Secret Love Affair between a Former Saint and a Dark Hero - Chapter 69
The way this rattling carriage jolted was worse than a crowded bus ride.
‘My butt is going to feel so sore after this.’
Just in case, Iora quietly invoked her power as a saint, and a faint light appeared at her fingertips. Gradually, the dull pain in her backside and the stinging sensation on her cheek began to disappear.
“Amazing.”
『The Saint’s Flower』didn’t focus much on the protagonist’s life as a saint, so there wasn’t much information or stories about her powers in the novel. Instead, Iora learned about it through her own studies rather than relying on what she remembered from the story.
Typically, the saint’s power was related to healing. Her healing powers were so powerful that she could bring a decapitated man back to life within a day. However, it was considered a miracle that could only be used once in a lifetime, as it required the saint to use her own life force.
‘But other than that…’
Throughout the ages, saints have varied in their powers. One was unusually physically gifted, and it was said that she had led the Empire to victory in a crisis of war. Another had the ability to discern falsehoods, and it was said that she was a fair and just empress, assisting the emperor in his affairs.
‘In the end, it’s like a random game, huh?’
Iora examined her fingertips closely. Seeing the pain in her body disappear, it seemed like her powers manifested as healing magic, but at the same time, she could also infuse her voice with strength and instill fear in others. It seemed there was more to it than just healing.
“Could I have multiple abilities…is that possible?”
Since she was actually the novel’s protagonist, it seemed like this fictional world should give her that much.
Grumbling unnecessarily, Iora expanded the web of her thoughts. What to do next. How to choose a future where she could survive step by step.
If she were to reveal her saint powers right away and say she was a saint, would Crown Prince Ovid abandon Arcanda and choose her? But would that really bring happiness? Now, even thinking of Ovid, her heart was as cold as a lump of stone. Would she be willing to spend her life with a man she didn’t love just because she was a real saint?
Iora shuddered.
“I absolutely hate it.”
If she wanted to pretend to be neither the crown prince’s wife nor a saint, she had to choose someone as powerful as she was. The protagonist in the novel, Arcanda, the male lead, Ovid.
And then, someone like Vigros who trapped them and was actually a villain who could do anything to get Arcanda, the evil villain.
“Yes, Vigros.”
Iora twirled the end of her hair into a bun. So, who was Vigros?
Thinking about him gave Iora a somewhat warm feeling. However, soon that fuzzy emotion also cooled down. There was no guarantee that the Vigros from this time period would be as affectionate and kind as the one before her regression.
Those memories were hers alone.
At that moment, the carriage stopped with a jolt. She opened the window and saw a familiar scene. It was the saint’s mansion. She looked at the unsettling place, wondering if she would have to fight again.
The naive teacher and his pouring nagging and disdain, the maids at the saint’s mansion who were worse than those at home, and Arcanda’s followers.
And…
‘Arcanda of 『The Saint’s Flower』.’
She would meet that woman too.
* * *
Looking at the weathered angel statue, the man slowly bit into an apple. The sweet smell of the apple in his mouth did nothing to ease his sullen mood.
He seemed to feel restless lately for no reason. Life wasn’t exactly uneventful and carefree, but the unpredictable emotional swings were so erratic that his subordinate, Lake, had pleaded with him to stop.
If the cause of his foul mood were a person, he would likely just slit their throat to make himself feel better. However, not knowing the reason himself, he was on the verge of losing control. He swung his naked feet in the air as he gazed freely at the familiar view.
“Maybe I should just kill them all.”
He would be able to do just that if he could wrest the Saint from Ovid. No one would be forgiven, and imagining them begging for their life also amused him. It was also quite enjoyable to sow despair in Ovid’s once happy face, and to imagine the Emperor’s anguish at seeing it.
A wicked smile bloomed on his face, but only for a moment. His long-sealed heart, submerged and locked away for so long, didn’t allow for prolonged moments of joy. Nothing seemed interesting. His mood sank further into the abyss, as did the corners of his drooping lips.
Drowsiness began to creep into his languid blue eyes. Until…
“….”
A pair of eyes that had lost interest sparkled like jewels as he caught sight of her. A languid contentment began to play on his pomegranate-red lips.
“The power of the saint…?”
