere, failed cities crumbled. You couldn't stop this event if you tried—it demanded cheats from the start to block everything. Pointless anyway; it'd halt the game entirely.

If Lete stopped them, great. If not, no issue.

"Gaon, sir. I brought some drinks and snacks."

"Thanks, Heart."

Heart approached with a tray, setting down plates of sliced fruit, ham, and cheese before pouring wine into my glass. Then she wedged herself between my legs, untied my bathrobe, and freed my cock.

She lapped at the impressive shaft with teasing licks and kisses, servicing me devotedly. Soon, she boldly engulfed my massive length in her small mouth and began sucking.

I savored Heart's diligent cocksucking while flicking through the status windows. Stonevic and the home territory could wait—I'd briefed Lete and Mea thoroughly. What mattered now was—

'How to conquer the saintess.'

I glared at the skill list floating before me. Last ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠round, installing the Nameless Male God Statue in the temple had earned me blessings from the Nameless God, evolving or boosting some skills. Persuasion and Hypnosis each gained a level from that blessing, carried over through regression.

'Still not enough.'

This Sharon, the saintess I'd just met—her mental strength was insanely high. Second only to Eve. High mental stats resist or outright block hypnosis, as I'd tested plenty on Heart.

'Unlike with Heart, failure here means game over.'

So this wouldn't cut it. I decided to level up the skills. Plenty of resource magic left: from Stonevic's festival, territory development, bonus from raising Noa and Heart's affection—all poured into upgrades.

Persuasion hit Lv.9, Hypnosis Lv.6. That drained every last bit of wealth from regression, plus a smidge invested in succubus skills. Zero left now.

No turning back. If I failed to claim the saintess after this, suicide was my only option. Fleeing? Pointless—the King of Ruin descends eventually, dooming everything.

"......."

To shake off the gnawing anxiety, I gripped Heart's head and thrust my cock deeper. Moments later, I erupted, flooding her mouth with thick, mind-melting semen.

"Mmm...♡"

Heart gulped it down eagerly, swallowing every drop without spilling.

.....................

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......

The night in Berthel reeked of lingering unease. The fifth murder hadn't been solved yet.

The first four happened in remote corners of the capital—dead zones where deaths raised no eyebrows, mere gossip fodder for the idle.

But the fifth struck near the city center, discovered by a civilian. Terror spread ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠wider now; even bystanders feared becoming targets. Nighttime streets emptied, the church suspending evening masses and prayers.

"No more victims. We'll catch that damned killer with our own hands."

Sharon stood atop a sturdy wooden crate, surveying her newly formed security squad. Cloaked knights, armored soldiers, and ragtag mercenaries stood mingled together.

Her holy knight subordinates—originally part of this squad—had been dispersed or dispatched outside by council orders, half gone. Blamed on rampant ruin beasts everywhere, Sharon couldn't block it. Really, it was the elders checking her power, but knowing that changed nothing.

Her squad had always been understaffed, ineffective. Now, mercenaries filled the gaps—thanks to a generous new patron.

They split into groups of two or three, patrolling routes she'd assigned. More manpower meant fewer blind spots. Not tonight, maybe, but next crime? They'd nab the perp.

"Then we'll get moving too... You sure you're okay with this, patron? Better to stay safe at command."

"No issue. I funded this—I want to see it with my own ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠eyes."

Sharon sighed inwardly at my firm reply.

'Just stay safe inside...'

I'd insisted on joining the patrols personally. Not unusual—patrons often wanted to verify their money's use.

'Problem is, we're hunting a murderer.'

Danger lurked. Even with care, risks remained. Injuring the patron by accident could lead to withdrawn support or lawsuits—trouble galore.

But the patron held the purse strings. So Sharon agreed, opting to accompany me herself—the safest spot, by her side.

"I trust you, Saintess Sharon. And if trouble hits, I've got ways to protect myself."

I gestured beside me. A pink-haired woman in a partial face veil stood there, petite, daggers and a dirk at her waist. Bodyguard vibe.

'But why dancer garb?'

That was the issue. Not dancer-like—full-on dancer outfit.

Unaccustomed to such revealing attire, Sharon didn't know where to look. Even as a woman, staring felt embarrassing.

Earlier, with soldiers and mercs assembled, their ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠eyes had locked on her, disrupting focus. This was a stealthy criminal hunt, yet that outfit screamed 'Run away~!'

Were they serious about patrolling?

'Can't be helped. Patron's call.'

Dubious but silent, Sharon began the patrol. No real worry, though—she'd routed us along safe main streets. And while not as flashy as the dancer, a saintess drew eyes too. The killer wouldn't dare approach.

No incidents, surely.