The Saintess's Agony and the Ultimate Bluff
Empire, outskirts of the capital region. A-grade gate. Holy Church gate naming: Fallen Monastery.
—Thwack. The head of the final boss monster, the Corrupted Abbot, tumbled to the floor. Black blood sprayed up like a fountain, drenching the silver armor of the woman standing before it in countless splatters.
"...It's over."
The saintess, Isha von Estel, sheathed her holy sword and let out a short breath. Mountains of demonic beast corpses piled up around her, but the knight order members looked at her not with admiration, but with worried eyes.
Normally, she would have coordinated with the knights for a stable raid. But today, Isha had charged into the enemy lines alone, like someone being chased—or perhaps venting her rage—slaughtering everything in her path.
"Saintess, are you alright?"
The vice-captain approached cautiously. Isha brushed back her sweat-matted bangs and nodded.
"I'm fine. Let's head back."
Her response was nonchalant, but her gaze kept drifting skyward. Toward the gate entrance, or perhaps the distant Seoul skyline. As if waiting for someone to pop out yelling, "Yo, Saintess!"
...I'm crazy. What am I even thinking?
Isha shook her head vigorously. That man was a criminal. The enemy who killed her family, Desolatus, and a villain colluding with terrorists. So why?
Why couldn't she shake that brazen smile from her mind—the one from when he saved her in the Hell Gate? It wasn't a hallucination; she'd confirmed it under the night sky by the Han River.
Maybe he had some ulterior motive.
Isha tried to reassure herself as she started walking. Unconsciously, her hand fumbled in her pocket, tracing the empty space where the birthday memo she'd given him had been.
Holy Church, the saintess's prayer room.
"Ugh!"
A stifled groan escaped Isha's lips. She knelt trembling, her entire body shaking. Behind her, near the shoulder blades, her skin had turned blackish. A grotesque, rotting blemish.
It was the wound from twisting away the attack of the Abyssal Form she'd faced in the Hell Gate. But the real price was forcing mana through a mimicry of Adel's magic formula.
"Saintess! Stop this! You'll collapse!"
Priest Yohan's voice pleaded from outside the door.
"Sh-should we stop?"
The female priests channeling holy power simultaneously asked. Isha shook her head fiercely.
"No, we can't stop. If we don't cleanse this corruption, I can't move forward."
Isha gritted her teeth and expelled the demonic energy embedded in her body.
—Sizzle!
White smoke rose with the sound of searing flesh on a red-hot iron. Pain worse than burning skin—gnawing at her very soul.
"Hah... hah..."
Only after a long while did Isha collapse to the floor. The black spot had faded slightly, but it still emanated a sinister aura. Yohan, waiting outside, teared up in pity and asked for a towel to wipe her cold sweat.
"Isha. You've pushed too hard. The abyssal poison won't clear overnight. You need rest for now—"
"No time for that."
Isha forced her pale body upright.
"Red Skulls, Black Moon—they're on the move. Thanks to that Lee Han stirring things up, they're furious. If I stop, those arrows will turn toward the citizens."
"But!"
"And there's something I need to confirm."
Isha's eyes darkened deeply. He'd saved her from the Hell Gate, but she still didn't know his true intentions. Until she did, she couldn't fall.
United States, New York. Brooklyn Harbor.
Amid the mingled scents of sea and rancid oil stood what looked like an abandoned logistics warehouse complex. Rusted containers stacked like a maze, even seagulls avoiding it.
—Whirr. Clank.
The heavy double iron doors swung open to reveal a new world. Dazzling chandeliers, premium Persian rugs on the floor, taxidermied A-grade beast hides on the walls, A-grade artifacts displayed like art.
The king of New York's underworld, a major player in the hunter black market. Antonio's office.
"Who are you?"
The hulking black bodyguards at the entrance blocked our way. Latest magitech guns—compressed mana launchers—at their waists.
"They wanna know who we are."
"Tell 'em."
I skipped the interpreter and stated my purpose shortly. "Business partner."
I pulled a crumpled paper from my inner pocket. Adel's all-nighter analysis of Black & White Food's pepperoni ingredients.
"We've come to hand over the entire Korean pepperoni market."
The bodyguards eyed the paper and Black Rose's translation suspiciously. The weight of "pepperoni" kept them from drawing guns rashly.
A thick, gravelly voice from the surveillance cams reached their ears.
-Let them in.
The doors opened fully.
"You heard. Let's go in."
In the office center, a white-suited elderly man with white hair lounged on a massive sofa covered in tiger hide. Cuban cigar in his restless mouth, gemstone rings flashing on his fingers.
Information broker Antonio. He exhaled long smoke, scanning us up and down.
"Young folks from Korea. Got guts. Walking into my den uninvited."
"Time is money. I hate beating around the bush."
His unique accent and dialect were incomprehensible, but Black Rose translated, so I plopped on the opposite sofa, crossing my legs without hesitation. Black Rose stood behind me, sunglasses on, haughty expression—but her grip on my shoulder was vise-like, pinching hard.
She's tense.
No wonder. The old man was a New York mafia legend, a heavyweight even A-grade hunters tread carefully around.
"Allow me to introduce. This is my partner and interpreter, Rose."
"Nice to meet you, Mr. Antonio."
Black Rose greeted fluently in English, flashing her rehearsed seductive business smile. Antonio didn't blink. No honey trap for this battle-hardened fox.
"Straight to it. Handing over the Korean market? Black & White's blowing up—aiming for that gap?"
"Spot on. Korea's in full supply chaos. Pizza shop owners would sell their souls for a slice of pepperoni. Yours? They'd pay premium."
I spoke confidently.
"Korea's the biggest pepperoni consumer in Asia. Especially addicts like my partner. Sign an exclusive supply deal now, and you're sitting on a goldmine."
Partner meaning Adel.
"Hm."
Antonio tapped ash from his cigar, narrowing his eyes.
"I know my product's gold. But Korea? Shipping costs, tariffs, those picky quarantines. Too risky. I'm swamped with New York domestic orders."
"No risk."
I leaned forward.
"Shipping via my exclusive researcher's mana ship. Tariffs? Quarantine? No sweat. We'll dump it black market style. No taxes, no fees—all pure profit."
Exclusive researcher meaning Adel.
"Mana ship, huh."
A tempting offer. Any merchant would salivate. But Antonio's face stayed sour.
"Kid. You're missing something."
He lifted his whiskey glass from the table.
"I've got more money than you think. No need to stir up hassle and ruin my retirement. Trading with some mystery Asian shrimp? One slip, and my rep's toast."
Rejection. Firm as steel.
"So scram. Before I get pissed."
Bodyguards cocked guns in sync.
Black Rose looked at me helplessly. Her hand on my shoulder trembled.
What now? Bail? Fighting here gets us nothing.
Her eyes pleaded. Starting a brawl would make all New York our enemy. And pepperoni supply? Dead.
"Too bad. I had something more valuable than money."
As I stood, I passed Antonio and headed to a wall. Amid luxury weapons, one frame stood out oddly. Gilded with diamonds. Inside: the saintess cradling a child in gray ruins. Isha von Estel, lit like a Renaissance holy painting.
"Beautiful."
I murmured in admiration.
"Stay there."
Antonio's voice sharpened. The prior drowsiness gone, replaced by a beast's growl.
"Don't ogle. That's a goddess to me."
True reverence in his tone.
"Isha von Estel. Empire's saintess. Angel who saved my granddaughter in the New York gate crisis. Not for a peddler like you."
As rumored. Diehard saintess fanboy.
I trailed my eyes down the photo, feigning tender sorrow.
"I know. She's someone I know very well."
Antonio scoffed at my demeanor.
"What? You know the saintess? Everyone knows she exists. Don't spout nonsense. She's nobility above the clouds. Nothing to do with rats like you."
"Is she?"
I turned slowly, facing him. The most brazen, earnest, tragic-hero face imaginable.
"Hard to believe, I know."
Hand in my suit pocket, I paused dramatically before speaking.
"She is my wife."