When Lily expressed that she didn’t love him, only felt a physical instinctual liking, Joen’s heart first felt empty, a sense of loss, then rationality rushed in to comfort him: ‘Just as I thought. Actually, this is fine. It means Lily is clear-headed, and I don’t have to worry about her regretting it later.’
When he was a child, Joen often heard the married couples in the village arguing.
It was usually one of two patterns.
Either the husband and wife went back and forth, fighting so fiercely it was like ten thousand ducks quacking.
Eventually, the quarrel would escalate into all-out brawling.
Or else the man would fall silent, staring off into space while smoking leaf tobacco; the woman would chatter endlessly, constantly regretting how she ended up marrying such a worthless man.
But what surprised and puzzled Joen was that it was often the latter who couldn’t make the marriage work first.
At first, he didn’t understand, but later Uncle Barn explained it to him, and suddenly it all clicked.
“A man who does heavy farm work every day can still fight his wife to a draw—that already shows he can’t bear to use his full strength.”
“In the first type, both parties vent their anger, and after the fight, they actually start to regret and feel sorry for each other. In the second type, one party bottles it up, and the other doesn’t really let off steam either. If you bottle it up too long, you’ll explode sooner or later. What’s the point of scolding a stone? In the end, you’ll only feel more and more stifled.”
Joen asked Uncle Barn bluntly, “Uncle, then how do you make a marriage harmonious?”
Uncle Barn looked at little Joen like he was an idiot.
“Why do you think I’m single? If I knew, would I still be unmarried?”
But then he changed his tone, took a puff of his leaf tobacco, and said with some melancholy:
“If you really want my answer… at least, the man must not change his heart, and the woman must not regret it.”
Joen was determined to be a man who never changed his heart.
So he also hoped that his other half, no matter what day in the future, would never regret it.
The bright moon hung high.
Joen, carrying Liya, walked through the dense poplar forest behind the Chapel.
Since the Inquisition Court had locked up so many knights recently, this “Hundred-Year Battlefield,” where people often came for trysts, was now eerily silent.
Now that the secret was out and he knew Lily had a human form and had been intimate with him, Joen suddenly felt a very special kind of concern for Lily, who was humming and playing with a twig on his shoulder.
A fragrant, soft, alluring young lady who exuded a seductive scent—it was as if a real girl, not just a little Pupu, sat on his shoulder.
When he walked, his gaze kept drifting to Lily’s legs and feet.
Joen had to forcibly redirect his attention and asked with feigned curiosity:
“Are those the only forms Lily can transform into?”
“Hmm… actually, Pupus can change into a thousand forms. We can become anything.”
Liya manipulated the flow of liquid inside her body, and soon transformed into a long, thin Pupu, hanging around Joen’s neck like a scarf.
“See, like this~”
Then she turned into a cat.
“And this!”
After showing off, she leaped into the air, sprang toward the ground, and before landing, changed shape again, imitating the Holy Maiden Yuna she had seen before.
“Look, look~”
She cupped her plump, full “swelling fruits,” smiling coyly.
“And there’s a special skin~ If you want, no matter what kind of woman, Lily can borrow the skin~ and lend it to a friend for fun~”
Joen burst out laughing.
“Why is this Saintess of yours so Pupu-like?”
Lily’s transformation imitated 95% of the Saintess’s appearance, but that missing 5%, not to mention the voice was still Lily’s, made it easy for anyone familiar to spot the incongruity.
“Well~ Lily’s only a few months old~ I’m not that skilled yet.”
Liya changed back, climbed onto Joen’s shoulder, and continued studying the straight little branch.
Though Pupus could change into a thousand forms, “imitation” wasn’t that simple.
Besides the external shape, there were internal structures, subcutaneous tissue, fat distribution—all relying on a third-person perspective, it was hard to truly replicate the whole picture.
Lily had tried; only by using Devour to eat a creature could she achieve 100% replication.
Worried about prisoners escaping from the jail, Joen and Liya lingered for a while, then parted ways.
Liya went back to continue reorganizing the “Brotherhood,” while Joen returned to the Inquisition Court.
To his surprise, Haran was sitting in the main hall of the Inquisition Court, having pan-fried two steaks and opened a fine bottle of wine.
He looked like he had been waiting for a while.
“Commander…”
Joen was a little taken aback.
Haran tilted his chin toward the opposite side of the table.
“Sit down. Let’s talk.”
“What did you want to talk about, Commander?”
Joen sat down suspiciously, not touching the wine or the fork, asking directly:
“What are you planning to do next?”
“With the account book in hand, the Rider Knights will probably start loosening up by tomorrow.”
Joen answered honestly:
“Gather the evidence, report it up. The Cardinal can’t just refuse to acknowledge something so obvious, right?”
“Icot isn’t that easy to deal with.”
Haran shook his head.
“Or rather, no Diocese Bishop is easy to deal with.”
Icot has been operating for so long, he must have plenty of connections among the Cardinals, and he has many methods, messy as they are.
“When he realizes he’s cornered, he’ll launch his most vicious counterattack.”
“I’ll stay vigilant.”
Joen’s expression turned serious.
“Let’s talk about something else.”
Haran suddenly changed the subject, asking with a warm chuckle:
“How does it feel to be slandered? Pretty awful, isn’t it?”
“Yeah…”
Remembering how he felt before, Joen fell silent.
He recalled the hallucinations from that time again.
Sometimes he even wondered: Were they really hallucinations? Or some kind of demonic thought lurking deep in his heart?
“When I was first slandered, I thought every day: Why doesn’t this broken world just end? I recognized that look in your eyes, just like back then.”
Joen looked at Haran in surprise.
Haran took a sip of wine and pointed at Joen.
“The expression on your face at that moment was like saying—Why don’t you all just die?”
“I…”
Joen started to speak, then stopped.
He wanted to argue, but the words caught in his throat, and then he felt those excuses were too hypocritical, pointless.
After a long silence, he downed the bright red liquor in his glass in one gulp.
Carelessly and decisively, he admitted it.
Haran felt more and more that this young man was just like him.
Most people were ashamed to admit their desires—they couldn’t restrain themselves, but they also couldn’t be as openly wicked as Icot.
In the end, they lived a miserable life tangled in inner conflict and self-deception.
“I’m very scared.”
Joen wiped the corner of his mouth.
Facing this elder he could finally trust, he poured out the turmoil in his heart.
“When I’m angry, I can barely tell the difference between myself and a demon. The more I come into contact with this world, the more I understand the details… the more hatred and malice I accumulate in my heart.”
“The Goddess only taught us how to love, never how to hate.
“But learning to hate is also necessary. Letting hate fill your chest is better than letting your heart die completely.”
Haran poured himself another drink.
“I’m afraid I’ll become a demon through hate. Humans fall and become demons, while demons play at being humans. In such a twisted, upside-down world…”
Joen sighed deeply.
“What’s wrong with being a little crazy?”
Haran chuckled.
“You’re worrying too far ahead.”
The Goddess wasn’t born knowing she was a Goddess.
“She must have made mistakes, must have hated someone. If she could, why can’t you?”
Joen nervously glanced at the mural of the Goddess on the wall and whispered:
“Is this topic a bit… blasphemous?”
“Of course it is.”
Haran stared straight at him.
“Do you care?”
Joen gave an embarrassed smile.
“Then there you go.”
Haran shrugged.
“The Goddess hasn’t said anything.”
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