Aililan raised her eyebrow.
There was a strange feeling in her heart.
The Head Maid’s eyes were filled with little hearts. In a citrus-flavored Yellow Oil World, this wasn’t necessarily a good thing. No matter what kind of woman, you always needed to be on guard.
In the Yellow Oil World, you have to be careful about everything, you know? Especially in some stories—lose a simple game with a passerby, and you might have to face an onslaught of cream puffs from strangers.
Aililan spoke in a warning tone.
“Yarandale, Head Maid?”
“Ah, wh-what is it? Saintess, is there something wrong with the way I’m serving you?”
“No, I just wanted to ask. You seemed a little distracted just now. Are you alright?”
“Of course I’m fine.” Yarandale hesitated, but then lowered her head and honestly replied, “It’s just that you look so beautiful in your ceremonial dress, I couldn’t help but get a little distracted.”
Aililan: ?
So beautiful—am I?
The next day.
Dawn broke.
Aililan appeared in ceremonial dress at Emile Cathedral.
She wore a pure white dress, a decorative white ribbon tied at her waist, a white robe embroidered with golden thread, blooming flowers, and the Church’s totems draped over her shoulders. Her golden hair, silky as spun gold, was braided and brought forward to fall over her chest and down to her waist.
Above her softly swaying bangs, she wore the sacred Crown of Thorns. Barefoot, she stepped onto the Red Carpet before Emile Cathedral, the golden bells at her ankles chiming with a clear and beautiful sound.
Even Wilma, who knew Aililan was always beautiful, couldn’t help but sigh from the bottom of her heart when she saw her in full regalia:
Our most exalted Saintess!
She is so beautiful and pure.
Standing ahead, as the representative of the Chastity Knights, Fina Nisi’s eyes were blazing with a fierce light.
Fina Nisi had been troubled lately—if it wasn’t an assassin trying to kill her every other day, it was some powerful foe looking for trouble.
She’d already dealt with so many people—so why did they keep coming, like lice multiplying out of nowhere?
What was worse—
Pella seemed to have changed.
She was no longer so obedient, not so willing to listen. She wouldn’t just take a beating, nor let herself be scolded without retort.
But now, looking at Aililan’s sun-bright beauty, Fina Nisi was reminded: “It’s all that wretched Pella’s fault, I almost forgot my true purpose in coming to Atester City. It’s to win Aililan.”
“Whether by force or by coercion, I can’t wait any longer to have her.”
By force? By coercion?
Isn’t this a romance… Oh, right, this is the Yellow Oil World. That’s fine, these are just standard genre tags.
But Fina Nisi was starting to seem a bit unhinged—or perhaps, she was beginning to resemble a cult-classic Feng Aotian protagonist.
Meanwhile, Aililan, wholly absorbed in the Sacred Ritual, had no idea that her own beauty had caused a ‘Danger!’ alert to flash over her head.
The Sacred Ritual was lengthy and complicated.
Fortunately, after the grand opening, the subsequent activities were simplified. The crowds that had gathered to admire the Saintess’s visage also thinned considerably.
In the Inner City, where the powerful and wealthy gathered, there wasn’t much to say—those people were all old foxes. Who would risk trouble with a Saintess unless they had a death wish?
Aililan personally toured the Inner City.
She also visited many districts of the Outer City.
This gave her deeper insight into the city. The Inner City was like a world brimming with vibrant green life; the Outer City was already tinged with early autumn’s yellow; and the further out she went, the bleaker it became, until she reached the Slums—a place like ragged winter.
Arriving at the more remote Loric District, Bishop Wilma softly reminded her, “Saintess Aililan, there are only two stops left—your schedule for today will then be complete.”
Aililan nodded slightly. “Alright, let’s begin.”
Wilma was about to order someone to bring in the next group, when suddenly—
About two or three hundred meters away, a column of thick smoke rose into the air.
Aililan frowned slightly, casting a questioning glance at Wilma: “?”
Wilma’s face changed abruptly. She shouted at those beside her, “What are you standing around for? Hurry up and go see what’s going on!”
Wilma was angry—this wasn’t part of the plan, and it disrupted Aililan’s Sacred Ritual. It was a serious failure on her part.
No sooner had Bishop Wilma finished speaking than Aililan gave a cold snort. “No need. I’ll go see for myself.”
Wilma: “Ah—”
Cold sweat beaded on Wilma’s forehead. Only then did she realize how foolish her order had been.
In front of so many onlookers, enjoying the Sacred Ritual, if Aililan just ignored this—how could she continue to be the Saintess?
They arrived at the scene of the incident.
This was already close to the Slums.
Aililan had thought it would be a simple fire, but what she saw was a middle-aged man covered in blood, his wife and children protected beneath him, their home—their very means of survival—burning, while several Orcs jeered nearby.
Aililan called out coldly, “Stop.”
The Orcs paid no heed to human rituals and didn’t recognize Aililan.
But, facing the ‘crowd’s momentum’ behind her, they felt a little intimidated, though it only stoked their arrogance: “Who are you? I advise you not to meddle in things that don’t concern you.“
Aililan’s face grew colder, but she first attended to the wounded man’s family, healing their injuries.
At the same time, she raised her hand to quiet the rowdy crowd: “Quiet!”
Instantly, silence fell.
Only then did Aililan ask the middle-aged man, “Can you tell me what happened here?”
The man, as if grasping at a life-saving straw, wept, “Milady, please save my family. These Orcs living in the city say my home is on their land, and want to drive us out!”
In front of the burning house, a Wolfman Orc said impatiently, “Didn’t I give you money? Humans really are greedy.”
The man retorted angrily, “What you gave wasn’t even enough to rent a place for my whole family!”
As the man spoke, the crowd grew outraged.
Many even began to shout for the Orcs to get out of Atester City.
Given Atester City’s location, it was normal for non-humans to live mixed among humans, but Aililan could see the tension between the two groups.
The Wolfman seemed provoked, growling, “Shut up, human. This is our territory now. You’re the ones who should get lost.”
With those words, an uproar broke out.
Aililan was so stunned, she lost her composure.
Bishop Wilma nearly fainted—those words… damn, it was like the sky was falling.
The Orcs had thrown Aililan a massive dilemma. If she stood up for the middle-aged man, it could worsen already-tense relations with the Orcs. But if she turned a blind eye—
Then she, the Saint of Chastity,
Would become a laughingstock.
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