TVSP 12

Chapter 12

“Are you truly certain about this?”

The soft, mellifluous voice brushed against my ear like a breeze tickling the cheek.

I turned back before stepping into the carriage. There he stood—Leandros—at the very spot where he had followed me to see me off, offering his final words.

“What do you mean?”

When I answered with a nonchalant smile, his brows furrowed faintly.

“The slums…”

He hesitated, lips parting and closing before he finally continued.

“The world there… is far too different from the one you live in, Grace.”

“That’s true. The world I live in is one where nobles spend money as if it were water. But the slums are full of people who cannot even secure the water the nobles throw away.”

“…”

“What? That expression—surely you didn’t think I wouldn’t know even that much?”

When I caught his doubtful look, I snapped at him without meaning to. He quickly replied, almost flustered.

“I thought you were like a flower raised in a greenhouse.”

I could sense he had more to say, so I simply waited.

“I feared… you might dismiss it at first, claiming there’s nothing worth expecting in such a place. But then, faced with the reality, recoil in disgust, tremble, and abandon the place altogether. That thought made me speak out of turn.”

He was so disarmingly honest, I couldn’t even summon the urge to be angry.

“I won’t be able to join the volunteer work for some time, as I have my own duties. It will last a month, but I won’t be there to watch over you. That is why I worried.”

And then, as though realizing he had said too much, he added softly:

“I know Grace is kind and warmhearted, but it is difficult not to be shaken when faced with a world one has never seen before.”

His words—spoken out of genuine concern for me—did not feel unpleasant at all.

“So, you feared I might throw a tantrum at the sight of the slums and storm off, hurling curses as I went?”

No answer came. Which, of course, was answer enough.

‘As much as I know Leandros, he also knows me.’

If it had been the old me, I might indeed have given him reason to worry.

In truth, just the mention of the slums would have been enough for me to scornfully demand why I should ever lower myself to go there—no doubt heaping insults upon poor Milla in the process.

‘But I’m no longer the ignorant fool I once was.’

Swallowing the circumstances I could not speak of, I only smiled reassuringly.

“Of course, my actions may startle some people…”

I paused, meeting his gaze.

His eyes—clear and blue, glimmering like the surface of a pristine lake—held mine. And against all expectation, words that sounded far too virtuous for me spilled from my lips with surprising ease.

“But I will not do anything that would disappoint you. So trust me, Leandros.”

“I trust you.”

His reply came without hesitation. That was enough to make me smile.

But there was no more time to delay; the schedule ahead demanded my attention. I bid him farewell once more and climbed into the carriage.

“Milady, are you serious about this?”

I had barely escaped Leandros’s questioning when Wendy, waiting inside, immediately assaulted me with hers.

“You truly intend to volunteer? In the slums of all places?”

Her expression mirrored Leandros’s earlier disbelief, though where his had been born of concern, hers leaned more toward doubt in my character.

‘She trusts me too little. Assassin or not, isn’t she far too casual with me?’

The stiff look on her face revealed just how little she believed in my words.

I couldn’t recall clearly if she had been like this in my past lives—after all, I had never paid much attention to servants or maids.

I wanted to chastise her insolence, but for now, it was too soon to cast her aside. So I answered plainly.

“Yes, I’m serious.”

“But the slums, Milady! How could someone as noble as you even set foot there?”

Her tone carried the veneer of concern, yet beneath it lingered the suggestion that I was wholly unsuited to such a place.

‘Well, I suppose that’s the natural reaction.’

Her words made me recall Leandros again—his worried question still echoing in my mind:

“Are you truly certain about this?”

That man, unable even to move his feet out of fear for me, lingering in place and watching me so carefully.

‘No doubt, ever since he saw me drink that poison, he’s become so gentle in the way he treats me.’

I remembered, too, how he had openly taken my side even in front of Milla. That had been pleasing.

So yes, I intended to exceed his expectations—and for that, the work in the slums would not be done quietly. No, I would make it grand.

“The slums, Milady! A place where all misfortune gathers! How could you—”

Wendy’s exasperation spilled out, but I only cast her a sidelong glance and dismissed it.

“You can’t be giving up on becoming the Saint already, can you? Those people live day to day with no hope of tomorrow—you can’t threaten or command them like others!”

“And?”

“That’s strange… Why aren’t you angry at the word ‘impossible’? Don’t tell me—you don’t want to be the Saint?”

Oh, Wendy had been at my side long enough to glimpse the truth.

She was right—I had no desire for that title. Why would I? A Saint only served as a puppet for the Pope and the cardinals. Worse, from that position, I couldn’t even protect Leandros.

I wanted something more. Something greater. And conveniently, there was someone in the slums at this very moment who could gift me precisely that.

“Could it be true, Milady?”

Her words struck close, but I pretended not to notice.

“Of course not. If I didn’t intend to be the Saint, why else would I go to the slums?”

“…Your reaction is odd. Still, are you truly going? The slums don’t suit you, Milady. Even I dread going there…”

Her muttered complaints faded into the background as I leaned my chin on my hand and closed my eyes.

‘The slums? What of them?’

I remembered.

Once, I had lived a life where I fell from the highest luxury into the filthiest depths.

That time, I had been utterly worn down.

I slandered the temple, branded the Saint as a villain, committed countless sins. But no matter how often I died or returned, the cycle of despair and rebirth never ended. I longed only to give up.

So when I was granted a new life, I decided to do nothing at all. I abandoned my position as society’s flower, refused marriage, and played the fool.

But because of that, when the true murderer of the Saint appeared, suspicion fell upon me.

I had no means to defend myself, and though my family tried to clear my name, the council denied me protection.

Branded a criminal, I escaped only thanks to my brother’s protests… and fled to the most unexpected of places.

The slums.

Where, inevitably, my disguise crumbled. Where I was captured by the Inquisition, tried as a witch, and executed.

It was a life that taught me this truth:

Even giving up changes nothing.

In that life, I had lived in the filth itself, clawing for survival, enduring as best I could.

So no, a mere visit now was hardly frightening. I had once been one of them. I knew their struggles. I knew what they needed.

Why avoid a battle whose victory is already certain?

I still didn’t understand why Milla treated me with such hostility—but imagining her face crumpling in defeat was enough to make me smile.

Yet in my complacency, I had forgotten: smooth progress breeds carelessness.

And I had no inkling that an unforeseen variable was already awaiting me.

The day was bright and clear, with a gentle breeze carrying a refreshing coolness. It was the kind of weather that made one feel light-hearted.

But the faces of those who had come to volunteer did not share in the cheer.

“Why must we do this?”
“Volunteer work, suddenly? Our rank is too low to refuse such menial tasks.”

The stench rising from neglected sewers, the sight of people unwashed and ragged, the heavy atmosphere of despair—it was no place anyone wished to linger.

Most of the grumbling men and women, carrying supplies in silence, were low-ranking priests assigned to assist Milla.

Serving a candidate for Saint should have been an honor. Yet their faces resembled those dragged against their will.

“If only I had been assigned to Lady Aphrodite instead…”
“Anyone can see she’s the one destined to become the Saint.”

The Aphrodite family was a house so exalted, common priests could scarcely dream of gazing upon them. And everyone knew they openly coveted the Saint’s position.

So, naturally, the temple leaned toward Grace Aphrodite. Serving Milla felt like clinging to a fraying thread. Their motivation was nonexistent.

“Still, I am grateful to be here on such a fine day, to spread the love of the divine together with you all.”

Milla, however, seemed brimming with energy and zeal.

In the past, she had carried herself timidly, unsure, so much so that even priests looked down on her.

But today, she radiated the poise of a true noblewoman.