Chapter 1

” Prologue “

Swaaa—

At the sound of running water coming from the bathroom, Irenne bit her lip.

In front of the bathroom door, blood-soaked clothes were scattered inside a basket.

Just from that sight, she could tell that the person inside had hurriedly thrown off his clothes.

Strange.

This wasn’t like him.

He was always someone who kept everything perfectly organized.

As if every object in the world had its assigned place, he never changed where things belonged once he had decided it. Whenever he saw something messy, he would quietly clean it up himself—even if it was clothing soaked in blood.

Then why…

It wasn’t only the clothes that were lying around.

Beside the basket, a sword bearing the emblem of the Temple Knights had also been carelessly left on the floor.

That sword was something he treasured more than his own life.

As a Holy Knight renowned throughout the land, he always took care of that sword before himself.

People often joked that the sword was actually his true body because of how much he cherished it, fitting for someone nicknamed the Sword of God.

But now, the sword was in even worse condition than the discarded clothes.

Click.

The sound of the valve being turned off was followed by silence.

He had finished showering.

Tensing up, Irenne looked toward the bathroom.

When he had entered, he had been covered in monster blood. She had expected it to take much longer.

Already?

He would be coming out soon.

Just thinking about seeing him made Irenne’s heart beat faster.

After all, the man inside was her husband.

Her legal husband, with whom spending the night together was perfectly acceptable.

Even if it’s only temporary.

Irenne and he were in a temporary marital relationship called a Pair.

A Pair.

The term used for a knight who entered dungeons to fight monsters and the purifier responsible for treating that knight’s injuries and cleansing demonic miasma.

Knights were frequently injured while battling monsters inside dungeons.

The injuries were a problem, but an even greater problem was the demonic miasma emitted by monsters.

Miasma slowly ate away at a person’s mind, causing pain, hallucinations, and terrifying voices.

Once it passed a certain limit, the person would lose control.

And a person who lost control would become a monster.

That was why purifiers devoted themselves to cleansing the miasma accumulated within their Pair.

The problem was the method.

The method itself was very simple.

Maintain as much physical contact as possible.

Minor injuries could be healed simply by holding hands.

But for more serious wounds, or to remove miasma, closer contact was necessary.

Holding each other.

Kissing.

And the most certain and effective method of all was deep physical contact.

In truth, knights preferred the last method.

Afterward, all their injuries would heal completely, their accumulated miasma would disappear, and even their physical abilities would temporarily improve.

That was why many Pairs shared a bed before entering a dungeon, even if the knight was neither injured nor contaminated.

But… he hated even being touched.

Irenne remembered the first time she had touched him.

His injuries had been severe enough that any other Pair would have gone straight to the bedroom.

Yet he stubbornly refused her touch, insisting that he only needed a little rest.

The other Pairs had whispered among themselves while watching.

“Her abilities as a purifier are terrible. Even ordinary contact probably can’t heal anything. Maybe sleeping together would barely heal a single wound.”

“A man who refuses even high-ranking purifiers would never accept purification from a woman like her.”

Amid the mockery she had heard countless times before, Irenne had taken hold of his hand as he struggled to breathe.

Holding hands was the most basic form of purification between Pairs and was as natural as breathing.

But the moment she grasped his hand, his body trembled before becoming stiff.

Then he turned his gaze away completely and never looked at her even once until she let go.

Even touching a monster wouldn’t disgust him this much.

Suppressing her hurt and embarrassment, Irenne pushed her power to its limits in order to purify him.

Perhaps her weak power had helped a little.

His wounds had healed slightly.

As soon as that happened, he immediately stood up and left.

Unlike usual, he didn’t even offer a polite farewell.

He simply fled.

Watching him leave, Irenne had lowered her head.

He really hated it.

She had only wanted to help him.

Instead, she had made him uncomfortable.

More than the mockery of others, his retreating back had made her chest ache.

After that, Irenne never dared to touch him again.

No matter what she did, she was certain he would find it unpleasant and disgusting.

Of course he would.

He was a Holy Knight of the Temple.

The Sword of God, forged through unwavering faith, an ascetic lifestyle, and training so harsh it bordered on self-torture.

Because of that, he avoided women just as many priests of the temple did.

To him, women were probably nothing more than people who should be kept at a distance and treated with caution.

And yet I held his hand.

She was already a weak purifier who was barely any help.

The fact that she had held his hand for so long under the excuse of healing him meant she should have been grateful he hadn’t openly shown disgust.

Click.

The sound of the door opening snapped Irenne out of her thoughts.

Looking up, she saw that he had already stepped out of the bathroom.

“…!”

The moment she saw him, she unconsciously held her breath.

Brilliant golden hair that looked as though it had been woven from sunlight and honey.

Thick, neatly shaped eyebrows as upright as his personality.

Beneath them were blue eyes that held the color of the clearest autumn sky.

And features so perfect that it seemed unnecessary for anyone to be that handsome.

His face was breathtaking no matter how many times she saw it.

But it wasn’t only his face that was perfect.

Perhaps he had come out in a hurry.

Droplets of water still clung to his wet hair, falling onto his broad shoulders and sliding down the firm muscles of his chest.

The droplets traveled freely down his powerful body before disappearing behind an obstacle.

As Irenne’s gaze followed them downward, she realized what that obstacle was and nearly screamed.

“L-Lord Mikhail! Your clothes…!”

Mikhail was wearing nothing but a large towel wrapped loosely around his lower body.

Irenne’s face instantly turned bright red.

His body was just as beautiful—no, even more beautiful—than his face.

If the God of War were to descend upon the world, perhaps he would possess a body like this.

His firm, perfectly sculpted muscles were neither excessive nor lacking.

There wasn’t a single flaw.

His body was so flawless that it could be called beautiful.

Perhaps noticing her staring blankly, he spoke.

“Irenne.”

Just hearing his pleasant, low voice made her body shiver.

“Didn’t we agree that you would stop calling me ‘Lord’?”

“Th-That’s true, but…!”

Irenne couldn’t finish her sentence.

He had already taken several long strides toward the bed where she was sitting.

And as the distance between them narrowed, the outline beneath the white towel became more and more impossible to ignore.

Oh heavens. Dear God.

Irenne desperately prayed.

He was known as the Sword of God.

She had always assumed that title came from the overwhelming strength he possessed.

But for a moment, she wondered if the nickname referred to something else entirely.

Meanwhile, Mikhail stepped directly in front of her.

Pointing at the small wounds scattered across his body, he spoke.

“These are the injuries I received in the dungeon today.”

Injuries?

At most, they were little more than scratches.

To a knight, they were nothing.

“Besides, I spent a long time in the dungeon today, so I seem to have accumulated quite a bit of miasma.”

His body, still carrying the heat of battle, moved closer.

“So…”

The next moment, Irenne’s vision spun.

When she came back to her senses, Mikhail was already on top of her.

“Therefore, Irenne. My Pair. My wife.”

His knee slipped between her long, slender legs, gently forcing them apart.

The heat of battle still lingered in the body pressed against hers.

Overwhelmed by that warmth, Irenne could only let herself be led along helplessly.

A dangerous smile appeared on his handsome face.

Slowly, he lowered himself.

Thud.

Irenne felt the towel he had been wearing fall onto her body.

And she also felt the part of him that had been so impossible to ignore pressing against her leg.

“Tonight as well, I want to receive your purification.”

At the obvious meaning behind his actions, Irenne trembled.

A low laugh escaped him before he whispered again.

“For a very long time… and very slowly.”

His voice was filled with desire.

Irenne swallowed hard.

This was strange.

Something was wrong.

Because…

Weren’t you the Holy Knight who, in my previous life, couldn’t stand the thought of even touching a single finger with me?

He definitely had been.