Iomene sat up in bed.

She didn’t bother fixing her messy hair as she walked toward the mirror. Like a cat, she splashed water on her face, rubbing it absentmindedly—until she suddenly froze.

Her arms.

The countless scars, the deep marks of self-inflicted wounds—were gone.

Yesterday.

It happened after that strange man in the priest’s robes placed his hand on her head. A strange tingling had spread through her arms and legs, and when she looked down, this was the result.

No matter how many times she looked, the sight left her breathless.

How?

He had only placed a hand on her head.

For as long as she could remember, people had feared her. They would never come near without layers of protective gear, never touch her bare skin. But that man… He walked in without hesitation, without a protective suit, without fear. He had reached out with his bare hands.

Nineteen years of life had never prepared her for something like that.

Was he… a good person?

Iomene pondered for a moment.

She wasn’t sure yet.

There was still a chance he was dangerous.

Every seven days, they came. The ones who tied her down and made her suffer.

Today.

Today was that day.

A low, anxious growl rumbled in her throat.

Her fingers twitched, moving on instinct to scratch at her skin, to feel the rough, familiar ridges of her scars. But instead, smoothness greeted her fingertips.

She stopped.

That man… He was strange.

The feeling of unmarred skin was unfamiliar, almost too pleasant.

What was she supposed to think about him?

A thought flickered through her mind.

Today.

When those people came again, the ones in their strange garments, she would see—see if that man would protect her.

If…

If he was one of them.

If he helped them hurt her.

Then she would fight.

She would claw, bite—do whatever it took.

He had no protective gear. It would be easy to wound him.

She wouldn’t let her guard down.

Never.

If she let her guard down, she would suffer again.

A low growl rumbled in her throat as she made her vow.

Iomene, the Imperial Princess, was devouring the snacks I had brought.

I watched, satisfied.

“Your Highness, slow down. There’s plenty more.”

I wasn’t sure if she even heard me. She was too focused on stuffing her mouth with cookies and bread, as if she were afraid they would disappear.

From what I had been told, she had spent her life eating only nutrient supplements and sedatives—nothing for pleasure, only for survival.

These snacks were probably the first she had ever tasted.

“Here, try this too. It’s delicious. Honey-soaked peaches.”

I unscrewed the lid and held the jar toward her.

She hesitated but leaned in slightly, sniffing the air like a cautious animal.

I picked up a fork, speared a slice, and held it out to her.

She sniffed again—then took a careful bite.

Her eyes widened.

A moment later, she yanked the jar and fork out of my hands and began shoveling the peaches into her mouth.

There was no grace, no etiquette—just raw hunger. She was more beast than princess at that moment.

But I didn’t mind.

Seeing her eat so well was more than enough.

“Eat as much as you want. I brought plenty more.”

If you want to befriend a beast, food is the best way.

That thought had barely settled in my mind when—

DONG. DONG.

Somewhere in the palace, a grandfather clock chimed twice.

And then—she froze.

As if struck by lightning, Iomene went rigid.

Slowly, her head turned.

She was looking at the entrance of the secluded palace.

Her breathing grew erratic.

I watched her, concern gnawing at me.

Before I came here, a mage had warned me:

“Saint, every Tuesday at precisely 2 PM, Her Highness has undergone sacred magic treatment. But now that you’re here, we will no longer continue the sessions. However… you must understand that when 2 PM arrives today, she will become extremely sensitive.”

And now—

Her terrified gaze fixed on the palace’s entrance. Her whole body tensed, eyes gleaming with sharp wariness.

Then—

“Kiiyaaaah!!”

A shriek ripped from her throat.

She gripped the fork in her hand, poised to attack at any moment.

I watched her for a moment before slowly rising to my feet.

“They won’t come,” I said. “The ones who hurt you—they’re not coming today.”

But she didn’t believe me.

Her breathing remained unsteady. Her hands trembled.

Then—

She couldn’t take it anymore.

She lifted the fork high, preparing to plunge it into her own flesh.

I lunged forward.

I wasn’t about to let her hurt herself.

“Kyaaaah!!”

The fork stabbed into my forearm.

Shit, that hurts!!

What the hell has been happening since yesterday?!

It hurt.

But…

The princess in front of me looked even more pitiful.

“No, it’s okay! They’re not coming! You won’t be hurt today!”

“Kyaaaah!!”

But Iomene didn’t stop.

Seeing me blocking her, she redirected her rage at me instead.

She started jabbing the fork into my body over and over.

Blood splattered, pain flared through my nerves, and I nearly screamed.

But I held it in.

Gritting my teeth, I forced myself to endure as I moved closer to her.

The moment she plunged the fork into my shoulder—

I wrapped my arms around her.

“Shhh… It’s okay. It’s okay.”

Tears welled in my eyes from the pain.

Goddamn…

This hurts like hell.

But I could take it.

“It’s okay. It’s okay.”

I gently patted her back, whispering the words over and over.

She growled, baring her teeth, ready to bite me at any moment—but my touch must have reached her, even just a little.

Her growls softened.

Tears streamed down my face from the sheer pain, but my lips kept moving, offering comfort.

Yeah.

So what if I get stabbed a little?

I can heal myself anyway.

Sixteen years.

She’s endured far worse pain than this.

Cold sweat dripped down my back, but when Iomene finally stopped growling and let herself be held—I knew it had been worth it.

Carefully, I pulled out the fork embedded in my shoulder.

I used my body’s modifications to heal myself but didn’t stop patting her back.

“It’s okay. It’s okay. You won’t be hurt anymore. No more pain every week. Just breathe. It’s okay now.”

I kept soothing her, like calming a frightened child.

Eventually, Iomene lifted her head.

She was crying.

Tears streamed down her face as she stared at the entrance, trembling violently.

“It’s okay. It’s okay.”

I held her tighter.

Then, I carefully lifted her into my arms and carried her to her room.

Her bedroom was grand, adorned with a lavish bed.

But it was empty.

There was no warmth, no sign of life.

I laid down beside her.

“Come on, sleep. No one’s going to hurt you today, okay? Just breathe. Close your eyes.”

Slowly, her rigid body relaxed.

She hesitated—then instinctively curled toward me.

I held Iomene close, rubbing her back.

And then, I did something ridiculous.

I started singing.

Nursery rhymes, old pop songs, anime openings—whatever I could think of. I wasn’t a great singer, but I sang anyway.

For hours, I stayed like that, humming, singing, whispering reassurances.

Finally, deep into the evening, her body went limp in my arms.

I looked down.

She was fast asleep, her breathing slow and even.

I reached out and gently wiped away the tear stains on her face.

I started this for selfish reasons.

To break this curse.

To escape my fate.

But this… this was just too tragic.

Was it really the right choice for the Emperor and Empress to keep Iomene alive?

Even in this short time, I had already questioned it a hundred times over.

Iomene was pitiful.

The Emperor and Empress were pitiful.

Even Princess Almeine was pitiful.

Compared to all of that, my pain today was nothing.

So what if I got hurt?

As long as she could sleep peacefully for once—that was enough.

I tucked the blanket around her, cleaned up the mess from the snacks, and quietly left the palace.

The pristine white of my priest robes was now stained with blood, pierced through by countless fork wounds.

But if this was what it took to avoid an express ticket to hell—then so be it.

I could endure this much.

“Saint!”

“Oh my god! You’re bleeding!! …What happened?!”

The priests and mages, who had been stationed outside in case of an emergency, reacted exactly as expected when they saw me.

With my robes full of holes and bloodstains, their concern was understandable.

I waved a hand dismissively.

“Don’t worry. It’s nothing serious. I’ll be back tomorrow, so take note of that.”

Getting stabbed by a fork hurt, sure.

But burning in hell would be worse.

If I just endured a little longer, I could skip that fate entirely.

A fair trade.

“Saint…”

Several priests and mages, visibly moved, had tears welling in their eyes.

“Thank you… for stopping this from happening.”

“Every Tuesday, we thought death would be a kinder fate.”

“The screams of a child haunted our nights. We couldn’t even sleep properly. Truly… truly, thank you.”

Some even broke down, guilt consuming them as they wept.

I understood.

None of them had done this out of cruelty. None of them had wanted to hurt the young princess.

“You’ve done well.”

That was all I said to them.

Yeah.

They had done well.

And so had I.

I had played the role of a saint so well that I’d stamped my own damn ticket to hell.

Damn it. That wretched goddess.

I needed to get back to Korea—fast.

I just…

I just wanted to live without fear.

A dark room.

Apart from a single flickering candle on the table, there was no light—only pitch-black darkness.

Silhouettes barely visible in the dim glow whispered among themselves.

“A complication has arisen. The Saint is involved.”

Murmurs spread through the room.

“Amael, the Saint of Healing.”

“The one recognized by the Pantheon.”

“The one who uncovered the infiltrator hidden within the Solar Order.”

“How?”

“I still don’t understand how.”

“The miracle was flawless. The concealment granted by the Dark God was absolute.”

“No divine magic. No miracles. No spells. No human effort should have been able to find us.”

“And yet, the Saint found us.”

“Will he ruin things again?”

The rapid-fire whispers came to an abrupt halt.

A long silence followed—until, at last, one shadowy figure spoke, his voice laced with unease.

“…Could he also recognize the Dark God’s Chosen One, the one beside the princess?”

The murmurs flared again.

“The Thousand-Faced One’s disguise is perfect! He can fool everyone but himself!”

“He will never—never be discovered. Not even the Emperor and Empress, who spent years searching, could find him.”

“He is the Dark God’s favored. He will not be found.”

But despite their words, unease lingered in the air.

Because, by that logic, the brother who had infiltrated the Solar Order should have remained undiscovered, too.

His disguise had been flawless.

He was one of the most skilled users of the Dark God’s miracle—the miracle of concealment.

After all, one of the Dark God’s many names was The Deceiver. The Drinker of Blood.

His miracles could even blind the eyes of the gods themselves.

For over a decade, their brother had lived undetected within the Order.

But the Saint had found him.

Somehow.

With no discernible magic.

No miracle.

Nothing.

He had just… found him.

And that uncertainty terrified everyone in the room.

“We need to strengthen the concealment around the Chosen One.”

“The Saint is getting too close to him.”

“Contact the Collector. Tell him to gather more human grudges—more suffering. Strengthen the concealment on the Chosen One.”

“…Understood.”

With that, the meeting was over.

One by one, the shadowed figures stood from their seats.

“In the name of the Drinker of Blood.”

Their voices rose in eerie unison.

Then—

The candle flickered out.

And the silhouettes vanished into the darkness.