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Chapter 6
Now she understood why this story was crammed full of rules that would never fly in a typical romance fantasy.
It was a novel written by Iroha when she was a clueless middle schooler.
And besides, the protagonist—“Saintess Sienna”—had definitely…
“…died. Horribly, too.”
It had been so long since she’d written it that she couldn’t remember the details, but one fact was crystal clear: the heroine died.
Roha—no, Sienna—dragged her hands down her face in frustration.
“This is insane. I finally transmigrate into the female lead, and all that’s left for me is to die?”
She clutched at her hair in agony.
Fortunately—or unfortunately—even in that moment, her once-rough hair now shimmered smoothly, as if blessed by a goddess. It felt too unfair to accept death so meekly when she had such an obvious heroine buff.
Sienna let out a regretful sigh.
Let’s calmly think through the plot. There has to be a way to survive.
Her delicate brows furrowed deeply in concentration.
Lost in thought, she didn’t even notice the faint light of dawn creeping closer.
“Wow. It’s old, sure—but I don’t even remember the title?”
She flopped onto her back and raised a hand into the air. A faint, hazy energy lingered around her fingertips like heat shimmer.
So this is the holy power granted by the Goddess of Healing… and I’m a saintess.
Naturally, she recalled what the Grand Duke Bledel had said—about searching for the saintess.
“Even the slightest touch from the saintess eases the pain of the curse.”
In that instant, something flashed through her mind like fireworks exploding.
“Right! Skin contact transfers holy power!”
Sienna bolted upright, having seized onto the clue buried in her memory.
That’s how it worked in the original story.
In the original novel, Sienna had been the cure for the cursed male lead.
Just holding his hand reduced his suffering. An embrace—or a kiss—calmed his pain even faster.
If they’d already held hands, hugged, and kissed… it’s only natural to wonder about the next step, right?
Madly in love, Sienna had spent a night with the male lead.
That single night completely cured his curse.
And that was where the tragedy began.
Unlike the male lead, whose curse was erased, Sienna’s holy power—and her life force—were entirely drained because of that night.
What’s even more outrageous is that the male lead never actually loved her. He just used her holy power.
In the end, he abandoned her. In the original story, Sienna was left as nothing but a shriveled shell, wrinkled like an old woman, and died miserably.
“This is insane! What kind of romance fantasy is this?!”
Furious at the ending, Sienna jumped to her feet without thinking.
“What’s wrong with her now…?”
The nearby beggars, who’d been unable to sleep, glared at her.
Embarrassed, Sienna ducked her head and sat back down.
Middle-school Iroha… you were seriously unhinged.
No matter how she thought about it, the novel her younger self had written made no sense.
A romance fantasy with a romance scam—but no actual romance?
And dying after spending a single night with the male lead? Giving him her body and heart only to be discarded? What kind of outdated, tragic nonsense was that?
Well, what else? I’m the one who wrote it. Who can I even blame?
She sighed deeply. It seemed that living a carefree, indulgent life was out of the question for now.
Forget indulgent. I’m going to have to fight just to stay alive.
She was already the saintess. That fact couldn’t be changed.
First step: avoid the male lead.
The problem was that, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t remember who the male lead actually was.
Two possible candidates flickered through her mind.
The cursed Grand Duke Bledel.
And the Crown Prince.
Which one was it?
One of them, in the original story, had stolen her holy power and cast her aside.
She scraped together what little memory she had left.
The male lead’s name… it sounded like a beer brand, I think. What was it?
After agonizing over it for a long time, Sienna finally came to a decision.
If I don’t know which one is the male lead… I’ll just avoid them both.
Perfect!
With that refreshingly simple conclusion, her forehead smoothed.
Feeling lighter, Sienna stood up.
As a beggar, she had few possessions. All she could take with her while fleeing was a tin bowl and the rag she’d been sleeping on.
Still, she intended to grab even those and leave as quickly as possible.
It was time to make use of the ankle healed by the Goddess’s blessing. Dawn had already broken.
“Hey, you beggar!”
Just then, someone called out to Sienna.
* * *
It was closer to midnight than dawn when Grand Duke Bledel rose.
He had hardly slept at all.
Partly because the temple’s modest bedroom was uncomfortable. Partly because of the pain of the curse.
But most of all, because of anticipation.
This time, it has to be the real saintess.
It had already been five years since the black mage’s curse manifested.
He had grown so accustomed to the constant, dull agony that he appeared unaffected on the surface.
But accustomed did not mean painless.
The vial of holy water on his bedside table and the cloth dried stiff from heat spoke for the grueling night he’d endured.
Before dawn, he made his way alone to the temple hall, without even an escort. Dew scattered beneath his steps across the low grass.
“You’re early, Grand Duke.”
Howlaner was already there, as if by arrangement. He looked just as sleepless.
The Grand Duke spoke first.
“I will be treated by the saintess first, Your Highness.”
“Honestly, Duke. You don’t have a shred of loyalty, do you?”
Clicking his tongue, Howlaner walked alongside him into the hall. A junior priest bowed as if accustomed to the sight of the two together.
The altar stood at the far end of a vast hall lined with towering columns.
On the wall above it were ten stars intricately carved by a master stonemason. Blinding light poured down over the stone altar from an unknown source.
A porcelain teacup filled with herbal tea rested atop it. The tea had long since cooled; no steam rose from it.
Howlaner whispered,
“That must be her.”
Before the stone altar, a saintess candidate knelt in prayer.
Her honey-colored hair cascaded nearly to the floor.
Seeing her from behind, both men felt as though they were awaiting a wedding ceremony.
Please… let this be the one who can finally lift the black mage’s curse.
“You’ve arrived.”
The High Priest standing beside the candidate spoke quietly.
“The candidate is offering her final prayer. When the ritual ends…”
The Grand Duke and Crown Prince swallowed hard.
“‘The Tear of Dawn’ will tell us whether she is the true saintess or not.”
As the High Priest finished speaking, the candidate’s softly moving lips stilled.
Not a single rustle echoed in the vast temple. No one moved. No one dared breathe loudly.
Outwardly, nothing about the candidate had changed.
“Bring the box.”
At the High Priest’s gesture, a priest hurried forward carrying a velvet-lined case.
Inside lay an exquisitely crafted bracelet. Attached to it was the “Tear of Dawn”—a dark, murky gray gemstone unlike any ordinary jewel.
With the soft rustle of robes, the High Priest approached and fastened the bracelet around the candidate’s pale wrist.
The Grand Duke and Crown Prince fixed their burning gazes upon it.
“……”
“……”
And yet…
Even after a long wait, the Tear of Dawn showed no change.
The High Priest’s lips trembled as he spoke.
“It seems… she is not the one again. My deepest apologies.”
The Crown Prince gave a cold smile.
“We may need to cut the imperial funding to the temple in half. I’ve lost count of how many times we’ve been disappointed.”
“Your Highness!”
The High Priest’s urgent cry rang out.
At that moment, without warning, Grand Duke Bledel strode forward.
The saintess candidate, who had been kneeling as though guilty before the altar, startled and turned around.
The Duke bent down and abruptly seized her pale wrist.
It was the first time in her life a man had ever grabbed her like that. Her lips trembled in shock.
“Your Grace, what—?”
“…Definitely not. My apologies.”
He released her arm and turned, leaving the hall without a backward glance.
Clad in a seamless white robe with only a woolen cloak draped over her shoulders, the candidate stared after him, her face flushed.
With her free hand, she clutched the wrist he had just held.
He had gripped her so tightly that red finger marks remained imprinted on her pale skin.
