Chapter 123. Deception (3)
“Honestly, these guys were kinda pathetic.”
Sirocco sauntered over, dragging the escorts by their collars.
“Good work.”
“Wasn’t even hard.”
She dropped them onto the floor and glanced at me.
“No need to sneak around for losers like these.”
The other escorts she’d hauled over were limp, unconscious. They’d clearly been knocked out by Sirocco without much resistance.
“They won’t be up for a while.”
“Duh. I’m strong!”
“Not wrong.”
I gave a faint smile and turned my head. Sirocco wagged her tail, hands on hips, and remarked.
“Like I said, they were way too weak. That Ixion guy was much tougher.”
“Compare apples to apples.”
I only said that, eyeing the escorts groaning on the floor.
But Sirocco had a point. The Saintess’s escorts were subdued far more easily than expected.
“Hmph, you told me to move quietly, so it was harder than it needed to be. Totally unnecessary.”
Ignoring her grumbling as she crossed her arms, I glanced at the escorts. Even I hadn’t anticipated it’d be this easy, despite the advantage of a surprise attack.
As Sirocco said, they’d been taken down effortlessly, despite her less-than-stealthy approach.
The implication was obvious.
“To think even the Saintess’s escorts are this poorly prepared.”
I muttered quietly. Facing the truth made Amelia’s situation clearer.
The Saintess’s escorts were mere window dressing. They might have high magical ranks, but they lacked real combat experience.
“It’s laughable that these are her escorts.”
“Right? I was hoping for more. Such a waste.”
“Hoping for what?”
“Obviously, a fight!”
Sirocco shot me a sharp look.
“I’m strong, but fighting someone stronger would help me grow even more. That’d make me more useful to you.”
“Not wrong.”
Sirocco pouted, grumbling.
“What’s with the lukewarm reaction? Hurry up and praise me. I’m your follower family, aren’t I?”
Instead of answering, I couldn’t help but smile faintly. I’d worried her injuries from the Ixion fight might’ve shaken her, but it was needless. Her lively response showed she was motivated, which was a relief.
Click.
Familiar footsteps approached, and I glanced aside. Lien emerged from the shadows, her silver hair glinting.
“Thanks for handling the rooftop.”
“As you said, there was one lookout. Subdued.”
I pointed to the escorts at my feet.
“Can you bind these guys?”
“…”
Lien gave me her usual emotionless glance, then lifted her maid skirt slightly, clenching her hand.
A sharp ping sounded, and silver wires wrapped around the escorts, binding them back-to-back in one swift motion.
But Antenor, still unconscious on the floor, wasn’t bound.
I glanced at the twitching man, then turned to Lien.
“Thanks.”
“No need to thank me.”
She quietly retracted the wires, approaching.
“It’s all tied to your safety, Young Master.”
Her tone sounded like a renewed vow. Avoiding my gaze slightly, she came closer.
I noticed her behavior was distinctly different from before. Her question to Ixion came to mind.
“About what you asked Ixion earlier…”
I stopped mid-sentence.
Though curious, it wasn’t the time or place. Lien glanced at me, then pulled something from her apron, handing it over.
“Here.”
It was a map of the mining city.
“What’s this?”
“Something the lookout escort had.”
Unfolding it, I saw a tourist map covered with notes and markers for planned civilian attacks and terrorist plots.
I covered my mouth, as if stroking my chin.
This was fortunate, considering what lay ahead.
‘They even left evidence so neatly.’
It was clearly a meticulously planned scheme, not a joke.
“Enoch, what’s that…?”
Amelia approached. I handed it to her silently. The escorts’ intentions were obvious. Reading it, she lowered her head.
It was the final nail in the coffin of their betrayal.
“…”
Her shoulders trembled faintly.
Before she could speak, Antenor, writhing at my feet, jerked his head up.
Having regained consciousness, he scanned the area, spotted me, and roared.
“Enoch Elsyde, direct descendant! To treat the Saintess’s escorts like this! The Pontiff and the Holy Residence’s high council will never forgive you!!”
His shouts roused the other escorts, who began gritting their teeth.
“Damn it, what’s this!”
“You’re making a mistake, direct descendant!”
Antenor, foam crusted at his mouth from his collapse, protested with a twisted expression.
“Your reputation matters, yet you treat me like this. I’ll formally report to the Main House—!!”
“Enough!”
A stern command froze everyone in place. The escorts, including Antenor, gaped, staring at the source.
“Saintess…”
Amelia’s green eyes blazed with authority, a commanding presence that overwhelmed the room like lightning.
The escorts, glaring at me, turned to her in disbelief.
“But… that’s…!”
“To me, Enoch Elsyde is no mere escort. And I will no longer tolerate the atrocities you planned and attempted.”
“Forgetting even your prayers, Saintess! You always upheld the precepts, saying you mustn’t sully yourself with politics!”
Watching the escort squirm, Amelia tilted her head slightly, then smiled as if recalling something.
“Oh, you keep yapping, so I forgot.”
“What?”
Antenor’s expression was a sight. As if the Amelia he knew had vanished.
His shock was palpable, and I could read it in his eyes. Pure, devout, revered by all—surely that was her.
What was this situation?
“Oh, you didn’t get it? Well…”
Meeting his gaze, Antenor shuddered. Looking down with contempt, she raised her chin.
“How could a pig understand human words?”
---
In the empire, healing magic was a rare talent.
Combined with modern medical advances, it cured many incurable diseases and eased suffering, making it highly valued.
Amelia, raised by the Order, was no exception.
In a remote city, not even an outer district, her now-lost hometown, a plague once killed countless people.
That day, she first clasped her hands and prayed to an unnamed Goddess.
And.
No miracle or salvation came.
“You mentioned prayer earlier.”
She looked down at Antenor, asking.
“What does praying to the Goddess achieve? Prayer isn’t for a Goddess who doesn’t help—it’s for yourself.”
“Blasphemy!”
Antenor gnashed his teeth, his neck veins bulging as he protested.
“If the Pontiff knew, he’d—!”
“He won’t. He left the Order for that foolish pilgrimage or whatever. But that’s what bred vermin like you.”
His mouth gaped, speechless at her unyielding scorn.
I inwardly marveled.
‘As expected. Her reputation’s well-earned.’
Saintess Amelia.
In the original story, she appeared as a pure, saintly figure, but in truth, she didn’t believe in the divine. Her hidden speech was laced with contempt and derision, a unique trait.
Her stunning beauty and saintly title created such a gap that online communities dubbed her the “Scolding Saintess,” spawning mocking emotes that became memes.
Seeing it firsthand felt oddly fulfilling.
The Order’s state was exactly as she described.
From those with real authority to escorts like Antenor, who styled themselves as acting Pontiffs, all moved for profit.
No trace of compassion or love remained in the Order’s upper echelons.
“You claim to save people, but you don’t care about them. I’ve watched you all.”
She glanced at me.
“Thanks to Enoch, I didn’t expect to see your corruption exposed so quickly.”
Left unchecked, the empire’s hub of healers would collapse.
Amelia knew this before becoming Saintess. Antenor and the escorts knew too. But their goals diverged.
Thus, they deceived others in their own ways.
Antenor writhed, shouting.
“You deceived us, Saintess! And your supporters!”
“Yes, of course.”
Amelia leaned on her staff, bowing slightly. Her golden hair spilled over her shoulder.
She smiled, captivating enough to steal anyone’s gaze.
“I’m a filthy liar, but I show the beautiful illusion everyone wants. Playing the radiant Saintess draws people in.”
“…”
Antenor’s jaw dropped.
Silence fell in the factory. Stammering, he managed one word.
“De… deceiver.”
“Correct. But don’t think badly of me.”
She narrowed her eyes, whispering as if sharing a secret.
“I’m just a realist. Everyone deceives someone to live, don’t they? You included.”
“That, that…”
Stunned, Antenor stared up at her with wide eyes.
“You don’t get it, do you?”
She looked down with disdain.
“Let me explain for someone dumber than a monkey. You can’t even guess why I, who don’t believe in the Goddess, became Saintess.”
Her eyes narrowed coldly.
“Listen. The Goddess doesn’t save those who can’t be healed. But an Order of skilled healers can.”
“That’s…”
“Praying fervently doesn’t save people in reality. A corrupt Order can’t be reformed by prayer alone. That’s why I vowed to become Saintess.”
Amelia smiled beautifully.
“I lack political clout, but leveraging public support can be a powerful weapon to stop the Order’s corruption.”
Instead of the artificial stained-glass light of the grand Holy Residence,
She stood with a golden circle of light from the factory’s massive ventilator behind her, clasping her hands as if in prayer.
“All evidence of your plans here is secured. The Holy Residence will formally strip you of your escort titles and impose fitting punishment for your crimes.”
She slammed her staff into the ground.
“Oh, and could you hold your breath?”
Her green eyes glanced down at Antenor.
“Breathing the same air as trash like you is physically revolting.”
“Ah… Ahh.”
Overwhelmed by her tirade, Antenor stared blankly.
I smiled briefly.
The mining city’s affairs were wrapping up, but the most critical task remained.
And its key had just been thrown.
Meeting Amelia’s beautiful green eyes as she turned to me, I swallowed dryly.
The key to making Saintess Amelia my follower family.