Chapter 34

Translator: penny

Chapter: 34

Chapter Title: The Starting Point of Two-Timing

"Right here, I must implant the baby."

The fiancée's second implantation declaration.

Of course... it's not like she's actually doing it. It just means she'll take some of my blood while handling the aftermath.

My karma, I suppose.

I quietly accepted it and shifted my mana.

'If the knight rings the bell, at least the sword-wielding me can act as a meat shield.'

The bare minimum insurance.

This clone I've created would surely throw away its life without hesitation, even if I were captured by demons or Yuria.

I couldn't appear before them until all the demons I'd just taken as familiars returned into Yuria's shadow.

I couldn't just reveal that Yuria was a vampire, after all.

What could possibly happen in those 5 minutes?

That's when it happened.

The point where the irreversible snowball began rolling.

...

The worst thing about trauma is that even if you think you've forgotten it in your head, your body remembers it at crucial moments.

That was true for Isabella, the Saintess, as well, when she gazed upon the truth.

[...Is this place really safe?]

[Of all places, with that saintess...]

[For such a small village to be invaded by that many troops... Damn it, do we have to run again...?]

Suspicious glares.

The lamentations in the hearts of the forsaken.

The anxious, trembling voices of villagers who'd just lost their homes echoed in her eyes and ears whether she wanted to see or hear them.

Her hands were already stained with indelible blood, far too much of it.

And now, she was a fugitive herself.

Feeling this helplessness brought back similar memories from the past.

The loyal Knight Captain who she thought followed her orders to the letter.

-Truly a ruthless person. To kill hundreds so casually and stand there shamelessly.

The village chief who pounded the ground in tears after she burned down his village.

-You... because of you... all my villagers...!!!!

The woman who silently prayed for her amid crowds cheering her on.

-Please, just drop dead by the roadside...

Sin held her legs in its grip.

All of it was her command, her yielding to the demons' ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠whispers.

The priest who always supported and helped her. The old man in the village where even a single piece of bread was hard to come by, who generously shared with others. The maid who prayed sincerely for her and helped with her discomforts.

Now, all of them.

Had turned their backs on her.

Simply because she creeped them out, wearing a mask unlike before.

They no longer listened to her words.

Even when she poured her heart out, it didn't reach them.

No one understood.

She was alone.

Forced to endure the hateful stares, fake masks, and curses from behind with her whole body.

-Do you think you are free of sin?

The last words of the priest she respected most.

-A hypocrite stands there so boldly. You may be the politically perfect Saintess of Justice.

But behind your back, you are nothing but a cursed villainess.

His words were always.

-May a lonely death judge you.

The countless people she'd killed stared at her with grotesque faces, alongside him.

Now, she could barely recognize their expressions.

Or what emotions they conveyed.

Or who was truly on her side.

"..."

She looked at the knight here, the only one who faced her without a mask.

"...Lo, Lence."

"...Yes?"

"Lorens...s..."

As always, her hands trembled.

It was a voice far too frail for the Saintess of Justice.

Her breathing came in gasps, strength failing her body. Isabella called the woman's name amid the suffocating pain but couldn't lift her head.

Her weakened state couldn't bear the accumulated sins. Just before her vision faded completely from lack of air, a faint voice reached her.

In the narrowing tunnel vision, she saw the knight desperately trying to pry her hand away.

The bell tolled.

It was only supposed to ring in emergencies.

Probably rung by her knight, Lorens.

-Saintess! What-

-Get out of the way! Damn it...

Her right hand, unconsciously self-harming, crushed her throat. Her limbs convulsed, resisting death, but the world faded further. Her will beyond her right hand collapsed, and her dilated pupils slowly blurred.

Her head tilted back.

In a world of pure darkness, her eyes snapped open at someone's call.

".....!"

She pulled a pill from her bosom, shoved it into her mouth, and rubbed her dry face.

Droplets fell from her silvery-white hair.

Regaining her senses, the wastrel who'd been play-acting—or rather, performing—stood before her: Ian.

Holding a bucket of water that seemed freshly poured over her.

She glanced at her throat, stinging red with faint traces of blood.

A red handprint full of hatred marked where it had strangled her.

"Wha...t? Ian... Young Master, demons... I didn't ring the bell."

She had no idea what she was saying.

How pathetic.

Her ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠instinct to protect her dignity and pride to the end felt utterly wretched.

Ian, seeing her horrific grimace with scrunched eyes, poured another bucket over her head.

"...Young Master Ian! No matter what, such rudeness to the Saintess!!!"

"Shut up. I'm saving her right now."

"H-How dare you say such-!!"

Snatching the bucket irritably, the Saintess doused herself one last time.

Her stopped heart finally seemed to beat again.

Drenched head to toe, she brushed her disheveled hair behind her ear and slowly blinked.

In the ensuing cold silence, only breathing sounds filled the air.

As the situation calmed, the Saintess caught her breath and spoke.

"...Stop it, Lorens. Sorry for summoning you so abruptly. It's shameful that someone you helped end up doing this to herself."

Ian, watching quietly, replied.

"No, she just thought it was her duty."

"...You're nothing like a wastrel at all. Still."

The Saintess forced a colorless smile and averted her eyes.

Her golden eyes, once radiant, couldn't face him.

Her body was a soaked mess.

Occasional glimpses of pale skin showed through her clothes, but she didn't care. There was no point hiding anymore.

Demons flew in the sky.

Then, booming thuds.

Dozens of adult men clung to the warehouse gate, straining to hold it, but soon it shattered, and a screeching demon charged at the Saintess.

-May a lonely death judge you.

The demon morphed its hand into a massive thorn.

This is it.

Death.

"Saintess!!!"

The knight drew his sword too late.

As her vision blurred, the Saintess deliberately released her protective holy power.

Good.

Now, she could die.

The humans she'd killed had lured that demon here.

Mountains of corpses seemed to crush her.

"..."

-Stab!

A brief sound of flesh piercing.

She closed her eyes briefly.

...Strange.

She definitely heard the stabbing sound.

Then a jolt like being shoved to the ground. Her unprotected body rolled, vision righting itself.

"Ugh, ugh..."

Unlucky, her body was fine. If stabbed, she wouldn't even register what was before her.

However.

Seeing Young Master Ian pierced in her stead by the demon's hand was because of that.

"......"

A fist-sized hole through his chest center, a fatal wound.

His final sword stroke cleaved the demon, but weakly, collapsing with its corpse. Blood pooled hotly beneath Ian's body.

A wound from forcibly shielding her.

Even she wasn't sure if she could save him.

"...I-Ian, Young Master? I-I'm the Saintess. Why... no, wait... why... why would someone like you. For me."

...Why?

Just moments ago, he'd tortured and half-threatened her.

She knew he'd treated her shamefully like a villainess from the start.

A man dragged here half-forcibly for a commission. Why throw away his life like that?

And she knew the immense effort to reach that level.

An Aura Blade wasn't gained easily by talent alone.

It required unimaginable pain and endurance.

Yet he accepted eternal, unchanging 'death'—wasting it all—for another...?

No, she could understand sacrifice for a lover.

There was zero reason to throw himself for the rude, demon-allied Saintess.

"..."

Britna Ian, given the simplest orders, confirmed the Saintess's face.

As if proud of completing his mission safely, he flashed an incongruous smile.

Then stopped functioning.

Facing that face, hers hardened coldly.

She said nothing.

To the end, he wore no mask. Not ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠hearing meant it was his truth.

She, who tried to taint his noble sacrifice to the last, had no face to speak to him.

-Boom!

-Rumble!!

"Saintess!! Hurry, you must evacuate!"

The knight's urgent voice rang in her ears. The gate had opened, demons pouring in.

Yet Isabella saw only one person.

"..."

She quietly embraced his corpse.

It had gone cold.

But she infused it with her holy power's warmth.

The frantic world slowed.

A world feeling only him and her.

The Saintess whispered, barely audible to him alone.

A question pondered her whole life.

Unfamiliar to plead so earnestly to a stranger met yesterday.

But now, she wanted to ask.

Hoping deeply it reached him.

"Young Master Ian, you know... I encountered a demon in my childhood, right?"

"..."

"No answer means you do. Then you must know my family was slaughtered there, and the world covered it up."

"..."

"In that incident, my family and village were taken by humans."

"..."

"Sacrificed to human-led demon-summoning experiments. My little brother and sister murdered before my eyes by human bandits."

"..."

"I... don't know anymore. I thought these hands had saved more than most. But now, I've killed more viciously, over longer, than the monsters I call demons."

"..."

"Killing people is sin, but killing villains makes fairy-tale heroes... saving people... killing villains... I've repeated that scale endlessly."

"..."

"Visitor from ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Britna. What do you think I am...?"

"..."

"A... demon...?"

His reply cut like a blade.

"You are not a demon."

The obvious fact judged by the clone's permitted intellect.

Of course, not the simple racial question of demon vs. human.

That one phrase changed her expression.

She tore her clothes without hesitation, placing them over his wound to keep treating him.

"...Loren, take him and escape."

"B-But-!"

"That's an order."

She was a pure support Saintess.

Not that no melee Saintesses existed.

But Isabella was extreme long-range support.

Shallow even in melee experience.

Yet her pounding heart told her.

If she retreated and fled now, she'd forget even the last one who sacrificed for her.

Relying solely on mana without training was suicidal thrashing for her near-civilian body.

Like a lifelong mage facing an assassin up close.

Even low-grade demons required risking life in melee.

Three demons appeared before her.

Mid-to-high grade at that.

"..."

Knights seeing this would unanimously scream to run.

It was this world's 'common sense.'

She knew it equaled throwing her life away.

But.

"I can't abandon someone who gave their life for me. That wouldn't be right."

Her gaze fixed on his receding body.

Incomprehensible from start to finish.

Hostile one moment, then dying in her place the next—what kind of person was he?

Smiling at the end, too.

Like it was something to be proud of.

Even if he saw her as demon-like.

"...Proud to save people. I've felt that emotion too."

Now, as the Saintess of Justice.

She had to fulfill her role.

Since he confirmed she wasn't a demon.

Even more.

Even staking her life equally.

Ian headed toward where the starting bell rang.

'...Why is she like this now?'