[No Title Provided]
The Hero looked at Marian again. “Who the hell is causing all this commotion?!”
Moments later, dozens of soldiers poured out from inside the castle and began surrounding Marian. The sleazy-faced man leading them glared furiously at us as he barked the question.
They’ve got all sorts of tricks up their sleeves.
As the soldiers rushed out in a horde, the refugees quickly scattered. Some even proactively dropped to their knees, prostrating themselves on the ground with hands pressed to the floor to signal they had nothing to do with it.
“I asked who you are.”
The sleazy man smirked at the refugees’ display, then shouted at us once more.
In truth, I was mulling over how to respond to the man’s question. Admit I was the Hero? I hadn’t accomplished jack shit as one yet, and no way this guy would buy it anyway.
“I am the Saintess of the Gaiana Church. Stand your soldiers down.”
But in that instant, Marian—who’d stayed silent till now—stepped forward.
Her declaration set off murmurs among not just the soldiers, but the refugees too, all eyes turning to her. Faith in the Gaiana Church wasn’t limited to the Empire.
“What bullshit. You think anyone’s gonna buy that from some chick who pops up outta nowhere claiming she’s the Saintess?”
The man in charge didn’t bite, though. Made sense—Marian’s outfit was straight out of an average adventurer’s wardrobe.
Marian sighed at his skepticism and shot a glance at the guard captain. She hesitated a beat, then white light flowed from her hand, settling over his face.
The guard captain’s mug—which I’d beaten to a bloody pulp—snapped back to its original repulsive state in seconds. The stab wound on his ass was worse, but she’d targeted the face on purpose.
Those who didn’t give a damn about someone else’s injuries zeroed in solely on Marian’s holy magic.
“It’s... the Saintess.”
“The real deal!”
Recovery magic wasn’t exclusive to saintesses, but no Gaiana priest would fake being the Saintess. The sleazy leader couldn’t hide his shock, and neither could the soldiers encircling us.
The title of Hero might not carry much weight yet, but the Gaiana Church’s one and only Saintess? That name held serious clout.
“Saintess, please, help us out!”
“Bestow the Goddess’s grace upon us...”
“We’re begging—just a little food...”
Once her identity clicked, the refugees surprised everyone by surging forward first. Wary of the soldiers moments ago, they now mobbed her, pleading for mercy.
I didn’t exactly admire their spineless reliance on others, but I held back, curious how Marian would handle it.
“Back off.”
“Huh?”
“I said don’t come near me so casually. And before you beg for the Goddess’s mercy, take a good look at yourselves first.”
The refugees reeled at her unexpected bite, but I couldn’t help chuckling.
Truth be told, it was probably the most natural reaction from her. The woman the guard captain had bullied begged us to act like we saw nothing—and Marian had gotten the full story.
And yeah, it lined up exactly with what I’d figured. Butler’s thugs mixed in with the refugees made harassing women a daily routine. She knew damn well what the captain wanted from her; the hesitation was just to wrangle a guarantee of castle entry.
“H-how can someone who’s a Saintess talk like that? Aren’t you supposed to help us by default?”
“...There’s no such thing as ‘supposed to’ in this world. You know that better than anyone.”
Marian shot back at the refugees blaming her, and I finally burst out laughing.
Considering her past life, this was utterly impossible. She’d been brutal to me, sure, but haunted by her red-light origins, she played the benevolent saintess everywhere she went. Hell, even I felt a twinge of pity for the act sometimes.
For the first time, I thought maybe Marian and I could actually click.
“Haha, my apologies for earlier. I failed to recognize such esteemed guests.”
The sleazy-faced man introduced himself as Charlie and volunteered to guide us personally. He claimed to handle the castle’s administration, blaming refugee headaches for his screw-up.
We both knew it was bullshit, but neither Marian nor I called him on it.
Convinced he’d defused the crisis slickly, Charlie tossed out a chummy question.
“So, who’s the gentleman accompanying the Saintess...?”
“The Hero.”
“Ah, the one who lopped off Juan’s arm...”
Charlie jumped at my blunt intro. His face screamed bad blood with Juan.
His instant shift to ass-kissing soured my mood, but the oblivious prick kept cozying up with lame flattery.
“Wow, meeting the Hero in the flesh—what an honor for my house!”
“Save the bootlicking. Just take me to Hazel.”
Charlie’s face twitched for a split second before he smoothed it over and nodded.
“The Countess should be inside.”
We traversed the inner corridors to the deepest chamber—the throne room equivalent. At the ornate doors, spear-wielding guards saluted Charlie.
Odd for a mere admin, but by Butler territory standards, nothing was normal anyway.
Charlie offered to announce our visit to Hazel and asked us to wait, but I saw no point and shoved open her door.
What the...? This is...
I gawked at Hazel’s space in disbelief. She startled at my sudden entrance too, her round eyes bulging as she stammered at me.
“H-Hero? H-how did you get h-here...?”
I ignored her question, scowling at what should’ve been the strategy room.
Refugees were flooding in, demon army could strike anytime—this was where Hazel and her people should be plotting countermeasures. Instead, kids’ toys littered the floor like a playpen.
“Who’re you?”
The apparent owner—a curious-faced kid around seven or eight—blurted it casually, half-informal.
I snorted at the brat who hadn’t mastered polite speech yet.
“Hazel de Butler. Here to help.”
I cut straight to business with her. Yeah, she owed me, but I wasn’t cashing in yet.
“R-really? Th-thank you!”
Clueless to my intent, Hazel beamed innocently and bowed deeply. Charlie and the door guards all stiffened at the sight.
Looks like more internal rot than I figured.
Judging by how they treated Hazel, it tracked—especially with the shitshows ahead for Butler territory.
“You—who the hell are you, acting all cocky with my mom?”
The kid’s curiosity soured to a scowl in an instant. Looked like Hazel bowing didn’t sit right with him either.
“L-Lloyd! D-don’t say that!”
Hazel scolded him, but the glare held firm.
I clocked it then—he was the last count’s son. That signature haughtiness of kids who’d never bowed to anyone oozed from him.
“What? Looks like some damn mercenary to me.”
“Lloyd! Wh-where did you even learn words like...?”
Sharp tongue for a squirt, but no free pass just ‘cause he was a kid.
I figured it was time this clueless punk learned what the world was really like. Swallowing the hassle, I started closing in on him slow and steady.
The closer I got, the more his rude-ass attitude cracked, bit by bit.