Chapter 37
Translator: penny
Chapter: 37
Chapter Title: The Saintess Has Good Hands
"...What."
Rachel's hand froze upon hearing her vassal's words.
The quill she'd been writing with came to a halt, then snapped in half with a sharp crack.
"So. What did you just say?"
"...The forces of evil have appeared in the place Young Master Ian went to."
This was how the second incident began.
...
"...I must go to Ian right away."
"You can't."
The vassal stepped forward in bewilderment, blocking Rachel as she clutched her gloves rimed with pristine white frost.
Yet he frowned as if her action were a grave affront.
"...I've already settled matters with the Holy Kingdom. And I know their support is woefully inadequate. Even if it costs my head, I won't abandon my son. Harzen, do you... want me to abandon Ian?"
Rachel tucked the shredded letter into her bosom like a cherished treasure, her gaze fixed ahead with murderous intensity.
'...Damn demon scum.'
There, at the very top, was the only line written.
It was in a familiar script—one she could never forget, and one she'd seen every single day quite recently.
"I have to go."
Harzen couldn't conceal his perplexed expression at Rachel's uncharacteristic display.
'...Surely the acting family head wasn't the type to let her reason waver over something like this.'
At the very least, as a strategist, she wouldn't rush headlong without gathering more intelligence.
"Is there a problem?"
The once Lord of the North Sea Ice Palace. An ineffable rage was swelling within that woman.
Moreover, as the Saintess herself, the Holy Kingdom would surely dispatch troops—Rachel venturing out alone would be a problem in itself.
Even with the Count returned, to leave without consultation like this...
This went beyond a mother's bond with her son; it was a matter of the family's responsibility.
"Lady Rachel, this is far too emotional a decision. Even if you insist on going, we should first organize our forces... Not to mention, there's a saintess there, isn't there?"
"That would be far too late. And I'm not going alone—I'll handpick a special unit."
Rachel's tone was utterly resolute.
It was hard to believe this was the same woman known for her utmost caution.
The keen intelligence in her eyes remained unchanged, but those golden irises now brimmed with nothing but dark, viscous emotion.
Of course, Rachel knew full well that this was emotional and hasty.
But if not for his final plea before departing, she never would have acted so recklessly.
His.
-'If the letter doesn't get through, come to me no matter what.'
It wasn't like him to say such things.
Recalling how he'd emphasized it over and over... yes.
If the one she adored beyond measure hadn't pleaded, she would have remained barricaded in the family estate to the end.
-'Just in case, be sure to bring what I prepared for you.'
Replaying Ian's voice in her mind, Rachel fiddled with the gloves woven from layered magic formulas.
Gloves stained with blood, now thinner from wear.
Imbued with level 3 holy magic, no less.
'...The days when he toyed with my mind are long past.'
Even if she anticipated it, he was undoubtedly scheming something far grander.
From the start, he'd known of her unease toward the saintess and had reservations about it.
Which meant.
What she had to do was...
-Rey, snap out of it.
Those words that had pulled her from an endless nightmare.
Every night, she dreamed of him embracing her, saving her—the firm grip of his hand, as if vowing never to let go, still lingered.
She stroked her arm, lost in thought, her face drooping heavily.
"..."
Ian's face flashed in her mind as he called her name, and her steps quickened of their own accord.
"...I had resolved to move on."
But when he called to her like this...
Thinking back to how flustered he'd been by her warning.
...An opportunity.
Even if it was a foolish fancy, she couldn't help but hope.
'...I must steel my heart to push him away next time, too.'
...
Hot breaths mingled.
Her face flushed, Yuria pinned down my lower body, rubbing her abdomen against mine.
"Haa... haa... Master, Master."
Somehow dragged to the church's center, I lay sprawled beneath Yuria in her nun's habit.
The problem was.
'My waist... feels like it's gonna snap.'
Truly, this was only the second time my waist had suffered so.
My cheeks were hollowed out, pitifully gaunt from her draining my essence like vital energy.
She'd received her second mark and regenerated her hymen to sate her depraved urges... and that was just one of many incidents.
So... much had happened.
What followed passed in a blur.
All except one thing.
"...What on earth did you do to the Saintess...?"
"How can a guest calling himself Young Master...!"
"..."
Weak curses and veiled contemptuous stares from behind made me want to cry out my innocence.
Because.
To recap the situation.
The Saintess.
Was no longer acting like one.
"Ah, Young Master Ian..."
She clasped her hands as if revering a god, gazing at me with sincere eyes, grasping my hand or lingering by my side without hesitation.
They even said she fed me morsels directly with her own mouth...?
Not one or two people stared at me clinging to her from afar.
"Treating the Saintess like some... servant...! Daring to...!"
"For our ever-merciful Saintess...!"
Apparently, public adoration for the Saintess—who they'd seen bleeding in fierce battle right before their eyes—had skyrocketed.
Word was she'd thrown her body to shield the villagers.
There was scant sentiment toward me, who had slipped away quickly.
Only the knightess who'd witnessed it firsthand knew and kept silent.
Thanks to my noble status, no one spat outright insults.
But that lasted only a moment.
The Saintess barged into my lodgings like a mere chambermaid, claimed the room next door, took over all the chores unbidden, fetched water, gave foot massages or prayers if not ordered—and when I mentioned needing a chair, she prostrated herself with, 'Shall I... be your chair, Brother Ian...?'
And with the saint-slave maid volunteering for chair duty beside her, the scandal only ballooned.
Naturally, with the Saintess's soaring popularity, my image was in the gutter.
Using the Saintess as a plaything alongside a maid... or so they thought.
-"...That noble wastrel treating the Saintess like a slave...!"
-"Bet that wastrel's got dirt on her and is lording it over."
-"Sigh... how did our Saintess end up like that..."
"..."
If I could explain, the reason I stuck to the Saintess was to purge the demon remnants.
Borrow her holy power briefly, lay hands on her back, infuse mana... simple as that.
...The issue was, only I could do it—so to onlookers, it just looked like I was dragging the Saintess off for perverse acts.
'Never mind that I saved their sorry hides.'
Plus, I couldn't add a third woman to my pair.
...Not if I valued my waist.
"Hm? What's wrong with seeing the Saintess's bare skin? Brother Ian can see anywhere on me. Perhaps you'd like to touch my breasts...?"
No. Don't read my mind like that.
I'd taught her the method to suppress the demon, and now, having reclaimed her true name as Isabella from half-madness, she could easily peer into the hearts of those she'd touched.
Her improved image matched her mending trauma—brighter, easier on the eyes.
But seeing her hand on those J-cup breasts conjured the glimpse of pale skin beneath her pristine robes, flushing my face every time.
"Besides, Brother Ian always looks at my face first, then my body most. I know it all. Please, touch me. It's actually better for me. I want to grow even closer to Brother Ian."
The Saintess dropped such grave words so casually.
...Closer?
You're a saintess, lady.
-Knock knock.
A knock echoed from outside.
To avoid being alone with the Saintess any longer, I'd summoned her most trusted knightess—the one I'd been teaching the demon-suppression method to, sticking by her side daily.
'With the devil inside the Saintess still too quiet, staying alone feels risky.'
Spending time with this woman, who'd been at her side far longer than I, would bring her mental peace.
In the original story, it wasn't quite like this, but the knightess sticking around had kept the demon in check.
'...Though if she died right in front of her eyes, it'd trigger a rampage.'
Not happening now.
The Saintess, her complexion even brighter, greeted her knightess at once.
"Laurence, come in."
No, seriously—what's with not letting go of my hand and rubbing her cheek even as her own knight enters?
Resist, and she clings harder.
"...So, why did you summon me? Not just to show me this spectacle, I hope?"
The knightess slid her gaze to me subtly as she spoke.
Clearly uncomfortable with the skinship between Saintess and me.
She couldn't miss her liege's eyes alight with infatuation.
And anyone would frown at such a scene.
A man with the Saintess roped tight to a chair,
And the Saintess, bound, rubbing her cheek against him with pure, docile eyes.
"I won't interfere with whatever you two get up to. But don't drag others into your perverse tastes."
"...No, it's not like that."
"If someone else saw the Saintess forcibly restrained like this..."
"Please."
The knightess eyed the ropes coiling around the Saintess's body, as if demanding an explanation.
"...There was no other way."
"What kind of act requires tying a woman who's never been defiled by any man to a chair with ropes? I can think of plenty without trying."
"..."
No comeback for that.
No, seriously—is tying ropes only leading to that in her mind...?
I'd explicitly said it was for teaching curse suppression.
"..."
Fortunately, Isabella had caught her knight Laurence's implication and blushed faintly, offering a clarification.
"L-Lau... It's fine. I asked her to tie me up, after all."
...Damn it, that's not clarifying jack.
Laurence's expression darkened further at Isabella's trembling voice, her glare flicking between me and the Saintess.
I'm innocent here.
'...The devil's control leaves no room for the Saintess, me, or anyone else to act—so at minimum, we had to restrain her like this.'
But I couldn't exactly spill about the devil.
Which was why we'd prepped excuses via private whispers with the Saintess.
Something dragon-related to gloss over naturally.
Dragon intel was scarce and top-secret—no one should pry.
Problem was the Saintess blurting it.
"...Laurence."
Releasing my hand briefly, the Saintess gazed at her knightess with quivering eyes.
"F-for his sake, I had no choice. This position is far more convenient for him—lets him work quickly without my unconscious resistance getting in the way..."
"..."
"I-I was startled at first, of course... but when our skin touches, it's so warm and comforting... especially rubbing my cheek against something rougher, firmer than anyone else's... it warms my heart right up. And Brother Ian... he's always so kind and gentle, considerate of me, taking it slow... for a long, long time."
Hands.
She's talking about hands.
Hostility radiated from the knightess, her hand drifting to her sword hilt with a stunned look.
...Even without social experience, come on...! How am I supposed to respond to that phrasing?
Sure, the first time I'd bound her with ropes, the Saintess had looked flustered,
But after one, two, three times...
Hell, she'd started carrying the ropes on her person daily, trailing after me with pleas like, 'You can tie me up every day if you'll just touch me, right?'
She'd begged for it.
Should've specified it was the hands, at least.
Cold sweat poured like a waterfall, but the Saintess remained oblivious to the issue.
The silent knightess finally let out a deep sigh.
"...If the Saintess looks happy doing it, then fine. But never let outsiders see this. You've warped her sexuality, and if word gets out about your illicit relations... the people won't let it slide easily. See it through to the end, though. I saw no signs of protection. If she turns up pregnant, it'll be a disaster... No, at least secure a false identity first..."
Hold up.
This wasn't about knocking up the Saintess, fleeing together, raising a kid in bliss.
It was just teaching her how to suppress the demon inside.