Taming the Evil Saintess

---

The fourth floor of the Holy See. There’s a room with no windows.

The only source of light is a dim flicker from a single candle. On the desk in the center lies a long piece of parchment.

Despite being sent back to the Punishment Room after ten years, it looked exactly like Ophelia remembered.

“…Damn it.”

“I’ll ring the bell when it’s meal time,” said the knight who escorted Ophelia to the Punishment Room.

He spoke as if all of this was just routine and exited the room without a word.

The original Ophelia would have probably called him back, cursing him out for being such a dimwit.

But doing that would only prolong her time in the Punishment Room.

“…Hah.”

Ophelia sighed softly and sat at the table.

What she had to do here was simple.

She needed to painstakingly transcribe the contents of the Holy War onto that long piece of parchment.

But had it been that easy, the young Ophelia would never have feared the Punishment Room.

She glanced at the empty ink pot sitting next to the parchment, nervously chewing her lower lip.

“…Hmph.”

Then, she took the quill from beneath it and pressed the nib against her skin.

She squeezed her eyes shut and jabbed it in. Bright red blood flowed into the ink pot.

Taking just the right amount, she began her work. Blood dried quickly, so to finish this Holy War, she needed to press something sharp against her skin countless times.

“….”

For the next month.

Ophelia had to complete this long parchment.

Perhaps dozens, or even hundreds of times, she would have to wound herself.

She felt a bit lightheaded but held on.

“Elliot, you bastard.”

Instead, she muttered curses, gritting her teeth.

How much she hated this Punishment Room as a child.

Ever since the Divine Mark of the Hero was carelessly etched onto her body, she became the adopted daughter of the Pope. Ever since then, every day had been a drag. Everything at the academy bound Ophelia.

When she grew tired of it and threw a tantrum, she was sent here.

Her first experience in the Punishment Room was when she was seven. No matter how much she cried, even if she harmed herself, the firmly shut iron door wouldn’t budge. Only after resigning herself to finishing the Holy War did the door open. When she exited the Punishment Room, Ophelia’s arms were covered in wounds, but no one cared. Those were wounds that shouldn’t be acknowledged.

After being sent to the Punishment Room a few more times, Ophelia never again acted out in front of the Pope. She played the ideal Saint like an actress.

But what is this? The Saint taking the blame for some knight’s child.

“If it weren’t for the Hero’s Divine Mark,” she clicked her tongue.

The Hero’s Divine Mark.

Never did she think that such a great mark would nestle within Elliot. A knight who was a bodyguard to a Saint? That had never happened in all of history.

But it didn’t feel too bad.

Why was that?

Ophelia couldn’t define the emotions washing over her, but as Emily’s conversation surfaced once more in her mind, she bitterly withdrew the quill, forcing it back into her skin.

As warm blood flowed out, a groan of pain escaped her lips. She felt cold sweat break out as she tried again to write.

The content of the Holy War….

“According to the will of the Almighty Deity… that alone… will bring blessings….”

Muttering, she jotted it down, only to shake her head in frustration.

The content wasn’t getting through to her at all.

Ophelia clenched the quill tightly.

To express her feelings with just the word ‘hurt’ didn’t capture the complexity of her current emotions.

But unlike before, she didn’t feel an overwhelming pain piercing through her heart.

Perhaps, it was because of Gears.

The thoughtless antics of a knight trying to liberate her.

Yet now that she’s a Hero, such nonsense might carry some credibility.

Ophelia imagined what the absent knight looked like.

“What the hell, why is this happening to her?”

As if on cue, the corners of her mouth started to lift, and Ophelia quickly slapped her own lips in shock.

She was indeed confused. Her cheeks still felt hot.

It was probably because of the blow she received from the Pope earlier, Ophelia thought.

The moment she delved deep into this emotion, she felt it could lead to a point of no return.

Just as she was about to resume her work, commotion erupted outside.

– You can’t come in!

– I’m coming in, though.

– It’s the Pope’s command.

– Then this is the command of God. My intuition is telling me. A ritual of heresy is unfolding in here.

– Huh? What do you mean by that? This is a sacred place! No matter how much of a Cathedral Knight you are! Some things you can say and some you can’t… Cough!

With that, the massive iron door of the Punishment Room was torn apart as if it were mere paper.

Suddenly, a man dressed in dull armor and faded blonde hair appeared. It was Elliot, the knight Ophelia loathed with all her might.

In his grip was the collar of the knight who had guided Ophelia to the room earlier.

“Open your eyes and see. How is this something that can be done within the Cathedral? A prayer written in blood? Damn, is this the Demon King’s Castle?”

“No, whatever you say to me, the Pope…”

“Right. Got it. I’ll take responsibility. From this point forward, I’ll take over the Saint’s punishment. Before being a bodyguard, I’m the Saint’s discipline instructor. You have no objections, right?”

He said that with a fierce glare, and for a mere knight, there was no way to retaliate.

As Elliot let go of the knight, he stumbled to the ground, scrambling away toward the exit.

Only then did Elliot turn his gaze to Ophelia.

“Ophelia.”

“….”

“Are you learning dark magic in solitary confinement now?”

“Elliot.”

As she pondered what to say, Ophelia’s hands trembled.

“Are you crazy?”

Curses flew out first.

Even though he said he would take the blame, this made no sense otherwise.

It was the Pope’s will. And within the Cathedral, the Pope was the law. Elliot was outright denying that will. A Holy Knight shouldn’t act like this, or he could no longer remain a Holy Knight.

“You’re insane! What are you doing here?”

“Hmm.”

“Are you out of your mind? If you were sane, you wouldn’t be doing this. You’re just crazed!”

Ophelia held her head in her hands.

“You’re going to get yourself killed.”

“If I die, won’t Ophelia save me?”

Elliot shrugged his shoulders, wearing his usual mischievous smile.

Then, he dragged a chair over and plopped down across from her.

“Anyway, please don’t do this kind of garbage.”

He took the parchment Ophelia was using and burnt it with the candle’s flame. It was no longer usable.

“…You really are crazy.”

“Am I anywhere near as crazy as you are?”

“I’m not, I’m not as crazy as you!”

“No, from my perspective, Ophelia is just as stupid as I am.”

“What the hell?”

“Anyway.”

As if the conversation was over, Elliot turned to look out of the Punishment Room.

It was noisy.

Of course, it was. The fourth floor was a place where only those granted permission could enter. They had broken in here, so the fallout was bound to be severe.

“Ophelia. What will happen to me if I stay like this?”

“You’ll be dragged to the Pope, whipped, and stripped of your title.”

She had seen it a few times.

A Holy Knight who angered the Pope being whipped and kicked out of the Cathedral in rags.

Sometimes, the tendons in their hands were cut so they could never wield a sword again.

“Hmm. That’s definitely terrifying.”

“What are you really going to do…. I have my limits even if I defend you…. Why did you come here?”

“I thought you’d dislike being here.”

“You crazy bastard.”

“Isn’t that right?”

“Even if that’s true! You shouldn’t come here!”

Ophelia said as if she were about to cry, but Elliot seemed to think for a moment and then smiled widely.

“Do you remember the promise I made?”

“What promise?”

“Back in the public garden, when I used Gears.”

Gears.

The vow that Elliot spoke of….

“One day, I will free you.”

“Right.”

“Now that I’ve become that damned Hero, the Demon King’s defeat seems meaningless….”

“….”

“Would you run away? With me?”

Running away from the Cathedral.

At those words, Ophelia flinched.

Run away? How? Even if she did escape, would there be a place for her on the continent? Wouldn’t pursuers come after her?

Numerous realistic issues came forth.

She questioned whether Elliot was saying this sincerely.

So Ophelia bit her lip.

Should she be angry?

That thought crossed her mind, but her body naturally drew her knees up to her chest.

“I don’t know.”

“What?”

“Do whatever you want, you crazy… bastard. You’d just drag me along anyway…”

“….”

“I don’t know. You figure it out.”

As Ophelia mumbled that, she shot a glare at Elliot.

“Just be responsible for it.”

“Responsible? For what?”

“You started this mess. Take responsibility for my life.”

“…Hmm.”

In the end, it meant leaving everything to Elliot.

Seeing Ophelia sulking like a child, Elliot narrowed his eyes.

They had been together for three years now. He knew very well what Ophelia’s unspoken feelings meant.

“Well then, let’s make it a kidnapping.”

*

A day in the Magic Tower begins early.

In truth, time holds little meaning for the Magic Tower. When the weapon summoned by magic disappears, that means an hour has passed. When the color of the magical potion changes, that signifies a day for a mage, and if the magic circle drawn starts to fade, it means a week has gone by.

That’s the sense of time for a mage.

So, when a visitor from long ago came back, it was exactly three months according to the mage’s sense of time. In other words… it was when one magic circle had completely vanished.

“Knight Elliot, and… Saint.”

Archmage Eldarian Barried looked at the man and woman before him, unable to hide his surprise.

Dressed in torn robes, Elliot was carrying the Saint Ophelia on his back. The pinned-up Ophelia seemed embarrassed in a position akin to a cicada, burying her flushed face against his shoulder.

“Um, uh.”

Eldarian was flustered. His monocle fell off and shattered, but he was too astonished to even think about picking it up.

The Saint, who ought to be in the Cathedral, and her bodyguard suddenly arrived at the Magic Tower. Without asking anything, Elliot spoke first.

“We’ll talk later; for now, I’ll take a moment of your time.”

This wasn’t a question.

It was a sort of declaration.

And Eldarian had no intention of doing anything absurd like turning away the Saint.

“Please, come in….”

In the end, Eldarian stepped aside, uttering those words.

Elliot stomped on the dusty floor of the Magic Tower in his mud-stained greaves. Eldarian’s eyebrows twitched, but he didn’t say anything.

Instead, he scrutinized Elliot’s appearance. Ragged clothes, a sack, and his armor were covered in several cuts.

Had he been in a battle? Against these criminal scum in front of him? Or… someone else?

“…Hmm.”

There were no answers to be found in overthinking it. He could just ask directly. Eldarian motioned to a servant to guide them.

Up until that moment, Eldarian had no idea that this was the beginning of an event that would shake the continent for years to come.