Chapter 212: A Foundation for the Saint-2
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 212: A Foundation for the Saint-2
Contrary to what Lumen had said, Maria could not adjust to her "daily life."
Daily life. What exactly was that?
Maria posed the fundamental question to herself.
Wasn't every day I spent with the Saint my daily life?
She asked herself this while maintaining the edge of her greatsword.
As she wrapped an old cloth around the blade, she reminisced about the time she had spent with him.
When she knocked and entered his room, the Saint, who was never an early riser, would wriggle beneath his sheets.
Then, she would pull back the curtains that shielded the window and turn back to him, bathed in the brilliant sunlight.
The Saint’s face would still be lost in the depths of sleep.
After staring blankly at those chiseled, statue-like features for a moment, she would clear her throat and call out to him.
"Saint. Saint."
"It is time to wake, Saint."
When she called him like that, he would shift a few times under the cozy blankets before slowly opening his eyes.
Mysterious blue eyes.
Once the Saint confirmed her presence through his blurred vision, he would offer a smile as gentle as the warmth of spring sunshine and speak.
"Good morning, Sister Maria."
Ah, what a warm resonance those words had.
Maria’s grip tightened on the cloth she was wrapping around her sword.
While the Saint slowly shook off the lingering weight of sleep, Maria would prepare and bring him water to wash with.
Then, she would step out of the room for a moment.
It was only a ten to fifteen-minute wait, but to her, that time felt longer than any grand ceremony or ritual.
As she waited endlessly for his voice, it would eventually drift out from inside the room.
"I am all ready, Sister Maria."
Then she would give a bright reply of "Yes," and follow half a step behind the Saint as he headed toward the dining hall.
That was Maria’s daily life.
Interrogating people imprisoned in a foul-smelling dungeon could not possibly be her daily life.
Or so Maria thought.
She recalled that rainy night.
The Saint was disappointed in me.
The stairs leading down to the dungeon were long.
As she descended for what felt like an eternity, she breathed in the full, musty stench of the underground.
Senses she thought she had forgotten—sensations from the time before she met the Saint—began to claw their way back to life.
She thought to herself:
I must win back the Saint’s heart.
The faint light flickered against the cells.
The peculiar thing about this place was that the cells had no iron bars. This was because they served as both prison cells and interrogation rooms.
Maria opened the door to her assigned interrogation room.
She saw the sinner sitting in a cold iron chair.
"Ugh... Uhhh..."
The man, his limbs bound to the chair, trembled at the sight of Maria.
It was all too clear what the appearance of an Inquisitor signified.
"Hwang Daris."
The sinner’s name fell from Maria’s lips.
"Confess your sins while God’s mercy still dwells within you."
Maria proceeded with the ritualistic words she knew by heart.
"I—I... I really... don't know! It’s the truth! Inquisitor!!"
The sinner wept, imploring her. His desperate cries echoed through the interrogation room.
"..."
Maria closed her eyes for a moment. The senseless prattle of a sinner who didn't know his place was grating.
Oh, God. Please forgive this sinner.
Maria walked toward the wall.
The sinner’s eyes followed her, then began to shake as they landed on the tools hanging there.
"Ugh... Ah...! Please...!"
A hammer and a box of rusty nails were brought out, clinking together.
The man shuddered. A foul-smelling liquid trickled down his lower body and onto the floor.
Maria frowned briefly, but as if accustomed to it, she plucked a single nail from the box.
"Please, please, please... Oh God, please... Plea—AAAAAAAGGGHHH!!!"
With a single strike, the man’s prayer was transformed into a scream.
Maria had driven the nail through the first joint of his index finger.
A beast-like shriek filled the room.
Maria leaned her face close to the man as he writhed in agony.
The man’s face was reflected in her green eyes, which were now cast in deep shadow.
"I see the devil still resides in your eyes."
The cruel Inquisitor made her judgment.
An Inquisitor is weaker than a Holy Knight.
"I'll talk! I'll tell you everything! My sins... all of them... AAAAAGGGHHH!!!"
A nail was driven into the first joint of his middle finger.
The bound man’s body jolted, and an unidentifiable discharge leaked from his mouth.
An Inquisitor is weaker than a Holy Knight.
"AAAAAAAGGGHHH!!!"
Another nail was hammered into the first joint of his ring finger.
An Inquisitor is weaker than a Holy Knight.
It was a true statement.
An Inquisitor did not need the martial prowess required to suppress an opponent.
They only needed the "might" required to make an opponent open their mouth.
"I miss the Saint."
Maria, showing a side of herself she had never once revealed to the Saint, murmured lonely to herself.
Before her, the man who had fainted from the pain twitched periodically, his body testifying to his continued survival.