Secret Love Affair between a Former Saint and a Dark Hero - Chapter 54
Iora was so surprised by the sudden change that she just stared open-mouthed as Arcanda changed her expression as if she were putting on a play. The emotionless, stern face was so mask-like that it sent shivers down her spine.
“Of course, I didn’t say anything because I wanted you dead.”
The voice, speaking so cheerfully, was tainted with dark malice. Iora’s mind went blank. Who is this person? Is this the same Arcanda from ‘The Saint’s Flower’? But why would she say such things?
‘Arcanda is the protagonist of the story.’
There’s no reason for her to do something like this. It’s not allowed. Because she’s the heroine of the novel. A character meant to be lovable, tender, and destined for a perpetually happy ending. For the sake of that, for that alone, Iora gave up everything, resigned herself to the life she had. But now she realized Arcanda wasn’t what she thought she was…
It was confusing. At that moment, Arcanda tilted her head slightly and smirked.
“I don’t know what you’re thinking, but whatever it is, Iora, it’s useless.”
The assurance in her voice sounded so strange and eerie. Goosebumps ran down Iora’s arms. Could it be?
“Why is it useless?”
“Because this world loves me.”
“What?”
“Hard to believe, isn’t it? But how would you know with your puny existence? This place never betrays me. Everything revolves around me – people, connections, and the flow of every event.”
Incomprehensible, yet at the same time, a chilling premonition made the strange figure before her somewhat understandable. A thought suddenly struck her. If she had entered the world of the novel and become Iora, then couldn’t a similar thing happen to someone else?
‘Just as I became Iora.’
Arcanda smiled beautifully, like a fully bloomed sunflower. However, that smile no longer seemed as radiant.
‘Another can become Arcanda too, right?’
It was like that. Why hadn’t she thought of such a possibility? The possibility that the protagonist of a beloved story had been flipped. There was a chance that the Arcanda before her might not be the same Arcanda. The golden-haired girl who had dispelled her affectionate and compassionate smile now glared at her with cold eyes.
She muttered fiercely, “Things should’ve gone the way they were supposed to. It was always annoying because of you. You were supposed to love Ovid. You should have gone crazy with jealousy, going into a rampage and distorting yourself into something pathetic. But you didn’t. You’re not the Iora I know.”
“….”
“Who the hell are you?”
That was what Iora wanted to ask too. The way Arcanda glared at her, her grip on her shoulder painfully tight, was frighteningly unfamiliar. Was this woman also someone from Korea like herself? Or perhaps another character from a different book? Or…
“What do you want? Why are you doing this to me? I never intended to harm you.”
Arcanda shrugged her shoulders with a sardonic grin. “Isn’t it obvious? Why are you asking such a stupid question? You really are so dull, boring, and tedious.”
“What’s so obvious?”
“This world is my world, and the fate of everyone here is for me. So, the man who shines for me should look to me and me alone. Not to someone like you! And you too! You should be just like I know you to be!”
Her golden eyes sparkled.
“That’s right. You’re the hated, miserable, fake saint, Iora.”
Cold and eerie fingers like tree branches gripped Iora’s thin cheek.
“I am the beloved saint, Arcanda.”
And with a painful swipe, Arcanda pulled her hand away. A vivid red mark remained on Iora’s rough and blistered skin. Arcanda laughed, fully amused.
“Hehe, it suits you well. What an ugly sight.”
“I don’t…I don’t understand.”
“You’re still blabbering like an idiot. Since I’m kind, I’ll tell you more surprising stories if you listen. I wonder if you’ll still speak like that then.”
“What?”
Her gaze slowly scanned everything about Iora. Her hair, her features, her slender figure. Her sunken eyes.
“Look. See how messed up your face is.”
“…Arcanda.”
Iora remembered what Vigros had said. “Do you enjoy drinking tea, Iora? It’s poisoned, you clueless girl….”
Despite her trembling gaze, Arcanda sneered curses like a wicked witch, caressing Iora’s cheek as if casting a spell.
“Harming your skin, ruining your appearance, losing your hair.”
“You, you did this to me…”
“And how I struggled to find a tasteless, flavorless poison that would make your insides melt and kill you! Thanks to that, you’ve become such a wonderfully dreadful sight, Iora. Congratulations, you have a face fit for a filthy fake saint!”
