The Fake Saintess Awaits Her Exit

Latvan lifted his head, gazing upward at the stairs. A quiet darkness met his eyes.

“Above this…,” he muttered.

In fact, it was a different building from the saint’s abode. It was a space designated for visitors to the temple. Now, after the prayer gathering had concluded, many had left, leaving the place momentarily empty. Latvan closed his eyes for a moment. The image of the saint leaping up these stairs formed in his mind. Opening his eyes, he ascended the stairs without hesitation.

The vacant building, devoid of the envoy group, was filled only with silence. If the saint was hiding somewhere within, it would take quite some time to find her. However, that wasn’t his immediate concern.

“Why all of a sudden?”

The saint had been preoccupied with work to an unusual degree in the past few days. Initially, the attendants who had questioned how long this would go on or what mischief she was up to had fallen silent after a few days. The saint meticulously and efficiently handled the tasks they brought to her. Thanks to her, long-ignored matters were swiftly resolved.

Of course, the reason those matters had been postponed was due to the saint, who had kept herself secluded in her chambers with men for a while. But the attendants did not bring up that fact unnecessarily.

In the saint’s study, which had been accumulating dust, attendants once again gathered and buzzed around. As Latvan passed by, he overheard one attendant whispering.

“Don’t they say when a person suddenly changes, it’s a sign of their impending death?”

It was said as a joke, but Latvan’s face hardened and froze. Strangely, those words kept bothering him. He recalled the image of the saint that she had shown in the past few days. More precisely, her attitude.

She claimed to have filled even her free time with appointments. Such behavior appeared urgent and restless, as if being chased by something.

Of course, he did not think that the saint would die soon. The saint was the person closest to God. Until now, every saint had passed away in the temple as they reached old age. It was one of the privileges that saints possessed to be able to live out their designated lifespan and return to the side of God. Surely, Evelina would also follow that path. But…

“If she were to return to her previous self…”

A suffocating sensation suddenly gripped him. The image of her ordering him to crawl under her feet with disdain-filled eyes came to mind. He also felt disgust towards that image. But how about now? Latvan saw an empty corridor before him. He was bewildered by the fact that he had ascended here in a matter of seconds upon hearing the attendant’s words. He had come because he genuinely worried about the saint’s well-being.

“But that doesn’t change the fact that it never happened.”

He had crawled like a dog before her in front of everyone. And he had begged for her favor. Evelina had laughed and sneered at him. After that, all that filled his mind was the thought of leaving the Order of the Temple Knights.

Latvan couldn’t understand his own transformation. Despite receiving such treatment, he found himself harboring affection for the saint.

Latvan lowered his head. Now was not the time to be lost in such thoughts. He had to find the saint quickly and bring her back to her abode. With that in mind, as he took a step forward…

“Ugh!”

A faint sound came from the end of the corridor. He held his breath. What is this sound? As he strained his ears, the sound came again.

“Ah! Ugh! Ugh!”

The sound was a cry for help. And it was the saint’s voice.

In an instant, Latvan’s mind turned blank. He immediately headed toward the source of the sound. Perhaps he misheard it. However, as he approached the origin of the sound, he heard louder cries mixing with the squeaking of a bed. And there was a man’s rough voice.

The cries of the saint mingled with those of the prince, Leon.

As soon as he confirmed it, Latvan’s hand instinctively reached for the hilt of his sword at his waist.

Son of a b*tch. Unspoken profanity turned into fire in his mouth. Swallowing it with a dry mouth, that fire engulfed his insides in an instant. Flames surged from his throat to his chest. Experiencing such a sensation for the first time, Latvan couldn’t even feel his trembling hand.

“Ah! Ugh! Stop, please!”

Amidst the murmurs and voices that filled the air, it was all too easy to imagine what was unfolding within those walls. In this very chamber, the princess and Prince Leon were engaging in an illicit liaison. The mere thought of it set Latvan’s foot in motion. He felt the urge to kick down the door and expose that scoundrel.

Yet, just before his foot made contact with the door, he regained his senses.

“By what right?” he pondered.

What right did he have to intervene in the affair between the saint and Prince Leon? There was only one possible justification. If the princess did not desire this encounter and the prince was forcing himself upon her. Just then, a voice emerged from within.

“It seems you’ve spilled it all.” the voice spoke tenderly. And in response, there came a soft moan of acquiescence from the saint.

“Don’t worry, I shall fill you up again,” the voice reassured.

A harsh sound escaped Latvan’s lips in retort.