Taming the Evil Saintess

---

“Hoo.”

Morgan felt the blood boiling through his entire body.

Hero’s Divine Mark. This was the first time he had ever used it in actual combat. The backlash was excruciating, yet the power derived from the mark was undeniably sweet. It was a mere sword energy he unleashed, yet enough to suppress an Imperial Knight.

Believing that he was the main character of this stage now empowered by the Hero’s Divine Mark, Morgan thought that even if his opponent was a Hero, victory wouldn’t be too difficult.

And indeed, the situation reflected that. Possessors unleashed their marks, pressing the Imperial Guards back, while Archery Master Erwin and Ice Warrior Cecilia were helpless against the possessors’ movements that were on another level.

If Morgan could eliminate that vile Possessor Elliot, it would all be over.

However.

“Ugh!”

Morgan swung his sword wildly. He was in a trance. He couldn’t tell if he was the one wielding the sword or if it was a different body disconnected from him.

Yet, the dazzling sword paths he unleashed, even he could hardly comprehend, were all easily deciphered and countered by the Possessor Elliot before him. Elliot didn’t even use his own mark.

Clang!

A clear sound resounded. Elliot matched Morgan’s sword with his own, deflecting his strikes with an aura of sword energy. More shocking was that Elliot typically responded with thrusts. The precision of his thrusts sought out Morgan’s weaknesses, making it look almost supernatural. Morgan’s shoulders, pushed beyond their limits, throbbed in agony.

It was impossible. Morgan was technically outclassed by Elliot. He had expected a gap, but not this vast.

Morgan’s lips twisted in frustration. With the Hero’s Divine Mark in play, he should be the main character.

“You bastard! Use your mark!”

“Unlike you, I have other battles waiting beyond this one. I can’t afford to expend my strength here.”

That nonchalant attitude was truly disgusting.

Some had initially been caught by the Demon King, and now were pawns for the Princess, yet here he was, freely maneuvering and basking in the praises of the continent’s people. How utterly contemptible.

A short while ago, he even announced his engagement to Saint Ophelia Meredein. How utterly unreasonable.

Veins throbbed in Morgan’s eyes. He dove inside, swinging his sword resolutely. He figured that mere exchanges wouldn’t be enough to defeat Elliot.

Part of that was the right conclusion and part was a mistake.

Firstly, while his physical abilities boosted by the mark were overwhelming compared to Elliot, Elliot welcomed the chaotic brawl.

Their swords clashed, Morgan’s fist impacted Elliot’s cuirass. It was a shallow hit. However, Elliot’s expression hardened at the shallow dent his chest received.

“Die!”

Morgan aimed to slice Elliot’s throat with his sword.

But in the next moment, his body wouldn’t move.

Why? Before he understood, black blood erupted from his mouth.

“Cough.”

At some point, a dark dagger had lodged itself in Morgan’s chest. He had no idea when he allowed the attack. Was it due to the dimmed senses from the Hero’s Divine Mark?

“…Cough. Just when….”

“When you decided to swing your fists like you liked.”

Had Morgan’s punch connected, Elliot gasped breathlessly. Drops of blood mixed with his breaths, hinting a serious internal injury.

“You using a dagger too?”

“Well, depending on the situation. A swordsman always has to be ready for close combat. It’s advice I gave to Ophelia, originally, this dagger was meant for her.”

“Hmph.”

Morgan tried to swing his sword, but as Elliot twisted the dagger embedded in his chest, his arm fell uselessly.

Clang. The sound of the sword hitting the floor echoed.

“Was it Morgan? What was your name back on Earth?”

“…Why do you care, ugh.”

“I need to remember. Of course, the others, too.”

Elliot genuinely looked forlorn.

That sentiment was so contemptible that Morgan spat blood mixed with saliva.

“Shut up.”

Morgan slumped down,

“Damn it… are you the only main character?”

With those words, Morgan collapsed and ceased to move.

As Elliot stared at the corpse for a while, he muttered.

“Did anyone ask for this?”

An aftertaste of bitterness lingered.

Elliot spat on the ground.

*

“It seems a battle has broken out.”

It was Azar leading the group who spoke. There was no doubt about it; the sound of explosions came from the banquet hall.

“Isn’t Emily in danger?”

“With Archmage around, she should be fine. But we are equally at risk.”

Ophelia grumbled back at Azar. Currently, Ophelia’s party was headed to the Summer Palace, having split from Elliot. The likelihood of Emperor Bolazio Septimius III being imprisoned there was high.

In truth, the troops guarding the area didn’t seem very skilled. Perhaps they hadn’t received the Hero’s Divine Mark, for they fell like autumn leaves against Azar’s single axe strike.

“Hey.”

Ophelia, who had been silently observing the battle, asked.

“What’s up?”

“Is that axe usable?”

“…Hmm. It’s a masterpiece from the smith Olmen, so it’s only natural that it fits well in hand. More importantly, it was made with special steel…”

“…”

Ophelia narrowed her eyes, furrowing her brow. With a glare that seemed to claim it as her own, Azar fell silent, tucking the axe back at his waist.

Come to think of it, according to Elliot, Ophelia planned to create a shield from that same special steel. It was only natural for her to feel a tinge of jealousy.

“By the way, this is unexpected, Saintess.”

“What do you mean?”

“Normally, you would have tried to stick next to the Hero. It’s strange to see you returning the shield and properly keeping the rear guard. Any change in mindset?”

Azar’s question was born from pure curiosity. However, Ophelia couldn’t answer. After all, one couldn’t exactly declare “I’m pregnant” in front of unfamiliar men, could they? If that happened, Ophelia would likely bang her head against a corner out of embarrassment.

After a while of fidgeting with her ring fingers across her chest, Ophelia suddenly turned her head and said.

“Just… a phase of boredom.”

“…Ah.”

Albrecht seemed to understand for some reason, but the married Azar saw through her fabrication.

“…Hmm.”

There were certainly rising suspicions, but Azar decided not to voice them.

It was indeed a matter of foresight, because provoking that Saintess could jeopardize their immediate task.

And Azar’s judgment was sound.

Barely after they headed towards the Summer Palace, monsters began pouring out. Monsters were emerging from the most sacred Imperial Palace. This was the moment when the conspiracy between Adelheit and the Demon King’s Army became undeniable.

“…I hoped it wouldn’t be so.”

Albrecht frowned and swung his sword a few times. The monsters fell almost instantly. With a grim expression, he broke through the door and moved inside.

Inside the Summer Palace, the monsters were plentiful, and the former Emperor Bolazio Septimius III was slumped low, bound tightly.

“…Your Majesty!”

Albrecht shouted, but the Emperor did not respond. It was unclear whether he was drugged, exhausted, or perhaps even dead.

Albrecht switched to a pair of swords and slashed down the monsters while Ophelia led Azar to approach the Emperor.

“Hey, are you okay?”

Ophelia slapped Bolazio Septimius III’s cheek. If someone had seen that, it would have been shocking, but Ophelia was now the Saintess. She had every right to act with a haughty attitude.

After a few more slaps, Bolazio Septimius III let out a faint groan. Only after sustaining his body with Holy Magic did he open his eyes. Initially frowning at Azar, he seemed to grasp the situation only after noticing the bold Pope looking up at him.

“Have you come to rescue me?”

“Well, judging by your actions.”

“…Hmmm.”

Bolazio observed the corpses of the monsters and the efforts of Sword Saint Albrecht and glanced at Ophelia.

It seemed the current initiative among this group was in the hands of Saint Ophelia Meredein.

After a moment’s deliberation, instead of explaining the situation, he blurted out directly.

“Adelheid, do not kill my daughter.”

Ophelia raised an eyebrow, a statement she hadn’t expected.

“Don’t kill that harlot?”

“…I’ll let the term ‘harlot’ slide. However, killing her will plunge the Empire into chaos.”

“The current situation is already chaotic. Don’t you see? Look at those monsters? That woman has even brought in the higher-ups of the Demon King’s Army to use as pawns in her scheme.”

“I know.”

“If you know, then why?”

“I knew and let it happen.”

Bolazio Septimius III voiced an unanticipated statement.

“Saintess.”

“It’s Pope, you bastard.”

“Pope.”

“What?”

“I am already over seventy. Dying at any moment would not be unusual.”

“Then just die gracefully like an old fool. Don’t die in a place like this.”

Ophelia’s mockery, however, only rolled off the Emperor’s back as he was unfazed.

“My son and daughter have been dead for some time; only Adelheid remains. If that child dies as well, what will happen to the Empire?”

“Hmm.”

Azar stroked his chin as if he understood the situation.

“So, the imperial lineage would be cut off?”

“Essentially. The remaining royalty lacks legitimacy. Are the Dukes going to sit idle? What of the Elder Councils? Is there any guarantee that other nations won’t intervene? In other words… if I die and Adelheid dies, a succession war will ensue. The continent will fall into even greater chaos than it is now.”

Bolazio Septimius III felt deeply aware that his life had little time remaining.

It was precisely because of that recognition that he couldn’t help but worry about the fate of the Empire and, further, the future of the continent.

Yet, he overlooked one critical point: the Pope before him, Ophelia Meredein, was a rogue who didn’t give a damn about such matters.

In fact, she even saw a glimmer of possibility in the current conversation.

“Hey, I have a way.”

“A way?”

“I’ll take over the Empire.”

Ophelia’s eyes sparkled.

They were the eyes of a madwoman.