In Your Vulgar Paradise - Chapter 13

That man. Did her life change in an instant because of that boy who occasionally received healing from her over a decade ago? No, does he just resemble him? Or has only the outer shell remained the same while the essence has changed?

‘I wish you wouldn’t waste valuable divine power on someone like me…’

The boy who she occasionally encountered in the halls of the Papal Palace, would wrap himself in his cloak and discreetly swallow his sorrows.

He was the only other person she blessed at the time apart from the Pope’s direction.

The boy was hiding the lash marks on his back and the welted scars on his legs. It wasn’t just a day or two’s worth; there were numerous long-lasting scars that were difficult to address with only a brief moment of healing. Were such things commonplace in the monasteries of the male priests?

The young saint, educated to be faithful only to her duties, silently provided healing without asking anything. Judging by the torn clothing, she guessed that he might be one of the trainees.

‘Today, I visited the Skagor royal family. They were quite different from the people I’ve seen so far, in terms of skin color and clothing. The world seems to have such diverse landscapes, doesn’t it?’

‘How was my hometown? Well… I don’t remember because I came to the Holy Empire when I was very young.’

As their days of meeting continued, and the distance became one-sided, with Azniel mostly babbling about useless inner thoughts and extravagant dreams, the boy disappeared without exchanging a proper farewell.

And that humble and unremarkable boy returned to the Holy Empire wearing the face of a refined aristocrat.

‘Did His Holiness also know about him from that time? The way he treated him so casually…’

With the success of his proposal for a strategic marriage with the saint, which came at a time when the church was on the verge of withering away, there was no room for refusal in this situation.

‘Is it because he received such treatment that he dared to oppose even Dara…’

No, no. Azniel found herself constantly mulling over the absurd events that happened to her. As if shaking off those thoughts, Azniel diligently continued her rituals and met the next pilgrim.

* * *

From that day on, Azniel continued her ritual without rest, almost squeezing herself each day.

There were no greetings or even simple conversations, and it was almost like squeezing herself to forget the restless mind by punishing her body.

For some reason, there was no word from the Papal Palace, so Azniel endured each day with the feeling of waiting for an unspecified execution date.

“Saint, you look so tired.”

“You’ve been pushing yourself for several days. Why don’t you go in early and rest today?”

“I’m fine.”

After all, it might not matter if today is the last day.

Azniel swallowed her arbitrary response. Seeing that there was no discussion until now, maybe something happened. She consoled herself with such thoughts.

‘There’s no way such a grand negotiation would go wrong…’

One evening, as she continued to squeeze out divine power every day for the healing ritual, she looked up at the sky starting to tint with the colors of the southern sun. Azniel thought.

If the potion, that magical elixir, had advanced enough to replace even her sole function, meaning that the saint who only brought disappointment to the people of the Papal Palace is no longer needed in this era.

Now, wouldn’t this strategic marriage be useful? Whether for the troubled church or for Baron Geshturn, who claimed to need her for his business.

‘Yes… If I think that I have a new duty. That might be better in some ways.’

To accept a life that had changed beyond her intentions, she had no choice but to console herself. Even if it was self-deception.

As Azniel was heading towards where her residence was located with a bitter judgment.

“You’re working hard until late.”

The voice of a man echoed in the space where only the sounds of crickets were heard.

In this place, who could it be?

Looking around beyond the garden, there was a silhouette leaning against the lamppost – the elegant figure of Baron Geshturn.

Dressed in a perfectly tailored suit that emphasized his figure. The pale light of the lamppost almost turned his hair platinum.

He had thrown Azniel’s life into uncertainty in an instant. The main culprit for her recent turmoil, Baron Geshturn.

Azniel was surprised at his sudden appearance. She felt as if her anxiety had been exposed.

“….Ah.”

As if her vision had turned white, her head spun. After squeezing out every last drop of her energy for the past few days, she was now at her limits.

When she was not able to see anything for a brief moment, Azniel realized that she narrowly avoided collapsing thanks to someone’s sturdy arms.

“Ba, Baron Geshturn…”

“Yes. Good evening, Saint.”

Although the man’s lips formed a smile as he looked down at her, the black eyes beyond the subtle reflection of the glasses did not show any warmth. Perhaps due to the lamppost light, it was difficult to distinguish between the iris and the pupil; the pitch-black eyes scanned her face.

“You seem quite exhausted. When you go to Aschfield, I should order a high-calorie, nutritious diet in the kitchen.”

“…”

“Ah, of course, assuming that the Saint accepts my proposal.”