The Vulgar Saintess (2)
The decision to accompany the hero had become a fait accompli. When the followers of the Sex Cult heard the news, they offered me congratulations every time they saw me. I responded with an awkward smile and murmured my thanks. I felt no gratitude whatsoever.
“Then the Saintess will truly meet the hero, won’t she?” Makarof, who had been listening nearby, spoke with envy.
I wore the mask of a dutiful Saintess and answered, “Yes. It is an honor far beyond what I deserve.”
The golden-haired boy’s eyes sparkled as he let his imagination run wild. “The hero must be incredibly handsome, right? Ah, I really want to see him too!”
Makarof seemed to harbor many fantasies about the hero, whose rumors were already widespread. I found myself worrying—what if he ended up disappointed? The gap between fantasy and reality could be mercilessly cruel.
“He might be different from the rumors,” I offered, deliberately injecting a note of caution.
The boy paid no attention. Instead, he pressed me as though I had said something absurd. “Come on, he’s the hero!”
“It’s fine to have fantasies, but it isn’t good to lose yourself in them, Makarof.”
Even my sincere advice only earned me a look of displeasure. “There’s no such thing as baseless rumors.”
“Some people turn out different from what the rumors say.”
Makarof furrowed his brow and let out a thoughtful hum, but he soon calmed down. Then, like a mathematician who had just found the answer, he looked triumphant.
“Heh, even so, there’s precedent, you know?”
“Precedent…?”
“Saintess Aria! You’re the one I used to fantasize about, not just the hero. And look—Lady Aria is exactly as I imagined. No, she’s even gentler, more merciful, and… ah, more beautiful than I ever dreamed!”
He spoke so freely in front of the very person he was praising. It was the unadorned honesty only a child could offer. That innocent praise made my heart feel black and withered. I was not the person Makarof described. Gentle? Merciful? Who was he talking about?
I was simply… simply…
…simply trembling.
I was afraid. Without thinking, I pulled the boy into my arms.
“H-huh? Saintess Aria?”
Makarof flushed, flustered, and waved his hands. I tried to find a rational excuse for my own actions, but my throat had closed up. What came out instead was a childish complaint.
“Just… let me stay like this for a moment.”
“Ah, yes.”
I held the small boy for a long time. The scent of his youthful skin helped calm me a little. When I finally released him, I saw his face still red with embarrassment.
“Are you feeling better now?”
“Thanks to you, Makarof.”
“M-me?”
“Yes.”
“I’m glad.”
I called his name. “Makarof.”
“Y-yes?”
He looked visibly nervous, but I had to say what needed to be said.
“You told me I was gentle, merciful, and beautiful.”
“I… I did.”
“I’m happy you think so.”
My pure gratitude seemed to leave him speechless. I hesitated—should I say the next part? But I knew I had to.
“…But I’m not the wonderful Saintess you believe me to be.”
“Pardon?”
Makarof looked at me as though I had said something incomprehensible. I didn’t know what else to say, so I simply voiced the feeling in my chest.
“Still… having someone like you who likes me even so gives me strength.”
“Ehehe, you’re funny, Saintess.”
I watched the boy smile foolishly. To me, Makarof was unique—the only normal human relationship I had. What if he learned the truth about me? What if he came to hate and avoid me? If he discovered that the Saintess he imagined was nothing more than a filthy human being, would he recoil in disgust?
The thought made the whole world seem to darken. My chest ached sharply. No matter what, I wanted to keep this from him. I desperately wished to remain the Saintess he had imagined.
Mavlof, the cardinal who had dragged me into the abyss—ironically, his son Makarof had become my final sanctuary. The irony almost made a rotten smile rise to my lips.
After a few more words, Makarof and I parted. Night had grown deep.
Click.
I entered my room and collapsed onto the bed. The soft cushioning and the fresh scent of the sheets felt pleasant. I breathed in the fragrance deeply and let out a sigh. Today was a day I didn’t have to service any men. Because of that, thoughts I normally avoided began to surface.
“…The hero.”
Accompanying the hero—how should I feel about it? Even as the Seed-Receiving Saintess, I was still nominally a Saintess, so the cult wouldn’t openly harm me. But the outside world was different. I had no idea what dangers awaited. Even traveling with the hero, I would face crises. I might even die.
Death. The word felt like a cold blade brushing the nape of my neck.
Goddess. I was terrified of fighting. If this had been right after I transmigrated, I might have charged forward boldly, but not anymore. I knew my own weakness all too well—painfully well. I was a coward, a wretched person who wanted to run from reality.
Yet I had chosen to go with the hero as a small act of rebellion. Perhaps I had even hoped it would anger Cardinal Mavlof enough for him to torment my body again. After all, I was a vulgar, lowly person.
At the same time, I had believed the cardinal would never allow it. He always discouraged external activities. That was why I couldn’t believe the current situation. Traveling with the hero? Really? Why?
I rubbed the bruises on my buttocks and groin—marks left by violent acts—and sighed. They stung and throbbed. I could have healed them quickly with holy power, but I didn’t. Perhaps I had a hidden masochistic streak after all.
I gently caressed the bruised areas for a few minutes. A damp stain appeared on my white panties. I realized my groin had grown wet. This lewd body couldn’t even wait and had already begun to crave pleasure.
This wasn’t right.
“Ah, mm, hngh♡”
Now familiar with my own body, I touched myself. I knew exactly where and how to stroke to feel pleasure—after being touched by so many followers and touching myself so often.
Goddess of Sacred Love. Do not forgive this lamb who knows nothing but pleasure. Please, scold me with your stern and righteous teachings.
Swallowing that confession, I touched myself obsessively, like a boy discovering masturbation for the first time.
“Hah, ah, hngh, ah♡”
Broken, suppressed moans escaped. This pleasure—and Makarof—were the only things that brought me comfort. I repeated the self-consolation again and again.
I withdrew the fingers that had been stirring inside me and licked the sticky fluids coating them. A bitter taste spread across my tongue. With my left hand I toyed with my left nipple while my right hand’s slender index and middle fingers dug into the sensitive spots within. My shoulders trembled and my legs instinctively drew together.
In the dead of night, while everyone else slept, I caressed my own body for pleasure.
“Nngh, hng, ah, mm.”
I bit the blanket to muffle my moans. The room was soundproofed, but if an ordinary follower heard me, it would be disastrous. After all, the fact that I was the Seed-Receiving Saintess wasn’t widely known.
“Hngh.”
My toes curled and my calves tensed. Just as the sensation cleared my head and I tried to exhale—
“Hiiih!”
A sharp cry burst out as the air rushed from my lungs. Startled, I tried to cover my mouth, but my climaxing body refused to obey.
“Hng, hngh.”
My brain felt like it was melting from the peak. Why, in that moment, did Makarof’s face appear in my mind? I felt as though I had used the pure boy as fuel for my lust. A strange sense of guilt washed over me.
“Hngh, mmph.”
Once the intense orgasm passed, the lust that had filled my head receded sharply. Surprisingly—or perhaps naturally—women experienced post-nut clarity too. I was suddenly drowning in self-loathing and disgust.
After all that, you still call yourself a man? You’re disgusting, aren’t you? Look at you, panting like you enjoyed it. Did you get shot in the head or something?
The remaining fragments of “him” inside me screamed. But what could I do? He was a coward too.
I gave a dry smile.
“Hah.”
A foolish laugh slipped out—the kind that escaped when my emotions grew too intense. I felt the need to sleep in order to mend my crumbling mind. Even if I was tattered, I still wanted to live. I wanted to keep living.
The night grew deeper still. Using the darkness as my companion, I drifted off to sleep.