Hoana Thule smiled.

It was a bitter smile born of sheer disbelief.

When she had dragged the Saintess to the men’s dormitory, Hoana had fully believed that the Saintess and Yeomyeong shared a special relationship.

How could she not? The two had fought back-to-back in both Manju and the Academy.

Having survived near-death experiences together, it was only natural that their hearts would draw closer.

A handsome young man and a beautiful young woman in their prime? What followed next was practically inevitable.

Just as the first followers of the Green God had done, they would have followed their instincts, their emotions, and let their bodies act accordingly.

This prediction was so reasonable that the priests of the Sacred Kingdom had nearly taken the Saintess and Yeomyeong’s relationship as fact.

Cardinal Madal, the one who had summoned Hoana, had been so certain of the Saintess’s loss of purity that he’d given her specific instructions:

"You must silence this Yeomyeong. If you can win him over, do so. If not, kill him to ensure his silence."

Of course, Hoana had let the Cardinal’s words go in one ear and out the other.

How pure was the Saintess? The idea of her losing her purity was laughable—at most, they’d probably shared a kiss.

Even the sanctity of a priest’s purity was a topic of debate, so a kiss hardly mattered.

With those lighthearted thoughts in mind, Hoana arrived at the Academy. The reality she encountered there, however, was harsh.

Hoana Thule had been wrong. Cardinal Madal had been wrong. And so had the priests of the Sacred City.

The Saintess’s heart had deviated far from their predictions.

And in the worst possible way.

 

As she tried to convince Yeomyeong to become her disciple, Hoana carefully observed every interaction between the Saintess and him.

She worried that the two might be pretending to have no relationship.

The subtle glances, the unsteady breathing, the rising heart rates, and even the specific heat signatures of certain body parts.

It was an indecent level of detail for someone her age to scrutinize, but Hoana took it seriously.

Like she had on the battlefield, she sharpened every sense, focusing entirely on the reactions of the two young people.

What she confirmed after her observation, however, was something she had never suspected.

‘…Unrequited love?’

Of the two, only the Saintess harbored romantic feelings.

Her shallow breaths, fidgeting fingers, flushed earlobes, and pounding heartbeat—all the signs of a girl in love were there.

But Yeomyeong was different.

He displayed almost no reactions that could be described as love.

On rare occasions, he showed hints of concern or fondness, but strictly speaking, it felt more like camaraderie.

To be precise, the kind of camaraderie a seasoned soldier might feel toward an annoying junior recruit.

‘Could he… be gay?’

It was a thought that would horrify Yeomyeong if he knew, but to Hoana, it seemed plausible.

How else could a young man his age show no interest in the Saintess? Was that even possible?

No matter how devout someone was, it was natural for their heart to race at the sight of the Saintess.

Her skin, smooth as silk spun from melted pearls, her hair, whiter than the purest snow, and her unmatched beauty that even her eyepatch couldn’t obscure.

And her body… The Saintess’s newly blossomed curves were a divine gift that could humble even master artists.

Even though the priests of the Sacred Kingdom prided themselves on valuing inner virtue over physical appearance, they all agreed that the Saintess was the most beautiful woman in the world.

‘And yet, the Saintess…’

Hoana turned her gaze to the Saintess, who was conversing with Yeomyeong.

Yeomyeong was scolding her about foolishness and making nonsensical requests, while the Saintess, clutching her forehead, trembled with frustration.

Seeing this, Hoana couldn’t deny the truth: the Saintess had a one-sided love for Yeomyeong.

Unlike Yeomyeong, who was curt and unrelenting, the Saintess couldn’t take her eyes off him throughout their conversation.

And her hands—those reddened fingertips poking at Yeomyeong’s thigh—were unmistakable signs of a lovestruck girl.

As for Yeomyeong’s reaction…

‘…Huh?’

Suddenly, his demeanor changed.

It wasn’t the look of someone falling in love or harboring lust toward the Saintess.

Instead, it resembled the transformation soldiers undergo right before deploying to the battlefield.

First, his gaze grew still. Then, his muscles relaxed as mana began to flow.

His breathing steadied to suppress any trembling, and finally, his entire body tensed like a bowstring pulled taut.

“…Yeomyeong,” Hoana asked, lowering her hand from her hip, “are you planning to grant the Saintess’s request? Now, of all times?”

“…I’m sorry,” Yeomyeong replied without hesitation.

The decisiveness of his answer made her wonder what had been exchanged between them in such a short time.

Hoana wrestled with how to interpret this shift until she realized she didn’t need to.

“…Persuading me with words won’t work. You understand that, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

Hoana smirked faintly. The more she looked at Yeomyeong, the more she liked him.

As the Saintess had said, he might even be better than her father.

Well, maybe not in skill—yet.

Cracking her knuckles, she said, “The most important traits for an escort are strength and ability.”

“….”

“If you can prove you have the skill to protect the Saintess—enough to defeat me—then I’ll yield.”

It was a mere formality. Yeomyeong clearly understood, which was why he had already prepared himself.

“Shall we relocate? Or would you prefer to fight here?”

“No need to relocate.”

No need? Did he really intend to fight right there, in full view of the men’s dormitory?

“Wouldn’t it be better to move to the training hall? You’ll need a weapon, won’t you? I hear you primarily use a sword.”

Hoana’s suggestion was considerate, but Yeomyeong ignored it and instead posed a question.

“Instructor, if I prove my ability to protect the Saintess, you’ll concede, right?”

“Do you doubt me? Shall I swear on Redox?”

“No, I’m not doubting you. It’s just…”

Just what? Hoana wondered, tilting her head as Yeomyeong looked up at the sky.

“There’s someone else who wants to convince you besides me.”

Following his gaze, Hoana looked up at the morning sky—and saw something descending through the sunlight.

“…A crow?”

The moment she murmured, a mass of black feathers slammed into her torso.

 

Bang!

The sound of the massive crow colliding with the aged Holy Knight reverberated through the ground.

The victor of the collision was the crow.

The muscular elder knight was slammed into the ground, shattering the tiled pavement, which spewed fragments and clouds of dust.

The impact was enough to turn an ordinary person into pulp.

However, wrapped in mana and divine blessings, the Holy Knight not only endured the blow but also gathered mana into her fist, preparing a counterattack.

Whoosh!

Hoana’s punch narrowly tore through the air.

All it managed to accomplish was scattering a few feathers.

Realizing her attack had missed, Hoana immediately kicked off the ground and stood up. She drew mana to prepare for her next move and began reciting a prayer.

But no follow-up attack came.

As she dusted herself off, she saw the large crow rubbing its beak against the Saintess.

“…Corvus!”

Hoana immediately recognized the crow’s identity. There was only one such impertinent beastfolk crow in the entire world.

“That insolent bird dares…!”

Hoana was about to unleash a torrent of curses but stopped herself, remembering the Saintess was present.

Breathe…

“Yeomyeong? What is that crow doing here?”

“…She’s the special instructor I mentioned earlier.”

“That beast? As a teacher? Have you started walking the path of the crossroads?”

The "crossroads"—a term for those who pursued two or more of the three paths: magic, martial arts, and divinity.

Yeomyeong shook his head.

“…No, that’s not the case.”

Hoana’s expression indicated she expected more of an explanation, but Yeomyeong quickly changed the subject.

“Regardless, I believe Corvus’s skills are more than sufficient to protect the Saintess.”

“Of course! If an old hag like Hoana can manage, then I’m certainly more than enough!”

The crow, nestled comfortably against the Saintess, flapped its beak as if mocking Hoana. Ignoring the bird’s antics, Hoana dusted the dirt off her hair, sighed, and pondered.

“…So Corvus has been observing us from above this whole time?”

“….”

“Yeomyeong, she waited for an opening and struck. Whether it was improvised or planned, I don’t know. But do you think I’ll accept this?”

Yeomyeong shook his head.

“No. Even I wouldn’t find that convincing.”

“….”

“And… it wasn’t planned. Corvus acted on her own.”

Both Hoana and Yeomyeong turned their gazes to Corvus.

The crow, still nuzzling the Saintess’s stomach, gave a brief, dismissive cough and ignored them.

Her goal had clearly been the Saintess from the beginning.

As Hoana frowned and glared at Corvus, Yeomyeong spoke again.

“So, as I said earlier, I’ll convince you with my own abilities.”

At those words, a murky haze began to rise from Yeomyeong’s body. It was mana, swirling and forming a faint distortion in the air.

Even with her long years of experience, Hoana had never seen a technique like this before.

Could it be that he had a hidden technique, even without a sword?

“…You’d still be better off wielding a weapon, wouldn’t you?”

“Even Redox’s Gun fights barehanded. It’s only fair I do the same.”

Though the difference between her using a gun and him fighting barehanded was significant, Hoana smirked at his courtesy and clenched her fists.

“Fine… Let’s see what you’ve got.”

 

Beep… Beep… Beep…

The man had many names.

Once, he was the Wolf of the Yellow Moon. Another time, he was a priest. Now, he was simply John, a waterworks laborer.

Beep… Beep… Beep…

Like his many names, the man had many tasks.

To ignite the flames of vengeance against the Academy built on false peace. To wash away the sins of humanity with innocent blood. These were his divine missions.

Beep… Beep… Beep…

But… he had failed. And not just a simple failure—a devastating one.

He hadn’t managed to bring down the Academy or depose its deceitful headmaster.

And, most of all, he hadn’t succeeded in killing the wretched false Saintess tainted with Earth’s impure blood.

Beep… Beep… Beep…

The merciful Order did not hold him accountable for his failure.

Blaming it on the unforeseen intervention of a deranged necromancer and their hidden horde of zombies, they granted him a second chance.

Beep… Beep…

Click.

John, the waterworks laborer, stared at the connected phone in his hand.

In the darkness of the sewers, the glowing screen displayed a name clearly: Minister Kim Gwan-hyeong.

-“Who is this?”

“…Truth.”

The man on the other end audibly gulped. A fool clinging to the illusion that petty power was real strength.

-“What madness drove you to call this number at a time like this? After all your plans failed!”

“They… haven’t failed… yet.”

-“Ha! Keep telling yourself that.”

The minister laughed arrogantly.

Among Earthlings, he was particularly treacherous. Not long ago, he’d groveled at the feet of the Order, only to flip sides without hesitation.

Though rage boiled within him, John held it back.

His emotions were secondary to the plan’s success.

“As promised… I will claim the sacrifice.”

-“Promise? Don’t make me laugh. Not a single lamb will be spared for failures like you.”

“This is… not a negotiation. It is a… collection.”

-“Nonsense! If you pull something like this, I’ll file an official protest with the Order!”

The minister’s voice thundered through the phone, echoing in the sewer.

“With a single black lamb… I will restore the plan.”

-“What? No! Take any other lamb instead! The black one is… a stud right now—”

Before the minister could finish, John ended the call.

“A stud… then, before it sires offspring….”

Muttering incomprehensibly, John looked up.

In the deep, foul-smelling sewer lit only by the faint glow of his phone, discarded leather hides swayed eerily in the shadows.