A resonant “Dong~” reverberated through the vaulted chambers of the grand church, the bell’s ancient call weaving through stone and shadow.
The atrium lay cloaked in a delicate veil of white mist, warm and enveloping, like a mother’s lullaby sung to hush a restless child.
It drifted softly, a gentle embrace of serenity.
Beneath the golden glow of the forecourt, a white-haired nun, her black veil clinging to her form, chanted sacred verses passed down through ages.
Her voice, a soft plea to the divine, sought fleeting peace for a weary world.
Runes etched into the marble-smooth pillars pulsed with life, awakened by the nun’s infused magic.
They exhaled wisps of mist, light and carefree, that seemed to lift the soul from its burdens.
Noi’s lace-trimmed skirt swayed in the faint breeze as she opened her eyes, her prayer complete.
A quiet warmth lingered within her, the pulse of magic steady and strong.
Her enhanced abilities now allowed her to weave these sacred rites without draining her body, a triumph of will and power.
The pews, adorned with dark, intricate patterns, brimmed with devotees drawn by her reputation.
Their faces glowed with rapture, lost in the ethereal illusion she had spun, a fleeting paradise of the mind.
Noi descended the platform silently, slipping into the side chamber.
There, Simon and Xing Chen stood, minds adrift in a haze, while Lyte, seasoned by prior experience, remained composed, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of awe.
“My goddess Afiya,” Simon muttered, shaking his head as if to clear a dream.
“This is stronger than any charm spell, isn’t it?”
His vision lingered on the fading echoes of the illusion, blurring the line between reality and fantasy, leaving him momentarily unmoored.
Xing Chen, beside him, fared worse.
His centuries of fractured, chaotic memories, stirred by Noi’s prayer, had sent his consciousness spiraling beyond the world, his open eyes vacant and distant.
“Wake up,” Lyte said firmly, his voice cutting through the fog.
He knew Xing Chen’s haunted past too well to let him sink into those jagged recollections.
The flame-haired youth blinked, his chest rising and falling as his breathing steadied, grounding him back to the present.
“I was too arrogant,” Xing Chen admitted to Lyte, his voice low.
He had come at Simon’s urging, expecting the saintess’s prayer to be unremarkable.
Instead, its power had nearly unraveled him, leaving his soul shaken but strangely fortified, as if it could withstand another death without losing too much of himself.
“Simon,” Noi called softly, her eyes flicking to Lyte, who rubbed his eyes wearily, likely exhausted from watching the blood moon the previous night.
“Come here for a moment.”
At 9pm, she too had gazed at the crimson sky, but urgent news on her phone had interrupted her thoughts:
[The Conqueror had suffered an anomaly, and Saintess Liana was unreachable. The court master had declared that the two Sin-Breaking Knights and the saint tasked with her protection would face punishment upon their return to Tria.]
Noi recalled the silver priest’s sword and the thorn robe—indistinct from a common nun’s garb—they had given her.
Filing the matter away, she had retired for the night.
“What’s up?” Simon asked, approaching with curiosity.
Noi draped a thin blanket over Lyte, who dozed lightly in a chair, then led Simon from the side chamber.
“Those local specialties you sent me before you vanished,” she said.
“How do I use them?”
From her system space, she summoned a bag.
The new mana potions were already stored, leaving only a bracelet woven from pale golden branches, a crown of soft blue flowers, and… a small, intricate black collar.
“Oh, that’s a holy tree branch bracelet,” Simon explained.
“Wear it, and it’ll gradually boost your mana while cutting down on consumption.”
“And this?” Noi held up the flower crown, its petals catching the sunlight, releasing a faint, ghostly fragrance.
“That reduces stamina drain. It was a bargain with the bracelet, so I grabbed it. Your wrists are slim, but it’ll work just as well on your ankle.”
As he finished, Noi lifted the final item—the black collar—her gaze questioning, a single strand of hair curling like a puzzled antenna.
“Hey, don’t give me that look!” Simon protested.
“It’s actually useful.”
“Tell me more,” she pressed, her tone sharp with curiosity.
Glancing around to ensure privacy, Simon leaned in, voice hushed.
“You’re with that hero, right? If he ever mistreats you, slip this collar on him. It’ll make him obey you.”
“How, exactly?” Noi asked, eyes narrowing.
Simon pointed at the collar.
“It explodes. It’s a kind of… torture device. Don’t play with it unless you have no other choice.”
Noi turned the dark collar over in her hands, suspecting Simon had merely offloaded some unsellable trinket.
Still, she appreciated the thought.
Women adored beautiful accessories, didn’t they?
Even if it served no purpose, it might add a thrilling edge to intimate moments—dangerous, but enticing.
With the specialties explained, Simon wandered off to consult Grandma Corinne about a pet’s upset stomach, reluctantly roped into pet-raising by Xing Chen.
Xing Chen, meanwhile, sought the bishop handling recent affairs to discuss the blood moon, while Lyte, roused from his brief nap and joined Noi for a walk.
Before the prayer, a princess from the imperial capital had arrived at the sacred church.
“My goddess Afiya,” she exclaimed, “that nun’s prayer was breathtaking, more dazzling than a saintess’s! I’ve never been so swept away by a prayer.”
Her words bubbled forth like a rushing spring, effusive and unrestrained, as only a young noblewoman could manage.
The blue-haired maid, her holy sword hanging low at her waist, stifled a yawn, savoring the prayer’s lingering calm.
“Indeed, Grand Princess,” she agreed.
A rare soul untouched by the prayer’s full weight, she couldn’t deny its power—it had soothed her chronic insomnia like nothing else.
“So fascinating!” the princess declared.
“Isn’t Lyte a knight here? Let’s meet that nun, then find him.”
Hoisting her voluminous skirt, Grand Princess Deta Roldo marched toward the nun’s private courtyard, undeterred by protocol.
Little Blue, after asking a novice nun for Noi’s whereabouts, led the way with measured steps.
***
“Your collar needs straightening,” Noi teased, her fingers deftly adjusting Lyte’s tie.
“It’s sharper this way.”
In the quiet corridor to the courtyard, she worked with care, like a devoted wife preparing her husband for the day.
She loosened the tie, retied it neatly, and smoothed it against his uniform, the brown-gray fabric resting softly against her as she leaned close.
“Lyte,” she purred, “did you forget something today? Your daily kiss is overdue.”
Her arms slid around his sturdy back, her curves brushing playfully against his chest, her small ears catching the steady thrum of his heart.
Tilting her head, Noi’s sultry gaze met Lyte’s warm amber eyes.
Her glossy lips, lightly kissed by her tongue, gleamed with invitation.
Lyte, sensing her desire, cupped her face, his fingertips grazing her soft jaw.
She rose on tiptoe, their lips meeting in a fleeting, testing touch.
Their eyes locked, desire flaring between them.
Noi’s arms tightened around his neck, and she surrendered to the rush of their kiss, her senses lost to the rhythm of his lead.
This tender moment was abruptly witnessed by Grand Princess Deta, who had come seeking Noi.
“Impossible,” she gasped, her voice trembling with disbelief.
“This is absolutely impossible.”
Stunned by the sight of the fervent kiss, the proud princess collapsed onto her extravagant red lace dress, woven with fibers soaked in holy tree sap for a hundred days, a garment worth half a million star coins.
“Little Blue,” she pleaded, “I must be mistaken, right? That can’t be Lyte. How could he kiss another woman?”
Little Blue, bound by her hero’s oath to never lie, replied evenly, “I’m sorry, Princess. That’s Lyte Montis. You know his face better than I do, having only met him briefly as your guard.”
“Can’t you offer some comfort?” Deta snapped, stung by Little Blue’s blunt honesty.
Rage surged within her, a burning urge to tear that white-haired siren’s face to shreds and crush the curves that had ensnared Lyte.
“Princess,” Little Blue cautioned, “I’d advise restraint.”
Accustomed to the whims of nobles, Little Blue knew some were gracious, but this princess, clearly, was not among them.
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