The Saintess Cannot Let Go of Lilac

The saintess couldn't release Lilac from her grasp. The sound of her heart grew louder and louder. Her body felt as cold as ice, in stark contrast to the burning heat in her chest.

I knew it...

She had known he would refuse. After ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠all, she had committed an unforgivable sin. This was the punishment she deserved. No, this was barely even the beginning of her penance. She hadn't fully confessed the truth to him yet—this was just a half-hearted slap on the wrist.

"It hurts..."

Even this punishment stung unbearably. Every cold word from his lips—lips that had once whispered sweet affections in quiet moments—sent her entire body into revolt. She wanted to discard her saintly pride, fall to her knees, and beg him to stop, to never say such things again. But she couldn't.

The position she had protected by betraying him was that of the saintess. If she lost even that now, after already losing him, she would have no reason left to exist.

"No..."

She didn't want to part from him. She didn't want to lose her saintess title either. What a selfish woman she was.

...Could I abandon it all now?

She caught herself thinking that maybe, just maybe, it wasn't too late. There were still plenty of chances to see him while she remained a student at the academy. Perhaps she could forsake the saintess name and simply stand by his side, content with that.

But her selfish mind went further, dredging up those old memories. The days when they were revered as saint and saintess together. Days when they couldn't date openly in the streets, couldn't ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠share a passionate wedding night like ordinary couples, couldn't even whisper "I love you" outright—they proved their love through metaphors instead.

Grit...

Yet ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the tragedy that followed rose unbidden as well. Back then, naive and innocent, she had trusted the church members who were desperate to erode her social standing bit by bit. She acted as if their words were truth, convinced of his villainy even with evidence that warranted execution, feeling no guilt.

Trapped in their grasp, she forgot how to question. She followed the faithful's words: executing the condemned, saving some lives, empowering soldiers, passing laws, collecting taxes. She trusted them.

By the time she snapped out of it, she rejected genuine emotions. She acted out fabricated ones as if they were real, until she even mistook them for her own. Love became numb to her.

Even recalling his face—smiling lightly on official stages as he mentioned her daily, unable to laugh freely—brought no more of that old flutter.

He would ask, 'You always like Lilac, right?'

She'd reply, 'Always.'

Her words carried emotion, but to this day, she wasn't sure if it was sincere.

Years passed like that... until the oracle came.

Its absurd claim—that the saint was plotting something nefarious—went unquestioned by her past self. Believing God's word as absolute truth, she betrayed him, elevating a newly promoted bishop to saint in his place.

For nearly a year, she harbored no doubts. As time wore on, she felt only faint unease, never admitting anything was wrong...

Until the new saint caused a scandal.

"Kill the false saint and saintess!!"

"Destroy the hypocritical church!!!"

The exposé erupted from within the supposedly pure church. At first, no one believed it, but as truths unraveled, the church's dark underbelly—hidden under the guise of following the goddess—emerged.

Holy knights had violated women. Newly appointed bishops hadn't proven faith; they'd bought their seats with money. The grand archbishop, who alone could speak to the goddess besides the saintess, hadn't heard her voice in a decade, fabricating oracles instead.

And the final saint... he impersonated the goddess. Not just her—he mimicked voices as if from God, inventing events. Emperors, ducal heirs, grand archbishops, holy knights—regardless of gender, he lived false lives. Ultimately, he mimicked the goddess's voice to oust Lian Primal, the true saint with real influence.

To say she hadn't known was too shameful. Even impersonated, a voice heard directly would differ, yet she failed to notice, fooled completely. Who would call such a woman a saintess?

The church, renowned for centuries, crumbled in an instant.

With her saintess role gone, nothing remained. A commoner elevated by the goddess's holy power one day, she lost it all when the church fell—faith's nexus vanished, and her power evaporated like a mirage.

If not a saintess, what was she? She had no answer. Without it, she was less than a village peasant.

"I have to... find it."

Her journey to reclaim holy power began. Changing her faith wasn't easy, especially aligning with goddesses of revelry and vengeance, opposing her former merciful one—not even as a lowly priestess.

She prayed to the ancient twelve gods. Thunder, sea, death—highest gods—rejected her powerlessness. Household, love, wisdom goddesses accepted her briefly, then discarded her. Sun, war, messenger gods demanded her beauty and virginity. Hearth and moon goddesses cared for her... but granted no power.

Despaired by even ancients' rejection, her last hope was him.

Soon, the body of former saint Lian ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Primal—unjustly executed—was found. The reason: death sentence.

She hadn't known. She thought stripping his title and barring him from the holy kingdom was the extent.

Days blurred at his gravestone: weeping until tears failed and blood flowed, begging, praying.

But his decayed corpse, reduced to bone fragments, couldn't respond. Time passed, and she fulfilled her final wish: to die by his side.

Resolved to atone if they met after death, she starved slowly... and perished.

Opening her eyes, she saw him dead.

"Huh...?"

Around her: the demon king she, church members, and he had defeated—and his corpse beside it.

This couldn't be. The holy sword crafted by the goddess was absent, yet with some priests, her aid as saintess, and a replica holy sword, he felled the demon king. Despite casualties, the near-identical replica's power and regeneration should've prevented his death.

"What's wrong? Prin."

And who was this man? A stranger's hand slipped under her buttocks, gripping firmly—her body reacted.

"Gah!!"

"Huh...?"

Holy power emerged. Pure white, warm—the goddess's holy power.

"What the hell!? Why's this bitch Prin suddenly freaking out!"

"Fuck, they said she was properly briefed, so why this bullshit!?"

Their words didn't matter. She refused to lose him twice. Desperately climbing the pile of monster corpses, she seized the sword embedded beside him.

Crackle-crackle!!!

"Urk!!"

The sword, silver moments ago, flashed familiar gold in rejection. Stunned, its true function—unreplicable by fakes—activated between holy and demon swords.

"Holy... sword?"

"Ah, so this bitch was trying to hog the holy sword."

"Yeah... greedy saintess bitch."

"Sigh, should've known from how she stared at it daily."

The true holy sword... Lian had wielded it?

Only heroes possess it. Unique wielder. The goddess's knight, far above her proxy.

"Ah... aaah..."

Now it clicked—how could a replica slay the demon king, killable only by heroes?

Realization shattered something inside. Regret for distrusting the goddess's knight despite following her; her ugly deeds behind the mask—all swirled into a typhoon, crumbling her mind.

Her puppet life and betrayal guilt crashed like a tsunami. Late memories of betraying the hero—not saint—piled on...

She couldn't choose suicide...

Yet she revived, witnessing his death again. This time, he too chose suicide—shattering his heart with the holy sword meant for the demon king's.

"No...!"

She wanted to close her eyes, deny it—but couldn't. Fresh memories showed his suffering. She had wanted only her gaze on him, committing idiotic atrocities. He looked at her, yet she betrayed—who was she to think that?

"Just once more..."

Praying, she accepted death—begging rebirth sooner.

The miracle happened. Back to when church insiders called her saintess candidate, not yet official.

This time, she'd devote her life to him.

'You shameless bitch, fooling around with other guys and then nagging me? Still like Lilac?'

'If you knew that, you'd know how I ended in that life... yet you spout that crap?'

'You killed me—inciting, betraying, seducing...'

But he remembered her. The puppet who betrayed him; who surrendered to fleeting pleasure after too much comfort; who showed ugly possessiveness and jealousy.

He remembered.

"Th... is... aaah..."

Words failed. Why hadn't she considered he might remember?

Tears flowed, but she couldn't reach for him. She was the saintess... wanted his embrace, but couldn't abandon the goddess. Escaping her warm hold was unbearable...

She yearned to kneel and beg, but revealing that would destroy her precarious political standing. Soon, that man impersonating the goddess could excommunicate her without issue.

"...Haha..."

All she could do was mock herself. Ah, Goddess... what should I do?

At that moment, a quest window appeared before Lian.

"...What the hell?"

A quest window unlike any he'd seen before unfolded before his eyes.