Chapter 5
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 5
Chapter Title: Until Meeting the Saintess Again
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It took longer than I expected to meet the Saintess again.
To be precise—
The moment I clutched the seal for managing her exclusive supplies, I thought everything was settled. My judgment was dead wrong.
"Congratulations, Priest Ian."
The Papal Secretariat Scribe handed over the seal with a smile.
"From now on, you're in charge of Saintess Elysia's supply management."
Hearing that, I really believed it was all resolved. I could block the alcohol shipments, the incense, the herbs—everything. I could bring her lifestyle back to normal.
—Or so I thought.
"Time for the handover, then."
"Handover?"
"Oh, I haven't explained yet, have I?"
He pulled over a towering stack of documents.
"Exclusive Saintess supply management covers six basic sectors by default: finances, holy artifacts, external donations, personal expenditures, special permitted items, and—"
"...Hold on."
I raised a hand, my mind going blank.
"This is all... my job?"
"Of course."
The scribe was utterly nonchalant.
"And this is just the basics—the bare fundamentals."
Basics.
That word echoed in my ears all day that day... no, the entire week.
I attended lectures in the underground classrooms of the Papal Secretariat.
Where the support funds came from and where they flowed.
The line between permitted and forbidden expenditures for the Saintess.
Why a single bottle of liquor was classified not as 'minor luxury' but as 'hazardous material.'
Why magical herbs were only allowed in specific situations.
"...Why is this banned?"
"In the Saintess's case, her divine power fluctuates wildly based on her emotional state."
"...Emotions?"
"Yes. That's why she needs such strict oversight."
I thought of Elysia's face as I listened.
Her bored expression.
Her mocking eyes.
And—
That fleeting, unsteady gaze.
"...Understood."
The classes weren't easy.
My head hurt, I was sleepy, and halfway through, I wanted to quit. But oddly enough—
I didn't feel like running away.
Little by little,
really just a little—
I sensed myself climbing from 'helpless apprentice priest' to a position where I could actually do something.
That was why.
A week later, heading back to the prayer room—
I was wearing a pair of empty frames like glasses.
Honestly, it was pointless. My eyesight hadn't worsened, and I didn't need them.
Just...
After those classes, I felt a bit smarter.
Maybe it was to loosen up before going in.
I stood before the prayer room door.
Took a breath, and opened it.
"...Whoa."
The room was—
even worse than before.
No one had cleaned, clearly. Empty bottles had multiplied, the incense sticks had melted down completely, leaving hardened wax pools on the floor. The curtains were drawn, and the air inside was dank.
And—
the bed.
Elysia was buried under the covers.
"...Figures."
I drew back the curtains.
Sunlight poured in.
I flung open the windows right after. Cold wind rushed in, stirring the stale air.
"......"
The covers twitched.
"Ugh..."
Elysia curled up tighter.
Shivering, she pulled the blanket closer, as if from the chill.
Her sleeping face was—
genuinely,
angelic.
A bit—no, pretty grubby, sure.
Her hair was tangled, pillow marks creased her face—but somehow, that vulnerability left me speechless for a moment.
"Saintess."
I spoke as softly as I could.
"Time to get up."
"...Huh?"
A weird noise came from under the covers.
"...Huh? Wha?"
Sleep-talking.
"...Gah!"
Elysia bolted halfway up and yelled.
"The sunlight...!"
"Vampire much?"
Her eyes snapped open at my words.
"...What?"
"...Uh."
She spotted me, and her face hardened.
"You."
"...Hello."
"I told you to get lost."
"Yes."
I nodded.
"You did."
"...Then?"
"But you don't have the authority to fire me, Saintess."
Silence.
"...What?"
She narrowed her eyes.
"What're you gonna do about it?"
I shrugged.
"I'm just a cog in the machine up top. Gotta follow orders."
I pulled the most pitiful face I could.
Brows slightly furrowed inward, corners of my mouth just a touch down.
Gaze not straight on, but a bit lower.
Frankly.
I thought it was pretty cute.
Satisfied with myself, I tilted my head ever so slightly.
Elysia stared at me for a long moment before speaking.
"...Disgusting expression."
"Wasn't it cute?"
"...Bullshit."
"With the Saintess praying for a bountiful harvest, we'll never go hungry."
Her eyes flashed.
I quietly averted my gaze.
Truth be told, I was scared.
"Anyway."
I pressed on.
"Go wash up first."
"...Why should I?"
"You're filthy."
Before the words even finished—
my vision lurched.
Elysia's hand moved first.
No sound. No warning.
It just—closed in, and the next instant, my collar was gripped tight.
The priestly robe's front bunched up, choking my neck. Breath caught—not from raw strength, but proximity. Too close.
Her hand was small but firm. Knuckles dug into the fabric, creasing it deep. Each wrinkle felt like a sign she had no intention of letting go.
"Who the hell do you think you are."
Low voice.
Her breath hit my face up close. The mingled scent of booze and incense thickened suddenly. A mere tilt of the head, and our foreheads would touch.
Thump.
Thump.
A sound by my ear.
Her eyes scanned my face—not up and down, but dead center. A gaze with no escape.
"Don't give me orders."
Her grip tightened just a fraction. Not pain, but pressure. Telling me to run now if I could—but that I couldn't.
I swallowed.
My throat moved, and the collar yanked tighter.
That's when it hit me.
This wasn't anger.
It was a threat.
And—
Elysia wielded threats with expert familiarity.
"...The guy holding your purse strings."
I pulled the seal from my pocket and flashed it.
Metal gleamed.
Her expression froze.
"...Crazy bastard."
"Anyway."
I steadied my breath and said it.
"Shall we start by cutting the booze?"
"...Fuck."
"Gonna have to curb the swearing too."
Elysia sighed, then—
started undressing.
Elysia sighed and hooked her fingers into her collar like it was nothing.
"You told me to wash up."
With those words, the knot loosened with a soft sound.
Fabric slid along skin in a faint rustle.
I registered it a beat too late.
My eyes—
kept drifting there.
I hadn't even seen anything specific.
But the anticipation of what I might chilled my spine. The room's air shifted. Over the booze and incense, it carried the heat of her movements.
"...Ah, no."
I whipped my head away.
"What the hell are you doing?!"
I fixed my gaze on the wall, counting the golden patterns on the holy image for no reason. One, two—meaningless numbers filled my head. Behind me, the rustle of fabric settled. Too close; every sound was unnaturally crisp.
"You said to wash up."
Her voice stayed casual as ever.
"I'm still here!"
My words came out louder than needed. My heart pounded by my ear. The harder I fought not to look, the sharper my imagination got.
"Change in the shower! Right now!"
A brief silence.
"...Jeez."
She grumbled.
"Such a damn prude."
Footsteps receded. Door clicked shut.
Only then could I breathe.
I stood facing the wall, taking deep breaths.
"...Haa."
I was scared.
For real.
And—
For another reason,
my heart was racing like mad.
Swirling in my head—
that moment from before.
"...Agh."
I yelped softly and smacked my forehead lightly.
"What the hell are you thinking?"
Then—
her voice echoed from the shower.
"What're you doing?"
"...One sec."
I blurted desperately.
"Performing a confession to cleanse my impure thoughts."
"Oh, bullshit."
"Swearing's a sin, Saintess."
"This much is fine. Holding it in just makes you sick."
Elysia roughly toweled her wet hair and straddled a chair.
Elysia plopped onto the chair without properly wrapping her towel.
To be exact—
She had it on. Technically.
But 'properly' didn't apply.
Wet strands trailed down her shoulders, darkening patches on the white fabric. The damp cloth clung to her, outlining curves that should've stayed hidden—too vividly. Each breath made it shift subtly, drawing the eye relentlessly.
I reflexively stepped back.
"S-Saintess!!"
My voice pitched higher than expected.
She looked up. Violet eyes peered through damp hair, slow and languid.
"What now?"
Casual tone.
That made it worse.
"Fix your clothes! Make yourself decent!"
I nearly shouted. My gaze darted between floor and wall. One wrong glance—
and I'd see.
"Damn, you're such a nag."
"...You calling me grandma?"
The words slipped out before I thought.
Her brow twitched.
"What?! Why?!"
"...Your mouth just feels so... seasoned."
She let out a hollow laugh and raised her arm. The wet fabric stretched taut. I swallowed hard.
"And—dry your hair at least."
"Nah. Too much hassle."
"You'll catch a cold."
"Saintesses don't get colds."
"...You will."
"Fine, then."
Elysia jerked her chin.
"You dry it for me."
Silence.
I froze solid.
"...Pardon?"
"I said it's a hassle."
She leaned deeper into the chair. Utterly unguarded posture. Hands draped loosely on her thighs, wet locks falling past her collarbone. The room filled with the scent of water... and that sweet aroma again.
"...Hah."
I clutched my face.
This was a trial.
Undeniably.
"Understood."
The words scraped out of my throat.