🔊 TTS Settings
Chapter 5
“Those who make eye contact with you are instantly seized by an overwhelming feeling of love, though it doesn’t last long. But that doesn’t mean they revert to how they were before. They come to understand the feelings they had and live with a lingering, wistful affection toward you, Saint.”
“Wistful? That’s just demonic power if you ask me.”
“It’s not demonic, Your Majesty. It’s a power that awakens love in those who have never known it. That is the true miracle of God’s emissary, the mark of a Great Saint.”
Leno’s eyes gleamed as he spoke, but the Saint frowned again.
‘A power that makes you angry and irritated for no reason. What kind of dumb power is that?’
She ignored the horrifying reactions of those around her. She had spent her life loathing the hypocrisy of the gods, fighting to kill them, and yet here she was—reduced to a Saint wielding a god’s power. It was maddening.
The Saint glanced at her wrist. The deep red veins, which had previously spiked unnaturally, had receded to about seventy percent of their former prominence. The warning-like flicker of light had disappeared.
Thanks to those foolish three brothers, her discomfort hit rock bottom—but at least she was alive. That ridiculous display was apparently counted as an act of virtue by Ferdinando. Damn it.
“Why are you staring at my arm like that?”
“This… because of this…”
“Your wrist? What’s wrong with it?”
“….”
The Saint realized something. That High Priest hadn’t noticed anything before, either.
Some godly bastard had apparently gone to the trouble of preparing intricate details for no reason.
Regardless, none of that mattered now. She had decided to survive, and that required a long-term strategy. The most urgent matter was to understand her current situation and abilities. That was why she listened to Leno without interruption.
“Saint, you look uncomfortable… Is the meal not to your taste? Or do you require something else? Just tell me.”
“If your explanation is correct, why don’t you all fall under this so-called power of love?”
“Y-you… all?”
Even Leno was taken aback, and the attendants serving food beside them froze in shock at the Saint’s casual tone toward the Empire’s highest authority, the Emperor himself.
“No one in the Empire dares speak so informally to His Majesty. Even if you are the Great Saint…”
The Saint was exasperated. She thought she was speaking as politely as possible. Not out of respect for the two humans, but because she had restrained herself from cursing.
Leno glanced at Raiden.
The Emperor was unpredictable. Just because he smiled didn’t mean it was safe.
Of course, he was more lenient toward Leno, his only friend, but one misstep and that smiling face could deliver a terrifying execution. Blasphemy meant nothing; the Great Saint would be respected only because Ferdinando had appointed her.
Yet surprisingly, the Emperor’s blue eyes didn’t twitch. Or perhaps she was imagining it—they seemed to gleam with curiosity.
“Do the gods not use honorifics?”
The Saint snorted internally. Honorifics? As if she was in a position to care about that.
“I don’t.”
“You don’t use honorifics?”
“Yes.”
The Saint glared at Ferdinando, who had approached her. She didn’t want to look at that face closely, no matter how many times she saw it—it was intolerable.
Usually, a gaze like hers would intimidate most into stepping back. Even without her full strength, her eyes alone could dominate her opponent.
Yet the Emperor boldly approached, placing his hand casually on the table.
“Honorifics or etiquette won’t reduce my workload. Forget those boring things. But there’s something I’ve been curious about since earlier.”
“What is it?”
“Why do you look at me with such a burning gaze?”
“Hah, when did I?”
“From the very beginning until now. Are you not aware of it? Often, they aren’t.”
“What the… nonsense!”
Her fist, as always, shot toward Raiden’s jaw, but it was caught before it could extend.
“What were you trying to do with such pretty hands?”
The grip was astonishingly strong. The Saint, not using her full power, was still shocked at the hand strength that no human should possess. Her reflexes were equally extraordinary.
‘What… is this guy?’
At that moment, the faces of Leno and the others drained of color. Raising a hand against the Emperor in the center of the palace? Impossible.
A tense silence fell. The guards, feeling their hearts sink, fumbled with their swords, unsure of what to do.
Even the glassware seemed on the verge of shattering under the pressure. It was Raiden’s laughter that shattered it all.
“Were you trying to touch the Emperor’s disheveled hair? How adorable, Great Saint.”
Releasing her hand, Raiden patted her head like a child.
Humiliated and treated like a pet, the Saint was too stunned to even be angry.
The man before her, while identical in appearance to Ferdinando, behaved completely differently. His speech and actions were utterly unlike the god she knew. How could the same face act so differently?
“I thought you’d complain about divine nonsense the moment you woke up, but this is… quite pleasant. Fun, even.”
“You… the gods don’t use honorifics? Today I learned something new. Ahahaha.”
Leno hurriedly interjected, laughing awkwardly while trying to maintain composure. Inside, he was horrified at the Saint’s blasphemous tone toward the Emperor.
The Emperor could speak bluntly without restraint, but a fully awakened Great Saint rivaling him? Unthinkable.
She was far from the Great Saint he had imagined—but Ferdinando’s appointed Great Saint was absolute, whether human or demon.
“Still, your tone could cause problems… We’ll have someone teach you honorifics. It’s simple, so no need to worry. Hahaha.”
Thanks to Raiden interpreting “top-class demons don’t use honorifics” as “the gods have no honorifics,” conversation flowed smoothly.
While Leno continued speaking, the Saint studied Raiden again.
Leg crossed, one arm draped over the sofa back, head tilted slightly—a far cry from the stiff, wooden posture of the gods.
But those cunning eyebrows, delicate nose, and tightly closed red lips… the resemblance to someone she disliked was uncanny.
No way would she use honorifics in front of that face.
Fortunately—or unfortunately—Raiden spoke before she could protest.
“It’s not strange for the Saint to follow divine law. And after seeing it firsthand, it’s not as unpleasant as expected.”
“Hah, but someone will surely comment anyway.”
“Those who chatter behind my back don’t dare in front of me. Now, answer my earlier question. I’m curious too.”
Leno, lips twitching, stopped speaking, knowing his 15-year-old friend would never back down once decided.
“Yes… ahem. Returning to our previous discussion… where were we? Ah, right. The Great Power of Love doesn’t affect those with strong mental fortitude.”
“What counts as ‘strong’?”
“What defines a strong one?”
The Saint and Raiden asked simultaneously, staring at each other—but their gaze dropped as Leno continued.
“Ahem, we’ve tried to test this, but failed to gather objective data.”
“So, according to you, all humans here possess above-average mental strength?”
The Saint asked, but Raiden had the same question. Even servants who met her gaze hadn’t confessed love.
“Ah… this power triggers only against those hostile to you. If they regard you favorably, it doesn’t activate.”
As a demon, she would have rejected such a trivial power—but now, stripped of her strength, even a small advantage was precious.
The Saint focused on the table before her, trying to channel magic.
“….”
Normally, the table would have erupted through the ceiling—but even a light fork didn’t move. She couldn’t use any magic.
Not only that, the pain from falling was negligible, her body felt like wet cotton, her stomach unbearably hungry, and she was overwhelmingly sleepy.
All her abilities, even physical, had declined. Damn it.
“Oh, and no one here knows the Saint’s name yet. Will you tell us?”
“Name?”
“Yes. Surely the Saint has one?”
For the first time, her crimson eyes wavered.
A name?
“My name…?”
“You don’t… have one?”
She hadn’t thought about it.
For over 120,000 years, she had lived in the Demon Realm as “Aides,” the strongest of all. No one had ever addressed her by a personal name—it wasn’t necessary. The title itself defined her.
