The Saintess's Irritation
“Insolent little brat.”
Liliana stepped down from the carriage and muttered under her breath as she followed the staff along the Tourism Special Zone’s main thoroughfare. The conversation she’d had with Mikhail on the station platform refused to leave her mind—the flippant gesture, the smug tone. How dare he speak to the Saintess that way! Her vision swam with fury. If he weren’t royalty… no, if he weren’t Clement’s younger brother, she would have already beaten him within an inch of his life.
She had a secret technique: fists wrapped in divine power. A few well-placed strikes left no visible wounds, yet the muscles and bones beneath shattered from the holy shock. The same power then “healed” everything, erasing all evidence and aftereffects—only the hellish pain remained. She had quietly purged more than one corrupt priest with this method. Mikhail had no political backing; beating him would have been simple. Evidence? Witnesses? Meaningless. She was the Saintess, and he was the Empire’s most notorious scoundrel. No one would believe his word over hers.
Yet the fact that Clement cherished this brother so deeply kept her from acting. Damn it. Damn it!
“Whoa!”
Clement’s exclamation snapped her out of her thoughts. They had reached a hill overlooking the sea. The view was breathtaking—deep blue waters embraced by pristine white sand.
“It’s just like the coast of the Nostrum Sea,” Liliana murmured without thinking. The Empire’s premier resort near the capital’s central diocese looked remarkably similar.
Clement turned to her with a bright smile. “Yes, it really is as beautiful as Nostrum’s beaches.”
As they walked on in admiration, a building finally came into view atop the hill—the resort. Constructed from the new material called concrete, its design was simple yet strangely beautiful.
“Magnificent,” Clement said quietly.
At first glance, it was simply enormous, but that description felt insufficient.
“Perhaps ‘imposing’ would be better?” he wondered aloud.
“‘Majestic’ feels more fitting,” Liliana replied. Even that word, however, failed to capture the building’s peculiar presence.
“How to put it…” Clement pondered for a moment before finding the right term. “Avant-garde, perhaps?”
Ah. Liliana nodded. It matched the recent artistic trend sweeping the capital—rejecting all traditional forms and harmony in favor of extreme self-expression. The structure rose defiantly against the surrounding landscape, exactly like that movement.
Well-trained staff greeted them in the resort lobby.
“I’d like to enjoy the view for a while,” Clement said. Instead of being shown to their rooms, the staff led them to a lounge with an excellent vista, explaining it was a special space reserved for VIPs. Once the explanation was finished, the staff bowed politely and withdrew.
The scenery beyond the lounge’s massive glass windows was spectacular. From this height, the sea appeared even deeper and bluer. Turning the other way revealed the grand casino at the heart of the Tourism Special Zone. Its dazzling scale was impressive, and beyond it lay Vladivostok, the capital of the Far East Maritime Province—far more bustling than the rumors and articles had suggested.
“To develop this barren Far East Maritime Province to such an extent… Mikhail really is remarkable, isn’t he?” Clement said with genuine admiration.
Liliana’s thoughts differed. Barren? As far as she knew, the region had fertile farmland, abundant timber, and thriving mining and fishing industries. It was certainly rural compared to the capital or the Albrecht Duchy, but still…
Still, for a scoundrel, he certainly has talent. She couldn’t deny that. Yet in the end, all of this was built on…
Gambling halls and liquor. Liliana snorted inwardly. It’s just one giant playground. Nothing more than a lavish, self-indulgent amusement park Mikhail had created for himself.
“Come to think of it, the cocktails here are made from recipes Mikhail himself invented. I hear they’re quite delicious,” Clement remarked suddenly. “Would you care for a drink to shake off the fatigue of travel?”
Liliana hesitated. A recipe created by the infamous drunkard Mikhail… It must be good. Cocktails mixed with various ingredients suited her tastes far better than the bland beer or wine served in monasteries and convents. More than anything, Clement’s innocent expression as he offered her a drink was rather endearing. She nearly laughed despite herself.
She forced her expression under control and answered, “That sounds lovely.”
***
The bartender recommended a cocktail called the Mikhail Sunrise. Watching the staff shake various liquids and ice inside a silver shaker was a spectacle in itself. Shaka, shaka, shaka— With a crisp sound, the liquid poured into a tall, elegant glass, its red and orange layers resembling a miniature sunrise.
“Wow,” Clement breathed in pure delight.
Liliana couldn’t tear her eyes away from the drink, which looked like a work of art. Ever since Mikhail popularized cocktails in the capital, countless variations had appeared. She had tried many, but none had been this beautiful—or fragrant.
One sip filled her mouth with a sweet-and-sour fruit aroma that seemed to wash away the weariness of travel.
“It’s delicious,” she murmured without thinking.
“Right? Our Misha really does have a talent for these things,” Clement said, beaming as though it were his own accomplishment.
Just then—
“Are you two enjoying yourselves?”
Mikhail stood beside them, having approached unnoticed. He smiled and glanced at their cocktails.
“Oh, Misha! Perfect timing!” Clement greeted him warmly.
Liliana merely nodded in silent acknowledgment. She was still annoyed by their earlier exchange, but knowing he was the one who had created this delicious cocktail made it difficult to stay entirely angry.
“Since I’m here, it would only be proper for me to give you a personal tour,” Mikhail said, gesturing toward them. “Allow me to show you my little playground.”
He led them out of the lounge and toward the massive casino building they had seen earlier.
Is this brat out of his mind? Liliana was dumbfounded. No matter how much of a scoundrel he had become after his mother’s death, this was going too far. Taking a member of the clergy—let alone the Empire’s only Saintess—into a gambling hall?
Wait a moment. She suddenly recalled an article about a priest participating in the recent Texas Hold’em tournament—with the bishop’s permission, no less…
Liliana’s mind went blank. Perhaps the world really had gone mad.
Inside the casino, the first floor was exactly as expected—a dazzling gambling floor. But once they climbed the stairs past the main hall, they entered an entirely different world. The upper level was filled with various games and amusements. What caught both Liliana’s and Clement’s attention was the dartboard—or rather, the target itself. Its design was quite different from what they knew.
“This is a target I designed myself,” Mikhail explained proudly, noticing their gazes. “It’s for games called ‘01’ and ‘Cricket.’ I invented those as well, of course.”
His voice brimmed with unmistakable pride. He explained the rules of 501 darts in detail: starting at 501 points and subtracting until reaching exactly zero to win, with the final shot required to land in a double zone.
“Well then, why don’t you give it a try?”
At Mikhail’s invitation, Clement eagerly picked up a dart. After a moment’s preparation, he threw it with an awkward motion. Whoosh— The dart missed the board entirely and clattered to the floor.
“Haha, this is harder than it looks. If it were a bow, it might be different,” Clement said with an embarrassed laugh.
Next was Liliana’s turn. She picked up a dart, feeling its weight, took a steadying breath, and extended her arm without hesitation. Shushuk— The dart flew in a clean arc and struck true.
Thwack! It landed squarely in the triple-20 zone.
“!”
Clement’s eyes widened. Mikhail regarded her with interest.
Liliana shrugged and threw the next dart. Another triple 20. The third followed suit. A perfect 180.
“Haha…” Clement let out a helpless laugh. “Lady Liliana, you’re truly impressive. Have you played before?”
“No, this is my first time.”
Liliana answered nonchalantly. In truth, she was quite skilled—she often practiced by pinning the names of corrupt priests she intended to purge onto targets.
“Don’t tell me… you’re using divine power?” Mikhail asked, his voice full of mischief.
Liliana’s brow twitched. She gave him a cold smile.
“Would you like to see? If I used divine power, this board—and the wall behind it—would shatter.”
“Ah, please spare it. It’s expensive.”
Mikhail raised both hands in mock surrender, his expression shamelessly nonchalant.
“What about you, Misha? Aren’t you going to play?” Clement asked.
“I prefer just throwing axes or daggers into targets without thinking too hard,” Mikhail replied with a shrug.
Figures, Liliana thought, clicking her tongue inwardly.
“Well then, please enjoy yourselves. I’ll go check on a few other things.”
Mikhail turned to leave, but before he did, he leaned in and whispered something to Clement. Liliana couldn’t hear it, but she saw Clement’s face flush bright red in an instant.
After Mikhail departed, an awkward silence fell. Liliana couldn’t help asking, “What did Grand Duke Mikhail say?”
“N-no! It was nothing important!” Clement waved his hands frantically, trying to brush it off. His reaction was suspicious, but Liliana didn’t press further.
The two of them focused on darts once more, losing track of time. As their competitive spirits ignited, Clement gradually found his rhythm.
“Haha! I won!”
Clement cheered like a child after landing his final dart on double 16. Liliana pursed her lips in mild disappointment, then chuckled despite herself. It had been genuinely fun—a simple, wholesome enjoyment she could never have imagined during her days of scheming against those wretched women in the convent.
“Mikhail really is a good younger brother, isn’t he?” Clement said suddenly as he gathered the darts. “He’s quite thoughtful.”
Thoughtful? Liliana doubted her ears. That scoundrel? She recalled his mocking face at the station, the vulgar gesture with his little finger, the crude joke. No matter how she looked at it, “thoughtful” was the last word that applied to him—unless he was thoughtfully being as obnoxious as possible.