Taming the Evil Saintess

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As always, entering into the realm of the Dark Mage was a feeling that was hard to grow accustomed to.

It felt like diving into a tank full of liquid monsters.

Swirling and almost nauseating, the sensation was one of discomfort and unease that enveloped my entire body.

Finally, the veil lifted, and a dim darkness lay before me.

“….”

I first checked for Ophelia, who should have been on my back, but she was nowhere to be found.

Cecilia, who had been closest to me, and Azar, who had opened the path, along with Erwin, who had spoken with me, were also absent.

In other words, I was currently isolated.

Such is the nature of the realm. It’s easy for the caster to rearrange the internal structure to scatter us in all directions.

“Lieutenant Petinus… I guess.”

Lieutenant Petinus.

Aside from the Possessor, he was the only Demon who could expand this realm.

Petinus was the first obstacle blocking the player from entering the fortress as the lieutenant of the Plague Lord. While it wasn’t exceptionally difficult, it was somewhat tricky since one had to prepare for a continuous battle against the Plague Lord.

If he had spread out the realm to pick us off one by one…

“Ophelia.”

What worried me the most was indeed Ophelia.

It seemed they recognized that Ophelia was a threat as well.

There was no time. I grimaced, infused mana into the Holy Sword, and advanced through the corridor with the sword energy serving as my torch.

The air was murky, tinged with what seemed like faint poisonous energy.

Step by step.

How long had I walked?

A flicker of light danced before my eyes.

However, instead of a safe haven, there stood a woman clad in robes.

“Welcome. It must have been dark, but you managed to come this far.”

She was not a Demon.

Nor was she a Monster.

For a moment, I wondered if she could be the Plague Lord, but the Vermina I knew didn’t look like that.

Rather…

“Are you a Possessor?”

She appeared almost entirely human.

“Am I a Possessor? Yes. That’s right. Not unlike you.”

Nodding, the woman relaxed her lips under her hood.

I tightened my grip on the Holy Sword and slowly got into position.

She tilted her head, seemingly curious about my stance.

“Hmm… So you’re the type to attack first.”

“Do you intend to fight or not?”

“Nope. But I have to fight even if I don’t want to. That’s just how the system works. Otherwise, I die. Because of the Mark. It’s the same on Earth. I used to work for a black company. Six to nine.”

As if recalling something uninteresting, the woman clapped her hands and continued talking.

“So, where are you from? Oh, not here, but from Earth.”

“….”

“Oh, there’s no need to be so cautious. I just wanted to chat since it’s been a while since I met someone from the same area. Small talk, you know?”

Of course, I kept my guard up, watching her every move.

She was a chatterbox, unlike any Possessor I had ever met.

It seemed certain she was a Possessor and belonged to the Plague Lord, Vermina. The dark magic writhing behind her robe was proof of that.

Yet, there didn’t seem to be any significant hostility coming from her.

When I stayed silent, she sulked and puffed up her cheeks.

“Is being a Hero fun? Isn’t it exciting? You’re the main character of the world, after all.”

“… I don’t know. You seem similar.”

“True, you’re in a situation you didn’t want either.”

Kekeke, the woman laughed as she stepped closer.

As she drew nearer, her face was illuminated by the golden light emanating from my sword.

I couldn’t help but scowl.

“Don’t make a face like you’ve just chewed on a bug while looking at someone else’s face. Believe it or not, I’m considered quite the beauty in this world. It’s one of the few things I’m satisfied with.”

With her hands resting on her hips, the Possessor spoke.

I cautiously broached the topic.

“You don’t mean…”

“Oh, do people often say I look like my mother? Well, she isn’t my real mom, though.”

The woman shrugged and tossed back her hood, placing her hand on her chest.

“Let me formally introduce myself. My name is Oksana. I hail from the Ice Palace, and by the way, I’m of royal blood.”

“….”

The face of the Possessor, Oksana, was a spitting image of Tsar Ryudmila of the Ice Palace.

“That’s right. Your guess is spot on. A tragic fate indeed.”

“Huh.”

The daughter of the Tsar, who was said to have been captured by the Demon King and turned into a Possessor, as Cecilia mentioned.

She stood before me now.

*

Since birth, Lieutenant Petinus of the Plague Lord had been waging war over his territory.

He had perpetually cut off the supply of enemies; the number of villages he decimated with plague exceeded several dozens.

I’ve heard that the Saint, hailed as the saintess of the continent, was quite exceptional with Holy Magic. However, Petinus held great confidence in his plagues.

The poisons and plagues he wielded were praised even by Lord Vermina himself.

They could never be purified by anyone.

Having believed that firmly, Petinus recently suffered a monumental blow to his pride.

“That’s impossible.”

With a single spell, the saint cleansed the plague he had honed and refined for days.

That infuriated him to no end.

Therefore, he planned to directly break that detestable neck. He expanded the realm to create a one-on-one confrontation with the saint.

And then, he would kill the saint. He intended to tear her ribs and use them as a totem, the heart as a new material for plague, and feed the remaining flesh to the insects.

“Why?”

However, currently, Petinus’s meticulously crafted plans were twisted and shattered into pieces.

“Why isn’t she dead? Ugh.”

Petinus looked visibly flustered as he gazed at Saint Ophelia Meredein.

With a branch in one hand and a shield raised in the other, that saint wore a sickening grin despite being covered in injuries.

Her skin was necrotic, and blood trickled from her mouth, nose, and eyes because of the plague.

But in the next moment, a golden light of Holy Magic radiated.

Just before her body was about to collapse, she gradually returned to a healthy state.

No, she was recovering.

“Are you… alright, human?”

“No. I’m not alright.”

The saint groaned in pain as she staggered but nonetheless steadied her posture, letting one shoulder droop.

Petinus swung his hook at the approaching saint, but…

Paan!

With a cheerful metallic sound, Petinus’s arm was deflected.

She had struck it away with her shield.

Parry. A technique that only warriors well-versed in Shield Technique could execute.

Skrak.

“Ugh.”

“How unfortunate. I was thinking of splitting you in two.”

As the branch grazed Petinus’s belly, green blood spurted forth.

He barely managed to staunch the bleeding using the insects, but the excruciating pain rattled his brain.

“You’re massive and yet terrible at fighting. Without your poisons and plagues, you wouldn’t stand a chance against Elliot’s claws.”

“What?!”

Bang!

Once again, the swinging hook was effortlessly caught by the thin branch.

What puzzled Petinus most was this.

He was continually spreading plague and vomiting insects from inside his body. The hook attached to his elbow was smeared with a wide array of diseases, including smallpox.

Such attacks from Petinus shouldn’t be something mere humans could fend off. Especially against a frail nun, it was even more so.

He had encountered many humans adept at Holy Magic, but even they couldn’t survive if their bodies were torn apart.

“Why is it that a mere cleric can perform swordsmanship and shield technique?”

The saint fought too well.

She was adept at close combat as well as ranged magical combat, continuously disturbing Petinus.

Even if she allowed a blow, as long as it wasn’t a fatal wound, she could recover. Even though multiple attacks and plagues had worn her body down, she rose again with Holy Magic.

It was not easy for a fragile human mind to withstand the pain of their body disintegrating. Let alone for someone her age; even a broken arm would usually diminish their will to fight.

“You’re strange. You’re not human. Ugh.”

“Hmph. I don’t think you’re in a position to say that, you dumbass.”

“Why? Why are you not in your right mind? Why do you not die?”

In pure confusion, Petinus locked gazes with the saint as she slowly lifted the branch.

“Because you see, I’m rather used to pain.”

“Used?”

“Have you ever scraped your skin with a sharp object? Being locked in solitary confinement, unable to eat, and doing that every day?”

“….”

“Have you ever been called upon to be beaten when you were bored? A wooden sword with iron spikes driven into it—when that hits your crown, it feels like your soul is about to escape, you know? No, I probably fainted a few times.”

“What nonsense are you talking about?”

“Exactly. You wouldn’t understand. You’re a dumbass.”

The saint mumbled with a bitter smile.

“Above all, I don’t want to be caught.”

“Caught?”

“Yeah. I don’t want to be caught by someone I have to follow. He’s annoyingly sweet, of all things.”

“…”

“Damn, what am I saying? There are things a dumbass shouldn’t hear.”

The saint shook her head and smacked her own mouth.

Setting aside her abusive language, Petinus had to acknowledge that the saint before him was not just a frail girl.

“So, Petinus, you wanted to kill me, and that’s why you spread the realm, right?”

As she said that, the saint took a step forward.

Her white hair, soaked in blood, gleamed golden.

“So if I kill you, this damned realm will disappear, right?”

“… Ugh.”

Reflexively, Petinus stepped back.

And then he realized.

Was he, Lieutenant Petinus of the Plague Lord, feeling threatened for his life? By a mere cleric, not a Hero, Swordmaster, or Golden Lion, but just a nun?

That shouldn’t be possible.

It couldn’t be.

But…

“Zombie.”

Looking at the saint, who appeared almost like a zombie, Petinus could not help but realize that he was the one trapped within the realm, not the saint.