Chapter 41: The Hero Treated the Priestess Like Dough

The next day, when Celia opened her eyes, every cell in her body was screaming in protest.

Aches and pains radiated from every corner, making it feel as if her body had been hollowed out.

But I didn’t even do any work yesterday, so why am I so sore?

Maybe it’s due to a lack of exercise, combined with the fact that I didn’t sleep well last night.

Thinking this, Celia tried to roll over, but then her muscles began to twitch.

“！”

The young woman collapsed back onto her pillow and stared blankly at the ceiling for a few minutes. Once the soreness eased slightly, she finally got out of bed.

Celia pushed open the door and entered the Backyard, finding the scene before her somewhat unfamiliar.

The pile of firewood that had been haphazardly stacked in the corner of the Fallen Wall was gone, replaced by a perfect cube constructed from the logs.

Every single piece of wood was identical in length and thickness. The bark had been stripped away completely, revealing textures that were all aligned in the same direction.

Elent was crouching by the vegetable patch. The Hero Candidate held a pair of small scissors, performing surgery on a newly sprouted weed.

“What are you doing?” Celia asked.

Elent turned around, beads of sweat still hanging on his forehead.

“Good morning, Priestess. I am practicing the Micro-control of Power.”

Elent held up the weed to show Celia.

“Ever since I grasped the Secret of Fried Chicken yesterday, I’ve realized how crude I used to be. True swordsmanship should be as precise as processing ingredients, down to every last fiber.”

Celia glanced at the woodpile built by what looked like someone in the late stages of obsessive-compulsive disorder, then looked at the vegetable patch that was so level it seemed as if it had been measured with a ruler.

This boy’s brain is probably well and truly broken.

However, the direction in which it broke seemed to have some utility.

Celia supported her aching lower back and lay down on a lounge chair.

“Since you’re so confident in your control of power,” Celia said, lying face down on the chair and turning her head toward Elent. “Come here.”

“Is this for special training?”

“Something like that.”

Celia pointed to her back.

“My whole body is aching right now. Since you can see through the grain of chicken, you should be able to understand the flow of human muscles as well. Use your Micro-control of Power to give me a massage.”

Elent reached out and touched Celia’s back; even through her clothing, he could still feel the warmth of her skin.

However, in Elent’s current vision, the Priestess was a very stiff piece of “dough.”

If he didn’t knead out these tangled layers of fascia, it wouldn’t just affect the texture—it would also impact the subsequent fermentation.

As a Hero determined to create perfect cuisine, Elent could never allow such a thing to happen.

“Leave it to me.”

Elent took a deep breath, centered his energy in his core, and began to apply force with both hands.

Crack.

The crisp sound of joints popping rang out with startling clarity in the quiet Backyard.

“Ah!!!”

A scream pierced the tranquility of the early morning.

Lynn, who was watering flowers in the front yard, flinched, causing her watering can to drop to the ground.

“Lady Celia?!”

Lynn hurriedly ran to the Backyard entrance, but just as she was about to push the door open, the voices from inside made her pull back her hand.

“It hurts! It’s going to break! It’s really going to break right there!”

“Be gentler! Are you slaughtering a pig?!”

“Endure it for a bit, Priestess. The muscle knots here haven’t opened yet. If I don’t break them down, the texture… no, your body won’t get better.”

“I don’t want a massage anymore! Stop it… wahhh…”

“No, once it has begun, it cannot be stopped. Trust me, it will be over soon.”

Lynn stood outside the door, her cheeks quickly flushing red as forbidden images she had seen at the Fashion Festival surfaced in her mind.

Could this be the so-called private training of a Fallen Saintess?

To think that Lady Celia and Mr. Elent were actually…

Lynn picked up the watering can and fled back to the Church Hall, thoughtfully closing the door leading to the Backyard tightly behind her.

***

In the Backyard.

Celia buried her face in her pillow, tears streaming from the corners of her eyes due to the intense pain.

Rather than a massage, it was more like a form of torture.

Elent’s large hands were like two iron pincers, locking onto every aching muscle in her body before ruthlessly crushing down on them.

Just when Celia thought she was going to die at the hands of this idiot, Elent’s hands stopped.

“All done.”

Celia tried moving her arms; her limbs, which had been as heavy as lead, now felt as light as feathers. The soreness in her waist had vanished, replaced by a warm current of energy.

It actually worked.

“Phew…” Celia rolled over and sprawled out on the lounge chair like a lump of soft mud, letting out a comfortable sigh. “I’m alive again. Hero, your skill is indeed impressive.”

Although the process was a bit violent, the result was satisfying.

“Thank you for the compliment.” Elent gave a simple, honest smile. “Actually, the principle is the same as kneading dough. You just need to find the right pressure points and push through following the grain.”

Celia couldn’t be bothered to correct him for treating her like dough. She closed her eyes, preparing to enjoy this rare moment of relaxation.

*Thud.*

The ground vibrated slightly.

The lounge chair shook.

Celia frowned, but didn’t open her eyes.

“Elent, stop shaking the chair.”

“I’m not shaking it.” Elent was standing two meters away, tidying up the blanket he had just disarranged.

Thud.

There was another vibration, more obvious this time.

Celia opened her eyes.

Thud!

A third vibration came, and Celia realized something was wrong.

This wasn’t a person shaking something; it was the earth itself trembling.

Elent looked solemnly toward the Black Forest at the entrance of the Village.

“Priestess. Something very big is coming.”