Every time she walked through the corridors of the abbey, Aimoer couldn’t help but feel that something had gone wrong with her transmigration.
Now, she stood at the entrance of the abbey.
On the mural beside her was inscribed the scene from decades ago, when the Demon King Sula led various transcendent races to sign the Eternal Peace Treaty in the Council Hall on Dragon Island.
Today was December 29, Year 6 of the Fourth Generation.
There were still three days left until the results of the Most Holy Abbey’s Graduation Exam were announced.
As one of the outstanding figures among the new generation of nuns, Aimoer shouldn’t have had such worries.
But the problem was—
Beneath the brilliant facade of the genius nun lay a succubus tail that could never be fully hidden.
Yes.
The nun Aimoer, revered by countless people, was actually a succubus from the Northern Border.
And the most ordinary kind of succubus at that.
She had no background or influence, came from a humble origin, and her talent wasn’t particularly outstanding.
Among the succubi of the previous generation, she was only slightly above average.
Before the Apocalypse ended, all she did were dirty, tiring jobs like reconnaissance, cleaning up battlefields, and rear-guard protection.
She had no specialties either.
What she could do, other succubi could do too.
What she couldn’t do, other succubi could still do.
She didn’t even have many close friends among the demon race.
As for the special constitutions or overpowered golden fingers that transmigrators in novels always had—she had never even seen one.
Perhaps that was why, in that Ragnarök-like Apocalypse, geniuses and heroes all died charging forward.
Only small fries like Aimoer, who were so mediocre that even their escape was unremarkable, managed to survive by sheer luck.
Maybe that counted as fortune?
But she was unwilling to accept this.
As a transmigrator, her greatest wish was naturally to establish great achievements in this new world and live a wonderful life surrounded by beautiful girls.
But reality?
In her previous life, as the head of a top-tier public relations team, she could earn in a few sentences what ordinary people couldn’t in several lifetimes.
With just a wave of her hand, beautiful girls would call her “big sister” and come cling to her.
But because she suddenly fainted while running, she transmigrated to this world and became an insignificant little succubus, forced to live this painful, mediocre, bitter life.
She hadn’t even enjoyed her fair share of good days, and now she had to start from scratch.
Who wouldn’t break down in her situation?
She had been waiting for an opportunity to make a comeback.
After the Apocalypse ended, the demon race was shattered, talents were scarce, and the new Demon King picked and chose among a bunch of short people.
It seemed that Aimoer finally had a chance to step into the spotlight…
Was that really the case?
The life Aimoer had imagined never came.
Because what the Demon King wanted her to do was go undercover.
Since every corner of the demon territory needed reconstruction, the Demon King hoped she would go to the neighboring Kingdom of Human Glory to study Holy Light Magic.
By analyzing this magic system that was naturally lethal to demons, she could help establish a more complete new magic system for the new demon race.
In other words, not only did she not get a chance to rise above others, but she also had to conceal her identity, live a low-profile life, and forget about building a harem.
She studied well…
Like hell she did!
For demons, especially succubi, Holy Light Spells were incredibly lethal.
Even a slight graze would cause pain for three days.
Aimoer couldn’t help but touch a small wound on her palm.
Six years.
2,190 wounds.
Every time Aimoer prayed bathed in holy light before the statue, her hands would be burned with a new wound.
This didn’t even count the injuries she sustained during her extra practice sessions.
If those were included, they would be countless.
At first, she would secretly return to her dorm, pull the blanket over her head, grit her teeth, and shed tears.
But gradually, she got used to this feeling.
Even the wounds healed faster and faster.
Her mastery of Holy Light Magic deepened step by step.
She had long adapted to the pain, even learning to naturally use this magic that was meant to suppress her to fight.
Now, she was about to graduate.
She looked toward a certain spot in the sunset, her hand trembling as she brushed aside her hair.
It didn’t hurt.
Really, it didn’t hurt.
She was just a little homesick.
Should she go back?
She asked herself.
But no one answered.
Her fingertips touched the image of the Demon King on the mural, and she let out a long sigh.
As a transmigrator, wasn’t she supposed to be the Demon King’s bedmate, the seductress who beguiled the ruler’s heart, the legend who made the Paladin Order’s commander willing to renounce his faith and elope with her?
How did it end up like this?
‘Am I really going to be a gutter rat for the rest of my life?’
Aimoer’s tail tip drooped weakly.
She shook her head and walked toward the square.
“Sister Nun, please give me your blessing!”
“Sister Nun, my child is sick—”
“Sister Nun, I’ve been in line for four hours just to see you!”
In the Central Square of Glory City, the human capital, the new generation of nuns stood before the square, distributing Holy Meals to the faithful who had come.
This was a human tradition.
In other words, it was a way for these nuns to get their faces known in public.
Today happened to be Aimoer’s turn.
Standing before the ceremonial platform, Aimoer smiled and nodded, smiled and made the sign of the cross, smiled and handed Holy Meals to each person.
Her smile was just right.
Warm without being cloying, close without being frivolous.
That slight distance in her eyes was perfectly interpreted as “a nun’s reserve.”
The faithful were moved to tears.
No one knew that this smile was something Aimoer was born with.
One of the succubus race’s innate talents: making those who see her feel affection.
Another word for it was “charm.”
Another word was “disguise.”
But in human eyes, it was called “approachability.”
“This nun is so approachable.”
“Seeing her smile, my whole soul is healed.”
“This is what it means to be chosen by the Holy Light. I’m definitely voting for her in the Saintess Election!”
Aimoer maintained her smile, thinking to herself:
‘If I can ever go back in this life.
‘I’m going to burn to death with holy light that bastard who said, “Don’t you think a succubus would be perfect as a saintess?”‘
Compared to the other nuns, the line in front of her was noticeably longer.
Purple long hair, crimson eyes, and a body that could outline graceful curves even under the loose nun’s habit.
All these factors combined made her more alluring than the average nun, and more attractive.
Just as she was busily occupied, a blind old woman appeared.
Her clothes were tattered, her steps unsteady, and she wobbled into Aimoer’s line of sight.
There was a strong herbal smell about her.
Aimoer turned her gaze to the old woman.
Among the faithful who came, there were always some pitiful souls like this.
Aimoer sighed inwardly, personally helped her to the ceremonial platform, packed two servings of food into a bag, stuffed it into her hands, and bent down to whisper.
“May God bless you.”
The old woman seemed to feel the weight of the bag.
She turned to Aimoer, her hands trembling as she made the sign of the cross.
The surrounding faithful burst into praise.
Aimoer smiled as she watched the old woman leave, still wearing that professional smile as she continued distributing Holy Meals.
Only when there was no one left in front of her did Aimoer finally get to sit down and rest.
She slumped onto a bench in the square, lying on her back.
The sunlight was warm.
The crowd around her was noisy—children running, adults laughing, pigeons flapping noisily past the fountain.
She squinted, her hands hanging naturally, but suddenly felt a hard object at her waist.
Aimoer tensed.
She straightened up, her tail also stiffening with the movement.
Then, she pulled out a silver inverted pentagram pendant with a yellowed note from her pocket.
On the note was a line of blood-colored handwriting.
[Supremacy of Naya]
Who was it?
Someone coming to kill me?
Or… a new mission?
Aimoer’s mind was a mess.
For six years, the demon race had hardly contacted her.
In this ocean of the abbey, she was like a lone boat, drifting aimlessly with the wind.
‘Could it be… they finally remembered me?’
A glimmer of hope rose in Aimoer’s eyes.