Chapter 16: The Saintess Is Indeed Very Soft

Once again, it was that dreaded dream.

Or rather, it wasn’t a dream at all, but a memory of a real experience.

In the dream, she found herself back on that battlefield once more.

In the dream, she was still that mighty saint, clad in heavy armor with a weighty sword bearing the mark of divine sanctity.

Around him, rivers of blood flowed, corpses scattered across the shadowy canyon.

The wind swept through, carrying a sickening stench of blood.

The noble steed that had followed him faithfully lay beside him now, pierced by demonic spells that tore through its body.

Even its thick armor failed to protect it.

Yet, after suffering a fatal blow, it stubbornly held on to its last breath and slowly knelt, preventing him from injury caused by a sudden fall.

Blood dripped through the cracks of his helmet, painting everything before his eyes red.

Comrades kept falling one after another, while the demon army surged forward endlessly.

He found it laughable.

His protection had ultimately earned him this.

The sacred hero’s eyes blazed with fury.

His bloodshot eyes fixed fiercely on the approaching demon forces.

With a mad roar, he raised his sword high. His heavy armored body, which should have been weighed down, charged into the enemy ranks like an arrow.

In the official hagiographies shared by the Church, the record of Saint Via’s death was magnificent and grand.

“Saint Via, cloaked in the radiance of the Holy Lord, cleaved through the countless enemy formations. He shouted ‘Our Lord Endures’ and fought until his last drop of blood was spilled… Survivors witnessed the light breaking through the cloud cover and shining upon his unmoving body. A faint bell tolled from the heavens, signaling that the Lord’s messenger had taken him to paradise.”

It sounded truly inspiring.

In fact, this account kindled the fighting spirit of many believers.

On later battlefields, countless soldiers embraced death with fervor, seeing it as the highest honor—a hero’s most romantic death.

But the truth was far from it.

At the moment Via died, no angels greeted him, no mercy from the Holy Lord.

Not even the phrase he shouted was “Our Lord Endures.”

Instead, it was a curse from his hometown—politely translated as: “Carnivore, may your mother and a pack of dogs engage in wicked acts to birth you, I’m testing you, Demar.”

He did not die standing upright either—well, dying standing up does exist, but the real reason was that he was skewered frontally by more than a dozen demon spears.

The spears propped against the ground formed a stable triangle with his corpse.

That, indeed, was dying upright.

After all, even if you took the former Pope—an eighty-year-old man—and pierced him with spears that held him up, he wouldn’t fall either.

***

“Hah!”

Via gasped sharply, waking from the dream.

Her nightgown was soaked with sweat, clinging tightly to her body.

For a moment, she couldn’t tell if what she had just experienced was a dream or reality.

It wasn’t until she lowered her gaze and saw the contours of her chest through the damp fabric that she finally exhaled in relief.

She always had this dream, and each time she woke up terrified.

“Via… what’s wrong?”

A gentle voice sounded beside her.

She turned to see Cecilia sitting next to her, her pale golden hair falling softly, releasing a faint, pleasant fragrance.

“…Nothing much, just a bad dream.”

Via steadied her heart and forced a calm tone.

As Cecilia’s mistress, she couldn’t show too many weaknesses in front of her.

“You looked really distressed just now,” Cecilia gently took her hand and placed it on her lap.

The warm, soft touch comforted Via somewhat.

“Are you really alright?”

“Just some things from the past, nothing worth mentioning.”

Via didn’t resist Cecilia’s touch and spoke softly.

“By the way, this is my room—how did you get in?”

“You called out loudly and sounded pained, so I thought you were in trouble and broke the door down…”

Following Cecilia’s guilty gaze, Via looked at her bedroom’s expensive, thick copper door—now lying on the floor with its frame, dented and broken, as if protesting the saint’s furious strength.

“Did you get hurt?”

Only then did Via notice some warm liquid on Cecilia’s hand when she had grabbed hers earlier. Under the corridor light, she saw it was blood.

“I was in a hurry and forgot to strengthen the door-breaking with magic. Just a scratch, nothing serious.”

Cecilia secretly hid her hand from Via’s view.

Via was silent for a moment, then got out of bed.

“Sorry to trouble you. You came to care for me even while I was sleeping.”

“It’s nothing at all, no need to mention it.”

Cecilia smiled.

“Are you going back to sleep? It’s still early.”

“No, I won’t be able to sleep anyway.”

Via stood and lit the magic crystal lamp.

Under the light, she cupped Cecilia’s hand and looked at the wound slowly healing.

“You’re really something—smashing the door with just your body without magic…”

Among all the intelligent races, humans were comparatively fragile.

That was why enhancement spells became one of humanity’s basic magics—without it, ordinary people couldn’t break through a solid bronze door.

That the saintess in front of her had broken this door relying purely on physical strength alone meant she must be born with divine might.

“I was just anxious.”

Cecilia smiled.

Via raised her hand and quietly chanted an incantation.

A wisp of mist rose from Cecilia’s wound, and the injury quickly closed.

Among humans, those like the saintess had high magic aptitude and abundant mana.

Even without healing spells, their injuries would heal faster than ordinary people.

But Via’s words accelerated that process.

“It’s amazing.”

Cecilia’s voice was stiff but sincere.

“Healing spells aren’t rare among humans, no need to praise unless you want to,” Via shot her a playful glare.

“Alright, you should rest. I’ll practice my spells.”

Just as she turned to leave, a force pulled her back.

Off-balance, Via fell right into Cecilia’s arms.

“Huh?”

Before she could react, she felt the saintess’s arms wrap tightly around her waist.

The faint fragrance that had only been barely noticeable before now enveloped her, intoxicating and sweet.

And the saintess’s embrace was warm and soft.

“…Feeling better?”

Without any unnecessary comfort, the saintess’s gentle voice whispered into her ear.

Via’s body, which had wanted to struggle, immediately relaxed in surrender.

“…Yes.”