Chapter 13
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 13
Chapter Title: You'll Regret It
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“We should hand this heretic over to the Inquisition immediately.”
“How could His Holiness keep such a blasphemous wretch by the Saintess’s side?”
The air froze over once more.
At that moment—
“No.”
Saintess Elysia spoke.
This time, her voice was clear, infused with resolve.
“He’s my person.”
The high priests’ gazes snapped toward her in unison.
“I decide who stays by my side.”
It was unequivocal.
A statement leaving no room for argument.
The moment I heard it, I thought my breath had stopped.
Elysia didn’t look at me.
She simply stood there—facing them head-on.
“Saintess.”
I murmured, deeply moved.
But I had to shut my mouth as those sharp gazes turned to me.
Elysia turned her head then, looking at me this time.
“…Priest Ian.”
Her eyes didn’t waver. Just like in the original story, when she’d shielded the innocent at the execution grounds.
“Don’t worry.”
Her voice was gentle.
“You were only doing your duty.”
It overlapped.
Once again.
The original and reality, aligning at the exact same angle.
I knew that scene.
I’d read it before.
A line I’d mulled over countless times.
She truly was herself.
No matter her appearance.
No matter her speech.
Drunk or sprawled on the sofa.
Her core never changed.
“There’s a rule in our church.”
Elysia spoke again.
“Is there such a rule?”
“…No. But—”
“If not.”
She cut him off.
“Then what reason do you have to punish him?”
Silence.
Someone spoke up.
“Even so, if he’s defiled the Saintess’s body, which must remain pure—”
“Enough.”
A low, heavy voice reverberated.
It came from the door.
“Since when did our church become so rigid?”
It was the Pope.
“Y-Your Holiness…!”
“I stopped by because of the commotion.”
He clicked his tongue.
“Tch. Everyone, withdraw.”
“But—!”
“I said no more nitpicking.”
The Pope’s gaze swept over the high priests.
“There aren’t many eyes here.”
The corner of his mouth lifted ever so slightly.
“Old men and their stubborn ways.”
With that, no further objections arose.
The high priests retreated one by one, faces flushed. They couldn’t hide their wounded pride—but they didn’t forget to glare at me until the end.
The door closed.
A heavy thud echoed softly through the prayer room, severing the noisy world in an instant. In the void left by the old men’s hypocritical praise and the Pope’s inscrutable, sly silence, the purple haze of Moonlit Herb and the thick stench of liquor revived.
I collapsed onto the sofa as if shedding a sacred mask. No—more like crumpling into it. That brief ‘act’ of kneeling straight-backed had gnawed at my body more than I realized.
“Haa…”
Hot, ragged breaths escaped my lips. Cold sweat trickled down my back. The pain hit sharper and fiercer than before.
Above my left breast, crushing my heart like a brand.
That curse, etched under the guise of a vessel for divine power, clawed deep into my flesh. The rampaging mana tore through my veins like a bone-carving blade.
It started small, like the crack of fracturing glass. But one wrong breath, and the fissure gaped wide, spreading. A scraping from within. Not petals blooming beneath the skin, but thorns sprouting.
Yet something strange had happened.
Earlier, when this priest grabbed my leg to close it.
And when he supported me.
In that fleeting moment of his rude touch against my skin, the brand’s torment had eased like magic.
‘No way. It can’t be.’
I shook my head, denying it. Coincidence. Or the shock of that absurd situation distracting from the pain. If—truly if—this priest’s touch was the only balm for my agony…
The mere thought was horrifying. I didn’t want to depend on anything anymore. Not liquor, not Moonlit Herb, and certainly not some mysterious apprentice priest. Dependence bred weakness, and weakness would drag me back to that miserable path of death.
I pressed hard against my throbbing temple with one hand. My vision flashed; my stomach churned.
“…Are you alright?”
The voice came from right beside me. It was Ian.
Those eyes, brimming with concern—and all the more irritating for it—stared straight at me.
“Mind your own business.”
I spat coldly. But my voice cracked weaker than usual. Cold sweat dripped from my chin to the floor.
“I’ve been wondering… Are you in pain somewhere?”
Instead of answering, I reached for the water glass on the table. But my fingers trembled against my will. The glass clinked and shook.
“What’s it to you?”
I snapped, but he didn’t flinch. Instead, he smoothly took the glass, poured water, and set it before me.
“I’m worried.”
I glared at him. That earnest expression felt chillingly alien. In hundreds of lives, many claimed to ‘worry’ about me. But their concern was for my ‘condition,’ not me—for the miracles I couldn’t perform if ill, or the empire’s peril if I died.
But this man’s eyes were different. Like gazing at something fragile, a deeply personal, all-too-human emotion.
“…Hah.”
I forced a smile through the pain, knowing the most efficient way to reassure people despite uneven breaths.
“I’m fine. Just a momentary thing. No need to worry.”
I smiled. Benevolent, serene, the perfect saintess untouched by suffering.
I wanted to push him away. See? This is the saintess you adore. No pain, no anger, just a doll smiling through everything.
But Ian’s face darkened further.
“Still…”
“Don’t cross the line.”
I dropped the smile and cut him off. My sharp tone sliced the prayer room’s chill air.
“Mind your duties. You don’t need to worry about my health or play at rules and games.”
I leaned deep into the sofa, looking down at him coldly—as if mocking the noble words I’d spoken defending him before the priests.
“What, can’t adjust to seeing my true state after that holy act? Fantasy shattered?”
I blew Moonlit Herb smoke straight at his face. Through the purple mist, my twisted nature menaced him.
“I don’t know what side of me you saw to cling like this, but this is the real me. If you’re here because of that ‘sacred performance’… wake up.”
My heart pounded like it would burst. The brand’s pain surged to my scalp. I hurled harsh words as if transferring the agony to him.
“If you’re sick of it, leave. Don’t come back. Hell, just get out.”
Finishing, I bowed my head.
The sudden seizure left me unable to face him. Imagining my wretched, pathetic state made me nauseous. Silver hair a mess, face contorted in ugliness.
A heavy silence blanketed the room.
I waited for the door opening, for his disappointed sigh—‘The Saintess isn’t who I thought’—and his departure, leaving me to my solitary hell.
Then, footsteps echoed in the quiet room.
Not receding. Closer, pressing against the marble floor.
‘Ah, so you too.’
“Saintess.”
His voice came from right in front of me.
Startled, I looked up. His eyes filled my vision. He’d knelt at my feet, meeting my gaze.
A relentlessly straight stare, no escape.
The most alien, dangerous variable in this world—one I’d never encountered through thousands of deaths—stared me down.
“…Are you actually insane?”
I asked in a trembling voice.
Ian gently enveloped my cold hand instead of answering. That unfamiliar warmth from when he’d gripped my leg flowed from my knuckles to my heart.
“You told me to wake up?”
He asked softly. No disappointment or fear in his eyes. Only a stubborn fixation on me as a person.
“I’m sorry, Saintess. I’m the type who sticks to a dream once I have it.”
“What…?”
“And that ‘side’ you just mentioned.”
Ian leaned closer. His breath brushed my cheek. The brand’s pain hushed once more, like a lie.
“Stumbling drunk, spewing curses, forcing a smile to hide the hurt…”
He gripped my hand tighter.
“I knew all of it when I came here. So don’t think of chasing me off. It’s too late.”
I stared blankly into his eyes.
Reflected there wasn’t the original’s despised ‘Saintess Elysia,’ but the writhing, screaming ‘human Elysia’ in agony right now.
In the suffocating tedium and repeating tragedies, for the first time, a different ending seemed to dawn. This con artist priest’s reckless sincerity might—just might—halt my thousandth death… A tiny, perilous hope bloomed amid the purple smoke.
“…Ian.”
I murmured his name very softly.
“You’ll regret it.”