The rain over the Demon King’s castle grew heavier and heavier, pounding relentlessly on the tent with a constant pitter-patter.
The downpour was so thick it obscured vision, yet a silver-haired girl suddenly burst out of the tent.
In the blink of an eye, she disappeared completely after rounding a corner, as if she had never appeared at all.
This left Sieg, who had been desperately chasing after her, looking around in confusion and bewilderment.
At this moment, Gerard was instantly teleported away along with his clothes, silently and without a trace.
Learning from the last time when the Demon King had discovered them, this time the gods showed no flaws in their concealment.
Thanks also to the Hero’s enhanced stealth, things had gone smoothly—otherwise, it would have been disastrous…
Inside the Imperial Palace’s bedchamber, a sudden spatial rift opened up, dropping the seemingly fragile silver-haired girl from midair onto the cold floor.
Perhaps due to her light weight, she made little sound upon landing, naturally failing to alert the guards outside the door.
Only when her pale blue eyes looked up at the familiar ceiling did she let out a breath of relief, her heartbeat slowing somewhat.
She understood that she had returned alive—truly… one careless move and she could have died, staying by that Demon King’s side.
Hakimi was indeed terrifying. I thought so before, no, I’ve always thought so.
Her gaze dropped slightly as she looked at the crystal-clear mirror not far away.
The reflection showed her silver-white hair, wet and plastered against the black fabric of her nun’s habit.
Droplets slid from the tips of her hair, tracing down her slender neck and disappearing beneath the collar.
The thin fabric was soaked through by the torrential rain, faintly outlining the gentle curve of her shoulders and the delicate contours of her collarbone.
The habit clung tightly to her body, revealing a slender waist; the drenched hem hung heavily, hiding her long, pale legs but failing to conceal her graceful figure.
She slowly rose, her frail body still a bit weak, not yet accustomed to the recently reclaimed power of the Hero.
Her delicate hand lifted to smooth her rain-soaked silver hair, tucking several strands that clung to her cheek back into place.
With the slight movement, her chest rose and fell gently, her breaths a little hurried.
The soaked fabric stuck even closer to her body, every line embodying a contradictory beauty of restraint and seduction.
In some sense, it seemed the nun’s habit suited Gerard well.
But she herself probably wouldn’t think so—she might even find it uncomfortable, or even cumbersome.
Mainly, she hated wearing women’s clothes; if she had to wear them, it was only because she was forced.
At some point, the door was gently pushed open, and a man stepped in, respectfully bowing.
Naturally, it was the uninvited Duke Olay.
Now the empire’s face of handsome men, since those more handsome than him had died recently in the Hero’s coup, he wasn’t here because he’d just discovered the other’s escape.
He had other matters and plans in mind.
It was basically him looking for trouble—just wanting to see that face.
There was no choice; he adored Lady Emilia too much.
Even a substitute could lift his spirits; this was the constant longing he felt for her.
He didn’t suspect or alert to the other’s escape because he was confident in what he had done.
It was nearly perfect, flawless—there was no way he’d make a rookie mistake like Gerard.
Any slight disturbance would be noticed quickly; in other words, she couldn’t escape his grasp.
Still, seeing Gerard soaked to the bone made him suspicious.
His smiling face darkened instantly, and his tone grew serious.
“What’s going on, Your Majesty Gerard… did you just go out?”
“Just took a bath, no big deal. And you, get out… Olay, seeing you makes me sick.
If you have something to say, wait until I call you.”
It was clear how deeply she loathed Olay; old grudges and fresh hatred surged in her heart.
She also wanted to prevent him from discovering the one secret that could turn things around for her.
Many traces had yet to be erased; she still needed time.
Seeing him remain still, she suddenly turned her back.
Her drenched silver hair whipped away a cold trail of water.
Her slender fingers clenched the front of her habit so tightly that her knuckles whitened, trying to conceal the faint curves of skin beneath the fabric.
“Get out, Duke Olay.”
Her voice was again low but edged with a blade-like sharpness.
As she turned her face sideways, the raindrops clinging to her lashes fell like tears.
The chill in her eyes was sharper than the rain itself.
With her other hand, she grabbed the heavy, soaked hem of her skirt and pulled it back to cover herself.
Every tense movement spoke of extreme resistance and disgust.
Whether mentally or physically, she did not want others to see Emilia’s beautiful body.
This beauty was something only she could admire; no one else could or should see it.
Otherwise, she felt like she was being cuckolded and would bare her teeth in fierce protectiveness.
But when Olay didn’t retreat and stepped forward, she spoke, as if to herself, her handsome face unreadable—whether shy or indifferent was unclear, but at least she didn’t treat him as an outsider.
“Lord Gerard, don’t overthink it. I’m just concerned about you…”
She said no more.
For the sake of no longer living under others, she suddenly grabbed the expensive candleholder on the table and smashed it to the floor.
Wax tears splattered like a warning boundary, and her pale blue eyes made it clear: one more step closer, and next time it wouldn’t be just the candleholder breaking.
Whether from fear or deeming it unnecessary, Olay sighed and turned to leave.
He didn’t even bother to perform the emperor’s farewell ceremony, casually wiping the wax from the corner of his eye.
“I gave you twenty minutes to change clothes. After that, whether you’ve changed or not, I’ll come back in.”
The sound of his shoes stepping over the broken candleholder and the soft closing of the door echoed.
The bedchamber was empty once more—only Gerard remained.
With no intention of delaying, she dropped her guard and entered the bathroom with a meaningful, playful smile.
Ten minutes later, accompanied by the sound of running water, she emerged flushed, wrapped simply in a towel.
Indeed, she herself was pleased—there hadn’t been a chance before to enjoy this, and now there was, but no time to savor it.
A pity, a pity indeed—this was her only regret.
She erased all traces of teleportation within the chamber, leaving no clues behind.
Then, she began rummaging through the room, turning everything upside down.
She didn’t search for anything to cover her body, except for women’s clothes.
Like a carefree thinker, she sat on the bed, staring at the female garments scattered on the floor—each one a style Emilia had worn before.
Duke Olay had memorized them all and secretly purchased them as a collection.
Now they finally had a use, placing her in a dilemma.
She hadn’t broken down, probably because she’d accepted the situation and become accustomed to it.
As the saying goes, “The beginning is hard, the middle is harder, and the end is hardest.”
Wearing women’s clothes was no different for Gerard—it was torture.
But once started, there was no turning back, no psychological burden anymore.
She walked over unhurriedly, face filled with helplessness, bent down to pick up a plain dress beside her delicate feet.
Before, she might have resisted to the death, but now she could endure the discomfort and wear it.
After all, clothes make the person, and a horse needs its saddle.
She couldn’t bear not wearing clothes and certainly didn’t want others to see Emilia…
In a way, that was progress.
Silently, she encouraged herself: for Emilia, to live and see Emilia again, to earn her forgiveness.
Ahhh, let’s do this, brothers.