Chapter 6
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 6
Chapter Title: Brushing the Saintess's Hair
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“...Yes?”
My mouth fell open in a daze. What I’d just heard couldn’t have been a hallucination. Elysia, roughly towel-drying her wet hair with her hand before slouching into the chair, issued her command with the casual indifference of someone picking out today’s lunch menu.
“I’m too lazy. You dry it for me.”
This was a trial. Clearly, the heavens were testing me. My mind flashed with a sensational headline: ‘Apprentice Priest Ian Succumbs to Heart Attack While Drying the Saintess’s Hair.’ But a cold? If the noble Saintess from the original story caught a cold from sitting in this dank room with wet hair, it’d be a loss for the world—and the end of my fanboy life.
“...Understood.”
My voice came out scratchy. With trembling hands, I picked up a clean towel from the table. Each step toward her back felt like walking a path of thorns. Standing behind Elysia, who lounged languidly in the chair, the cold dampness from her wet silver hair mixed with her signature sweet scent assaulted my nose without mercy. It wasn’t a fresh floral or honey aroma—it was so thick and intoxicating that even breathing felt like a mistake.
The hand gripping the towel shook pathetically. Praying she wouldn’t notice, I cautiously draped the towel over her hair.
After carefully pressing out the moisture with the towel, I pulled a comb from my pocket.
“You carry all sorts of things in your pockets, huh.”
“Just in case.”
In the original story, Saintess Elysia was never once described with disheveled hair. No matter the wind or her prayers, that dazzling cascade of silver was always perfectly arranged. Now, it flowed between my fingers.
“...”
My heart pounded up to my throat, threatening to burst out. Each stroke of the comb made her hair feel softer than silk against my fingertips, glowing with its own light even without sunlight. Was I really worthy of touching this ‘national treasure’?
“Your hands are too hesitant. Priest, are you scared?”
Elysia teased languidly, turning her head slightly. Through strands of wet hair, her violet eyes slowly looked up at me.
“N-No! It’s just... my ultimate fave—er, the Saintess’s hair is like a treasure. I can’t handle it roughly.”
“A treasure? Ha, you treat everything like treasure.”
She let out a small scoff of disbelief but didn’t reject my touch anymore. Instead, she leaned into it, closing her eyes and exhaling a relaxed breath as if enjoying it.
The longer it took to dry her hair, the warmer the room felt. Elysia had completely relaxed now, tilting her head back slightly to rest it against my chest.
“...!”
My breath caught for a moment. Her white nape and smooth collarbone line filled my vision through the gaps in the towel. The damp Saintess robes clung to her pale skin, revealing lines that should’ve been hidden far too clearly.
‘I’m a wall. I’m a rock. I’m furniture in this room...’
I recited scripture madly in my head, forcing my eyes wide open. Unsure where to look, I counted the gold patterns on the ceiling. But the heat of her body right behind me and the steady rise and fall of her shoulders numbed my senses.
Elysia, head against my chest, seemed to savor the thud of my heartbeat against her back, her lips curving into the faintest smile.
“Your heart’s pounding so loud. Priest, what impure thoughts are you having?”
“...Nothing like that.”
Her hair was almost dry by then. As I continued combing diligently, my hand paused. Near the nape of her neck, her skin—which had been warm moments ago—suddenly felt cold.
“...Saintess?”
Her body trembled faintly. It wasn’t just chills from the cold. Along with a low groan, beads of cold sweat formed on her pale forehead where none should be.
Was there any mention of her getting sick in the original story?
No. Nothing like that.
So what was this? Just a cold?
Worried, I checked her condition. She brushed off my touch roughly, but the force was much weaker than when she’d grabbed my collar yesterday. Pretending not to notice, I met her eyes. Her hazy violet gaze trembled finely with pain.
I cautiously raised my hand to her forehead.
“It’s cold.”
She flinched away from my hand.
Maybe my hand was too cold; I couldn’t gauge her temperature accurately.
“Hmm, hard to tell. Excuse me for a moment.”
Hands weren’t precise enough. Unthinkingly, I brought my forehead slowly to hers.
At that instant, Elysia’s body went rigid as stone. Her violet eyes, met so closely, quivered like aspen leaves.
Foreheads touched.
Very lightly.
Truly—just a graze.
Yet that brief contact crumbled more than expected.
At first, it felt cold.
But only for a moment.
From the point of contact, heat spread.
Elysia’s forehead was subtly feverish. Different from what my hand felt. A deep, pent-up warmth rising from within her skin. Her unstable body temperature transmitted fully across that single point.
“...”
In that moment—
Elysia reacted entirely differently.
Like someone holding their breath, she didn’t move a muscle.
Her once-languid eyes were gone; the violet irises stared wide, fixed on one spot. Her pupils contracted, then dilated shakily. As if she couldn’t compute how to handle this.
Her breathing grew very shallow.
“...What are you.”
She tried to speak but stopped.
Lips parted, but no sound came. Instead, her throat trembled faintly. The shaking I’d felt was now clearly starting from her.
I pulled my head back just a little.
“No fever.”
I said flatly.
“More like chills.”
Only then did Elysia exhale. Her inhale and exhale tangled, coming out short and ragged.
“...Are you insane?”
Her voice was lower than usual. No mockery, no leisure.
“Right now.”
A beat late, her hand moved. Not grabbing my collar. Instead, she gripped the chair arm tightly. Veins bulged on the back of her hand.
“Doing something like this.”
Her words trailed off.
“To just anyone.”
“...Is that so?”
I thought for a moment.
“But to me, you’re not just anyone, Saintess.”
“...What?”
“You’re an important person to me. The Saintess is.”
“...Who are you to say that?”
“Your dedicated priest. If anything happens to you, it’s on me.”
Elysia’s gaze sharpened even more.
I had no idea why she was like this. All I cared about was the chill seeping through from her forehead.
“Are you feeling very ill?”
Asking sincerely, her wild trembling began to subside bit by bit. She stared blankly at me, then bit her lip as if snapping out of it.
“...How long are you going to keep this up?”
“Ah!”
Realizing what I’d done, I jolted back in surprise. Moving too hastily, my foot caught the chair behind me, and I tumbled backward awkwardly.
“Ugh!”
Watching me flop onto the floor on my butt, Elysia let out an exasperated chuckle.
“Ha, seeing you makes me crave a drink. Go fetch some booze. The strong stuff.”
She was back to her usual languid, cynical tone.
“No can do, Saintess!”
“My head hurts.”
She pressed her temple, frowning. Her voice carried more fatigue than usual, as if she truly was in pain.
“...Is booze some kind of painkiller?”
“Close enough.”
She waved dismissively, groping the corner of the sofa.
“Whatever, doesn’t matter if you don’t. There’s plenty in this room anyway.”
Oh, right. I’d forgotten. Standing up, I brushed dust off my clothes and replied proudly.
“About that... I already cleared it all out.”
“...What?”
Elysia’s hand froze mid-air. I puffed out my chest smugly.
“Man, it was everywhere. Took forever to clean—from under the bed to behind the altar, even the ceiling decorations.”
“Hey, you bastard! Give back my treasures!”
After a momentary silence came her feral shout. Elysia sprang from the sofa like lightning, grabbing my collar and shaking me violently. She shook so hard the Saintess in front of me seemed to triple.
“Heh, they’re my hostages now. Want them back? Better listen to me.”
“You wicked fiend! And you call yourself a priest?”
“Not something the Saintess should say.”
At my shameless retort, Elysia dropped her hands in disbelief, then clutched her chest and plopped dramatically onto the floor.
“Sob. My precious collection...”
The predator who’d looked ready to devour me moments ago was gone, replaced by a child pouting over a stolen toy. My resolve softened a bit. Reformation project or not, had I pushed too hard?
I approached cautiously, kneeling beside her.
“I’m not saying quit drinking entirely. How about we set some rules between us?”
“Rules?”
Elysia narrowed her teary-free eyes at me.