Chapter 3
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 3
Chapter Title: Don't Come Anymore
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When I opened the door to the prayer room again,
For a very brief moment, I hoped yesterday's events had been a dream.
But the instant the door swung open, that hope shattered right at the tip of my nose.
Alcohol stench.
Much stronger than yesterday.
It clung damply to the air, leaving a bitter taste on the tip of my tongue with every breath I took. Layered over it was the peculiar sweetness of incense, but it was hardly worthy of being called a fragrance anymore. The wick had burned far too long, turning the sweetness into something closer to rotten decay.
"…Wow."
An exclamation that wasn't quite admiration slipped out before I knew it.
This wasn't a prayer room.
It was a broken person's hideout.
Same layout as yesterday.
Same table, same sofa, same holy statue.
But the air felt denser.
As if someone had spent the whole night in here, breathing raggedly and burning themselves out—the entire space was saturated with exhaustion.
I closed the door and stepped inside cautiously.
I muffled my footsteps as much as possible.
There was no real need, but in this room, even sound felt like it might set someone off.
And there she was.
The sofa.
Elysia, slumped even more than yesterday.
"…."
Yesterday had been shocking, but today she looked one level worse.
She was still wearing her saintess robes.
But now, even calling it 'disheveled' felt too kind. The fabric had slipped off her shoulder and stayed there, with no sign of fixing it, while the waist belt hung completely loose, the hem draped haphazardly over her knees.
All sense of neatness was gone.
No—more precisely,
It was the look of someone who had lost any reason to care.
Her hair was the same.
In the original story, Elysia's hair was never once described as messy. Not in the wind, not in battle—her locks were always perfectly in place. That was her dignity as a saintess, the chains she wrapped around herself.
But this Elysia—
She hadn't bothered to tidy it.
No, she lacked the will to.
Silver strands spilled messily over her shoulders and chest, a few clinging to her cheeks. She hadn't even thought to brush them away, just surrendering her body to the sofa.
Her head tilted back, eyes half-lidded.
The only sign she was alive was her slow breathing.
"…Saintess."
When I called out softly, Elysia's eyelids lifted very slowly.
Violet eyes.
Hazier than yesterday.
Unfocused, she stared into empty space for a long moment—before finally registering me, a beat late.
"…You're here."
Her voice was low and sluggish.
No warmth.
No expectation.
"The promised item?"
"Is this some shady backroom deal? Why the secretive whispers?"
"Feels like it ought to be."
I set the pre-prepared tray on the table.
A single small teacup sat atop it.
Honey water.
Faint steam rose gently.
Elysia's gaze drifted down to the cup.
"…What's this."
"Honey water."
"…Alcohol."
"None."
Her eyebrows furrowed slowly.
"Hey."
"My name is Ian."
"Hah, fine. Ian."
"…Yes."
"Right now."
Her eyes narrowed.
"You ignoring me?"
"…No."
I didn't lower my head.
Instead, I straightened my back further and stood tall.
"I'll protect Your Holiness's liver."
"Who the hell are you to talk about guarding my health like that?"
"Someone who worries about you. Someone who wants Your Holiness to go back to how she was."
"Hah, back to normal."
Silence.
The air grew strangely heavy.
Elysia stared at me without a word for a long stretch.
Her gaze carried clear irritation, but oddly—it was calm too.
"…Before I throw you out."
She said lowly.
"Bring booze."
It was a threat.
Different from yesterday's—more sincere this time.
I took a steadying breath and shook my head.
"No."
My voice didn't waver.
"…Hah."
Elysia huffed shortly.
"Really."
She muttered, head lolling back.
"Stuck with an annoying one."
She flicked her hand dismissively.
"Just go."
"…Saintess."
"Can't you hear me?"
"I can."
I nudged the cup closer to her.
"Drink it anyway."
Elysia eyed the cup for ages, then tsked.
"…Damn it."
Grumbling under her breath, she picked it up.
One sip.
"…."
A faint shift crossed her face.
"…Sweet."
"Honey's in it."
"…I know."
She took another sip.
Longer this time.
"…Awful."
"Good."
"How."
"You drank it."
Elysia shot me a glare.
"You really."
"…Yes."
"You a priest?"
"Yes."
"…Why won't you listen?"
I didn't reply.
That was when.
Elysia grabbed a small pouch from beside the table.
She pulled out a slender leaf and stuck it between her lips.
Faint smoke curled up.
"…Saintess."
I asked.
"What's that."
"Magic herb."
She said, lighting it.
"Cigarette substitute."
"…Isn't it bad for you."
Elysia blew out smoke.
"It's not."
"…Pardon?"
"Nothing isn't harmful."
In that instant—
My body moved on instinct.
I snatched the herb from her mouth.
"…No."
Short and firm.
Silence.
The next second,
Elysia bolted upright.
My back slammed into the cold wall.
No room left to retreat.
The marble chill seeped through my thin priest robes.
My breath hitched.
She was too close.
Breath-touching close.
No—
Her breath touched.
Every exhale brushed my nape with warmth.
Her scent flooded my nose.
Overwhelmingly sweet. Not fresh like flowers or honey, but a cloying density that made inhaling feel like a fatal error—like it would rot me from within. Turn away, my mind screamed, even as the urge surged to shut my eyes and breathe deeper.
Dangerous scent.
All the more seductive for it.
"Wanna die?"
Low voice.
A near-whisper.
I knew it was a threat,
Yet it didn't register as words first.
Not sound,
Vibration.
Deep thrum in my chest.
Elysia loomed before me.
No—not quite standing.
Leaning in.
One arm braced on the wall,
Sealing my escape.
I swallowed hard.
I could bolt if I tried.
Nothing held me— no bonds, no grip.
Still—
I couldn't move.
Fear.
Undoubtedly.
But also—
Inexplicably,
I couldn't tear my eyes away.
Violet eyes right there.
Too close for focus.
My reflection trembled tiny in her pupils.
"…You're the one."
My voice emerged lower than expected.
Trembling,
But unbroken.
"Who wants to die, aren't you, Saintess."
As those words escaped,
I shocked myself most.
Not a question.
Not a taunt.
Confirmation.
Elysia's motion froze.
Utterly,
As if she'd forgotten to breathe.
Her pupils quivered.
Faintly.
But I saw.
Not rage—
Fluster.
"…."
Her hand,
Still pressed to the wall.
Fingers digging into marble,
Knuckles bone-white.
"Why."
I asked softly.
Still pinned.
"Why go that far… to ruin yourself."
Her gaze slid
From my eyes—to my neck.
The touch of it sent ice down my spine.
Instinctively,
I swallowed.
"…Shut up."
Sharp as a blade.
Next instant,
Pain lanced.
Something razor-keen raked my neck.
Stinging burn.
Fleeting agony.
Blood welling.
I froze mid-breath.
Elysia halted too.
Her eyes dropped
To my neck.
The wound.
Tiny thing.
Seeing it—
Her face locked solid.
First time fully.
Moment of—
Regret's grip.
"…."
Her hand shook.
Visibly so.
Then slowly—
Agonizingly slow—
One step back.
Air flowed again.
My lungs gulped it down.
Elysia turned away.
"…From tomorrow."
Voice softer, lower.
"No need to come."
"…Saintess."
"Scram."
Ice-cold.
But not like the threat before.
This was—
A shove away.
I had no more words.
Peeled from the wall,
Retreated quietly.
Till the door shut behind me,
She never glanced back.
I said nothing.
Out in the hall,
I touched my neck.
The wound—
Gone.
As if someone had,
So very gently—
Healed it.
I stood in the corridor, breathing blankly.