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Chapter 13
“Doesn’t the Saint Candidate feel… strangely different lately?”
“Like she’s wearing clothes that don’t quite fit her?”
The whispers died down as soon as Mila approached. The lower priests swallowed their doubts and fell into step behind her. They had no right to refuse, after all; it was their duty to follow those closer to the divine, and to learn how to approach God by serving them.
Thick wooden posts were driven into the ground, beams raised overhead, and white canvas stretched carefully across the frame, casting shade.
A few more tents went up. Beneath them, relief supplies were neatly stacked, and soon, the scattered residents of the slums began drifting closer with curious eyes.
Mila stood before one tent, her bright smile wide as she raised her voice:
“I’ve come to deliver the love of God to you. Please allow us to provide what you need!”
Though she gave no details of what exactly would be offered, the slum dwellers erupted into cheers. Mila’s visits had become a familiar blessing—she always arrived with food, clothing, and essentials, and to them she was no different from a living saint.
“Saintess!”
“Thank you, Saintess!”
Her smile deepened at their cries of devotion.
Just then, someone gasped.
“What is that?”
Heads turned away from Mila. A large, luxurious carriage—so out of place in the shabby alleyways—was making its way into the slums.
“Milady, we’re nearly there.”
The poison had not yet faded entirely, and the slightest exertion brought a wave of fatigue that pressed against my temples. Still, the coachman’s voice announcing our arrival reached me.
“Wouldn’t it be better to turn back now? Today’s schedule may prove… unpleasant. If you end up distressed, what then?”
I hadn’t even stepped out of the carriage, and already I felt the crush of countless eyes.
“You truly don’t understand the meaning of restraint, do you?”
“Well, I only worry for you…”
“Don’t. I’ll handle it myself.”
My flat answer cut the conversation short just as the carriage came to a halt. The coachman hurried to open the door, and as expected, every eye turned to me.
Another might have been unsettled by such scrutiny. I, however, felt nothing. From the moment I declared my intention to come here, I knew I would become the center of attention.
“At least Leandros isn’t here. For what I’m about to do, his absence is a blessing.”
The one who welcomed me was not Leandros, nor Mila, but the man overseeing this place—a cardinal with long gray hair that hung in a braid. His smile was kindly, but the chill in his eyes was unmistakable.
“This may seem unfamiliar, Lady Apferdita, but this is where today’s relief work will be carried out. Thanks to the temple’s efforts, it has become a place where people can live, more or less.”
He gestured for me to look. The slums had indeed changed since the days I once fled into them for refuge: uneven but leveled paths, priests bustling beneath white tents, and Mila, standing radiant before a line of waiting people.
“Of course,” he added with a mocking chuckle, “to your eyes, it must still look unworthy.”
His words were a dagger disguised as courtesy.
“You are the daughter of House Apferdita, after all. Your standards must be high. Yet, for whatever reason you’ve come here, the people should count themselves honored.”
“For whatever reason, hmm?”
His dislike for me was hardly subtle.
“If you feel this place beneath your station, do say the word. The temple will not hold you responsible should you wish to depart.”
His voice was not unkind, but it was far from welcoming. At my side, Wendy’s brow twitched, but before she could speak, I stepped in.
“Do you mean that?”
“…Pardon? Mean what?”
“Well, what do you think I mean?”
I left my words deliberately vague, watching as his brows knit in frustration. He clearly wished to reprimand my insolence, but before he could, Mila arrived.
“It’s been some time, Lady Nephur.”
“It has indeed. How was your journey here?”
“Terrible. The roads are so uneven—the carriage tossed me about endlessly. And the people, gathering without order… they looked rather like fish scrambling for scraps tossed into the sea.”
“…Excuse me?”
“Ah, that wasn’t the answer you expected?”
Her eyes blinked rapidly, as if she hadn’t understood.
“I was joking, of course. It only seemed the sort of answer His Eminence here might have wanted, so I indulged him. After all—”
“—there is no high or low in charity. What matters is sincerity.”
The cardinal’s face flushed crimson at my barb, and I had no desire to look at him again. Mila, however, stumbled into flustered chatter.
“Y-yes, well… I was wondering what you thought of this place?”
“It seems more livable than I expected.”
“That is thanks to the temple’s tireless efforts. Without us, these slums would be uninhabitable.”
Her voice regained its usual confidence, basking in the words she’d so clearly wished to hear. I merely nodded.
Indeed, some of the residents did not look too badly off. But appearances deceived. I had lived in these alleys once, and I knew the truth.
The slums bred both desperation and dependency. Aid could lift them for a moment—but it could also bind them, dragging them deeper into ruin.
“Then allow me to guide you, Lady Apferdita.”
Mila’s gentle smile never faltered as she led me to my assigned place.
Beneath a white tent stood a massive cauldron, stew bubbling within, and beside it loaves of bread stacked high.
“Today, we distribute these to the people.”
“There are two tents.”
“Yes. With so many gathered, we must divide the work. Milady, this tent will be yours.”
She ushered me toward a pile of blankets and clothing.
I took my place as priests greeted me politely. A bell rang out, signaling the beginning of distribution. In an instant, the people surged forward—yet every one of them went straight to Mila’s line.
In my tent, silence.
I looked at the empty space before me and smiled faintly. Mila’s tent offered food; mine, only clothing and bedding.
“On a warm day like this, who would choose a blanket over a meal?”
It was a reasonable excuse, but hardly true. Even in fine weather, the poor always needed clothing and shelter.
“So this is what they call turf loyalty, is it?”
They had chosen to shun me. Not for want of supplies, but out of allegiance to Mila.
“Saintess, thank you!”
“Bless you, Saintess!”
“Your food is the best, Sister Mila!”
Every word rang with devotion. And every word was meant to exclude me.
I did not flinch.
“Let them. For now, I’ll wait. My time will come.”
So I kept smiling at the empty space before me, ignoring the sidelong glances.
And thus, the same scene played out for three weeks straight.
