Chapter 9
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 9
Chapter Title: Mint Chocolate Revelation
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I took a deep breath and stood before the door to the Saintess's private prayer room. The corridor remained steeped in silence so profound not even the fall of a needle could be heard, the sunlight reflecting off the marble floor utterly cold. But the instant I opened this door, that frigid quiet would crumble.
"Excuse me, Saintess. Priest Ian here."
No reply came.
But I now knew that silence meant approval. The moment I cautiously pushed open the door and stepped inside, a thicker, denser purple haze than yesterday stung my nostrils.
"...Hah."
A sigh slipped out before I could stop it. The room's air had long surpassed what human lungs could endure. The sweet yet dizzying aroma unique to Moonlit Herb hung cloyingly thick, unnaturally weighing down the space.
Beyond the smoke, Elysia lay sprawled lengthwise across the sofa.
Her upper body leaned precariously against the armrest, as if even holding herself up was too much trouble, draped in a way that seemed ready to topple at any moment.
Our agreement from yesterday might as well have never happened. The white Saintess's robe that should have draped over her shoulders had slipped loosely to one side, baring the pale skin beneath her collarbone without restraint.
The sash meant to cinch her waist lay undone on the floor, the fabric bunching haphazardly along her curves in a state brutally distant from anything proper.
Her disheveled silver hair spilled messily over her shoulders and chest, a few strands clinging to her cheek and the corner of her lips, damp from the humid smoke. She made no effort to brush them away, her half-lidded eyes fixed on me.
Her violet gaze was slightly unfocused from the intoxication, yet beyond it flickered the predator's sharpness that pierced any intruder. It was a laxity that looked vulnerable but permitted no true gaps—a deliberate looseness.
She held the stem of a glass loosely between two fingers, rolling it idly across the table. The soft tap, tap of wood and crystal echoed through the hushed room. It felt like a quiet protest, burning through her time to affirm her boredom.
"...Saintess."
My voice emerged lower than I'd intended. With every step closer to her, the Moonlit Herb's dense, sweet scent burrowed deep into my lungs, fraying my reason. It wasn't the fresh allure of flowers or honey—this was a heady, cloying haze where even inhaling felt like a perilous mistake.
"You're here, Priest."
Elysia tilted her head back and let out a low chuckle. Her throat arched into view, neck shifting subtly, a faint heat seeping through her damp robe to warm the air. Legs crossed, she swayed her toes lazily, her gaze never straying as she savored my unease.
"In this mist... rules don't come into focus."
She exhaled another plume of Moonlit Herb smoke. The purple veil blurred the line between us, and at this distance where her breath could brush my skin, I had to desperately anchor my sanity once more.
"What about you, Priest? Can you still make out those stiff regulations?"
Her whisper didn't register as sound—it resonated as a low thrum in my chest. I hid my flushing face, realizing anew that this was God's most vicious trial.
To wrestle back my unraveling composure, I recited a mantra in my head. I'm a wall. I'm a rock. I'm just furniture in this room... The drifting Moonlit Herb haze and her own potent scent teased my lungs, but I forced my eyes wide and fixed them on the ceiling's gilded patterns.
My heartbeat roared chaotically near my ears, but I reached out with forced calm. I tugged the perilously slipped white fabric back over her shoulder and arranged it neatly. Shivers raced through me each time my fingertips grazed her cool skin, but I pressed on, yanking the loosened sash at her waist tight once more.
"Saintess, you'll catch a cold dressed like that."
My voice sank lower than usual, firmer than necessary. Elysia's brows twitched upward, her eyes that had mocked me moments before now flickering.
"Saintesses don't catch colds."
She scoffed in disbelief and moved to rumple her clothes again, but I blocked her hand and took a step back. The hazy purple smoke scattered in the cold draft from the window, the room's oppressive density easing toward normalcy.
"You will. Aren't you human, Saintess?"
I pressed on, meeting her fierce glare head-on.
Elysia burst into low laughter at my resolve, incredulous, laced with a sharper cynicism than her usual languor.
"Haha. A Saintess, human? No. You're wrong, Ian."
"Pardon?"
"Saintesses are beings loved by transcendent existences. They must be perfect, flawless. They can't fall ill."
She recited it indifferently, like doctrine memorized ages ago. But she couldn't mask the hollow echo at the end of her voice.
"Where does it say that? You breathe, eat, even drink like this—you're alive."
"It says so. Right here."
She tapped her upper chest. The gesture felt less like introspection and more like pointing to invisible chains binding her.
"But for someone so bound by rules, you're awfully flawed right now. Room's a wreck, clothes all over the place, and your mouth's full of barbs."
She let out a disbelieving ha at my jab, setting her glass down and propping her chin.
"Ha, that's exactly why the higher-ups are grumbling. Might get saddled with duties soon."
"Duties? What kind?"
"Praying in front of crowds, healing the sick... that dull nonsense."
"You handle that too? I figured you just drank here."
"Saintess duties. Have to, whether I want to or not."
"Makes sense. Surprisingly dutiful for saintly work."
My admiring tone made her brows twitch savagely. A spark flared in her languid violet eyes.
"You little...?"
She glared as if ready to seize my collar. I reflexively hunched my shoulders and looked away.
"N-No! I meant your talents are exceptional! Incarnation of divine power, Empire's Flower, our Elysia!"
I launched into groveling flattery in a panic.
"You're no normal one either."
She frowned, genuinely fed up. Undeterred, I stepped closer.
"Of course not. I'm utterly mad for you, Saintess."
I clasped my hands into a heart shape and winked with one eye.
Elysia pretended to spit.
"Ptooey."
"That's too much! Crushing my heartfelt devotion like this!"
I clutched my chest in exaggerated despair. Though she eyed me like a lunatic, the heavy, ennui-choked air had lightened into something more playful.
I set the prepared tray on the table, purple smoke trailing out the door crack behind me.
"As promised, I brought tea."
I confidently lifted the cover. Two cakes sat there: one piled high with fresh strawberries and whipped cream, the other mint chocolate with vivid green cream studded with chocolate chips.
Saintess Elysia was always impeccably prim. Her primness was akin to a vow to God that she would never allow herself to become disheveled. Yet there was one moment each year when she lowered her rigid guard. When the Cathedral gardens overflowed with lily scent and the first sun-ripened red strawberries were delivered to her prayer room.
With those pristine hands that bore the sins of the people, still gloved, she selected the smallest, ripest berry and placed it in her mouth. For a fleeting instant, life sparked in her doll-like violet eyes.
"There it is."
The shy smile she showed solely to that single strawberry—one she never granted with loud laughter or heaving sobs—was the Empire's knights' most lethal reason to lay down their lives for her.
In the original novel Empire's Flower, strawberry cake was described dozens of times as Saintess Elysia's absolute favorite dessert. Convinced she'd pick it, I slid the mint chocolate cake slightly toward my side.
But my prediction spectacularly missed the mark. Without hesitation, Elysia extended her slender finger and pulled my mint chocolate cake toward herself.
"Eh? Saintess, that's mine."
"Finders keepers."
Ignoring my dumbfounded expression, she scooped a generous bite of mint cream with her fork.
"But don't you usually love strawberry cake?"
"Used to."
She replied languidly as she savored the cake. I tilted my head.
"So... not anymore?"
"Not anymore."
"Why? Word around is you adore strawberries."
Elysia swallowed her bite and stared straight at me.
"Ian, do you know what potions taste and smell like?"
"...No clue. Never tried one."
"A priest who doesn't know that?"
"Still just an apprentice. And I'm sturdy—no need for potions."
"Apprentice only when it suits you."
At her sarcasm, I flashed my signature 'cute' face.
"Hehe."
"...Make that face one more time, and I'll dump this hot tea on your face."
"Scary, Saintess."
"Doesn't sound like a joke, does it?"
"No, that's why it's scary—you mean it."
She sighed at my dramatics and turned back to her cake plate.
"Anyway, potions infused with divine power always taste like strawberries. Artificial strawberry syrup—sweet, but with that brutally bitter finish. So yeah."
"Yeah?"
"Sick of it."
I tilted my head at her words. Did she drink potions that often? Enough to get fed up?
"Mint chocolate, though? Clears the palate right up. Sweet like toothpaste, wipes away that fake aftertaste. I like it a lot."
Elysia took another bite of mint chocolate cake and offered the tiniest smile. Less an upturned lip than a brief relaxation of tension, but it felt far more vividly human than the benevolent saintess from the original work.
"Got it. Mint chocolate from now on, every time."
"...Hmph. Quick study."
She tossed the words out casually, but her hand cradled the teacup far more gently than before. Quietly lifting the teapot, I thought to myself: Though so utterly different from the original, I wanted to protect this Elysia, who looked a little more at ease savoring her mint chocolate.