The Tainted Chalice
After the commotion in the corridor with the Northern Saintess, Yuria Crescent, she had never approached me first again. Yet her gaze had never once left me.
I was aware of Yuria's watchful eyes, almost like surveillance, but I ignored them completely and carried out my schedule as a Rofan Academy student without issue.
This went on for about two days.
Today began with theology class. The lecture hall, illuminated by light filtering through geometric stained-glass windows, was wrapped in solemn silence, broken only by the low recitation of the prayer by the theology professor.
Unlike other classes, Yuria sat in the front row by virtue of her status as saintess, alongside representatives from the Harteon Grand Ducal House and the Chernel Ducal House.
At the professor's instruction, students silently recited the prayer in their minds while preparing to purify the sacred objects on their desks with holy water.
'Here we go again.'
The Southern nobles' glances toward Yuria were far from ordinary. Especially the group led by Bellak Chernel, the second son of the Southern Ducal House—their looks gave me a bad feeling.
Events in the game were random each playthrough, but having played dozens or hundreds of rounds, I knew them all. I could roughly guess what this one was.
A terrorist act by the Southern nobles, desperately trying to weasel out, clearly intended to insult the evident saintess, Yuria.
At this moment of escalating political tension between North and South, it was the event where that tension exploded all at once.
Yet despite Bellak's group stealing glances at her, Yuria showed no sign of wariness. It seemed this event hadn't happened in her five previous lives.
Just as she lifted the holy water vial with her slender white fingers...
Bellak's group exchanged eye signals, and Claude—a collateral from the Ducal House and Bellak's retainer—stood first, approaching Yuria to ask about her sacred object.
While her attention was diverted by answering, another member of Bellak's group pretended to head to the bathroom and tilted a small vial hidden in his sleeve toward her chalice.
Plip-plip-.
The clear liquid from the vial poured entirely into Yuria's chalice.
That liquid, mixed into the holy water, was an extract of Yellow Smoke Grass. The moment holy power touched it, it reacted explosively, emitting a foul stench and turning a filthy yellow.
In the game, Yuria would lift the contaminated chalice for purification prayer, only for the reacting liquid to splash across her face and body, leaving her reeking horribly and stained yellow for days—a laughingstock in humiliation.
Yuria of the fifth life, oblivious to it all, lifted her chalice and was about to channel her holy power.
Tap-.
Just like two days ago, I gently grasped Yuria's wrist. Her eyes filled with bewilderment at my sudden touch.
"...Your Highness, what on earth...?"
Instead of answering her question, I roughly snatched the chalice from her hand.
"Your Highness! Give it back right now! I'm in the middle of purification...!"
Before she could finish, I smashed the chalice to the floor. It rolled with a loud clatter, spilling liquid everywhere.
And when I flung the sacred object meant for the rite into the splashed liquid...
Sizzle-!
The clear liquid laced with Yellow Smoke Grass extract instantly turned yellow, exploding in spots and filling the entire lecture hall with a vile stench in moments.
"Wh-what is that...? How could holy water smell like...?"
"How did something like that get in the chalice?"
"Ugh, what a nasty smell...!"
The surrounding students fled the splashed areas like they were escaping, unable to bear the odor. The clueless professor stood stunned, while Yuria paled upon realizing she'd nearly been humiliated by someone's vicious prank.
Bellak's group, the culprits behind it all, couldn't hide their panic at the failure being exposed, exchanging shaky glances.
"Bellak."
A low, chilling voice echoed through the classroom.
"I saw it with my own eyes. Your Chernel lackeys trying to insult the Northern Saintess by tainting her chalice with filth. Have the Southern nobles lost all sense of judgment to stoop to such lowly acts?"
"H-Harteon! What the hell are you talking about?!"
Bellak's voice trembled as I pointed him out directly, but like a cornered rat losing its mind, he seemed to opt for an extreme measure.
"Daring to insult our house without evidence? You'll pay for slandering the Chernels! Harteon, draw your sword!"
The entire classroom froze. The timid theology professor, faced with the rage of a prominent Southern heir and top-tier expert, fidgeted helplessly without intervening.
Instead, Yuria urgently grabbed my sleeve.
"Your Highness, you don't have to do this for me...! Bellak is near Sword Master level—a fight with him would leave neither of you unscathed!"
Her eyes held confusion at receiving my help, and for the first time, genuine worry for me.
But unlike the Kardel in her memories, my current body had long surpassed Sword Master swordsmanship.
So so-called "near Sword Master" skill was just child's play.
I gently pried Yuria's hand away and drew the wooden sword I carried for swordsmanship lectures.
"Fine. But you're not worth a real blade."
At my words, Bellak—feigning bravado to cover his guilt—flared with rage and charged me.
"You think you can face me with a wooden stick? Don't regret it when your hand flies off, Harteon!"