…Different.

That was the first thought the Saintess had when she saw Yeomyeong in the foresight.
It wasn’t the first time she had seen Yeomyeong drenched in blood.
She had seen him in such a state in Manchuria and even at the Academy, covered in gore and flesh.

Yet, despite the blood, the Yeomyeong in the foresight felt different from the Yeomyeong she knew now.
Was it his longer hair or his slightly taller frame? No, that wasn’t it.

It was his eyes… Yes, his eyes were the problem.
Though they were the same golden hue as Yeomyeong’s current eyes, the emotions they carried were entirely different.

An oppressive gloom that seemed to pull her in.

That one look alone made future Yeomyeong and present Yeomyeong feel like entirely different people.

‘…Ugh.’

Unable to bear the sight of future Yeomyeong any longer, the Saintess turned her head away. If she stared any longer, she felt like something within her would break.

As soon as she averted her gaze from the future, Yeomyeong asked,
“When exactly is this future? Three years from now? Two?”

His voice was colder than usual. Stammering, the Saintess replied,
“I’m not sure exactly… but probably one or two years from now…?”

“…Shorter than I thought.”

With that remark, Yeomyeong turned on his heel.
Was he heading toward Seti? No, he ignored both the future Seti and the present Saintess, climbing the scorched steps of the National Assembly building.

The Saintess glanced at the future Seti before following Yeomyeong.

 

As they ascended the steps, the Saintess looked out over the destroyed walls. Beyond them, the burning National Library—or rather, all of Yeouido—came into view.
A city engulfed in flames under a sky of black smoke, it was a scene straight out of the scriptures’ depiction of hell.

Did Yeomyeong and Seti really do all this? Just the two of them? No, surely another faction…

While her thoughts spiraled, Yeomyeong moved farther ahead. Realizing this belatedly, the Saintess hurried to catch up.

Yeomyeong stopped in front of the main hall on the fourth floor of the National Assembly.
Without a word, he pushed open the half-destroyed doors and entered.

As soon as they stepped inside, a pungent stench of blood overwhelmed them.
Yeomyeong frowned slightly, his eyes scanning the utterly ruined chamber.

The ceiling, once a showcase of 365 grand light fixtures, had been blown apart as if hit by a bombing. Hundreds of chairs, where lawmakers once sat, were scattered in splinters across the room.

“My, my God….”

The Saintess entered late and gasped, covering her mouth.
She trembled as she took in the room filled with corpses.

“Five gods… please….”

The bodies strewn everywhere seemed to have all died in the same manner—each one split cleanly in half.

Though she wasn’t new to seeing corpses, the Saintess couldn’t stop trembling.
Was it fear? No. Even with her limited knowledge, she recognized what had killed them.

Hyesung Swordsmanship.
A martial art only Yeomyeong and Prea Khan could wield.

But Prea Khan hadn’t used Hyesung Swordsmanship since obtaining the Holy Sword, so these bodies could only have been…

Why?

Swallowing back unspoken questions, the Saintess looked at Yeomyeong’s back.
Even as he gazed at the corpses that were undoubtedly his future handiwork, Yeomyeong showed no reaction.

He simply stood silently, taking in the blood-soaked, dust-covered scene.

In the tense silence filled with the smell of blood, Yeomyeong finally spoke.

“Saintess.”

The Saintess flinched at his voice and quickly raised her head.

“Y-yes?”

“Do you remember what I said just before fighting the dragon in Manchuria?”

“….”

She nodded.
How could she forget those words, where he said he couldn’t risk his life because there was something he had to do?

To be honest, she remembered that entire day vividly:
His back as he left, saying he had something to do.
His courage as he returned to fight the dragon alongside her.
His quiet sigh after defeating the dragon and demon without boasting.

All those memories overlapped with the man standing before her now.

“Is this… what you said you absolutely had to do?”

“Not exactly, but it’s close.”

“…Close?”

“Yes. If everything had gone as planned… I would’ve used a ‘more sophisticated method.’ Looking at this, it seems the plan failed.”

A sophisticated method?

The Saintess, surrounded by corpses, felt suffocated by the irony of that phrase.

“…Why?”

The single word carried countless questions. Why, Yeomyeong? Why Seti? Why this?

“….”

Yeomyeong didn’t answer. The Saintess clenched her fists and trembled.
How did it come to this? This wasn’t the future she wanted to see with him.

“Yeomyeong, tell me. How can you… see this future and stay so calm?”

“….”

“Do you really… dream of committing such a massacre?”

Even as she asked, the Saintess didn’t want an answer.
If Yeomyeong said “yes,” she knew she wouldn’t be able to bear it.

But instead of answering, Yeomyeong simply extended his hand toward her.

The Saintess glanced between his face and his outstretched hand before placing her own hand in his without realizing it.

Yeomyeong’s hand, calloused and warm, reminded her of the former Saintess’s gentle touch.

“Saintess.”

“…Yes?”

“Do you trust me?”

“….”

It wasn’t the question she expected, nor the answer she wanted to give.
Yet, she felt a strange comfort in those words.

“…I do.”

A soft declaration escaped the Saintess’s lips.

“I trust the Yeomyeong who fought a dragon to save strangers in Manchuria.”

Her voice, filled with conviction, sounded like a holy chant.

“I trust the Yeomyeong who led the charge against terrorists to protect his classmates. And…”

“….”

“…I trust the Yeomyeong that Seti admires.”

With those words, the Saintess lowered her head, unable to meet his gaze any longer.

Yeomyeong looked at her, contemplating. He wasn’t a clueless fool from a romantic comedy. He understood, at least vaguely, the meaning behind her words.

But understanding and accepting were entirely different matters.
Her feelings, so earnest and heavy, were something his uncertain future couldn’t handle.

Should I… kill her?

The simplest solution crossed his mind as always, but it faded just as quickly.
It was a ridiculous thought. Killing the Saintess? How could he bear the consequences?

More importantly, he simply couldn’t bring himself to do it.

To twist her neck or drive a blade into her chest—just the thought made him sick.

His internal Scarab might’ve felt differently, but Yeomyeong wasn’t sure.

In the end, his thoughts spiraled endlessly. And so did the silence.

When the Saintess finally peeked up at him, Yeomyeong broke the quiet.

“…Honestly, I was careless.”

“….”

“I assumed you wouldn’t notice, since you said you couldn’t see me or Seti in your foresight. Or maybe… I hoped you wouldn’t notice.”

He gripped her hand tightly and added,

“…If I asked you to pretend you didn’t know now, could you do that?”

“No… not without knowing why.”

Of course not. Yeomyeong sighed bitterly and led her out of the chamber.

For a moment, the Saintess stumbled after him, protesting softly.

Soon, they found a spot among the rubble outside, a place where the smell of blood was faintest, and sat side by side.

“Are you sure you’re ready for this? It’s going to be… a long story.”

“…Convincing someone is supposed to take time, isn’t it?”

“And… I can’t tell you everything here and now. Especially not about Seti.”

“….”

“Still… will you listen?”

“…Yes.”

The Saintess nodded, and Yeomyeong began to speak.

His long tale began in an alley in Incheon, with the story of a humble cleaner.

 

The Saintess does not condone murder.

The teachings she had followed all her life were clear: Love peace, respect all life.

But that did not mean she could deny revenge.
The Red God of Struggle, Ledox, whom she served, validated revenge as both doctrine and weapon.

And so… the Saintess could accept Yeomyeong’s revenge as well.
The story of the Scarab becoming Yeomyeong, of the cleaner turning into a superhuman, made his vengeance seem justified.

Reflecting on it now, everything felt like destiny.
It couldn’t have been a coincidence that she gave Yeomyeong the holy relic of Ledox in Manchuria.
To grant the symbol of red struggle to an avenger—it was as if their fates were intertwined from the very beginning….

…What nonsense.

The Saintess stopped herself. These were just excuses, and she knew it.
Excuses she conjured because she wanted to side with Yeomyeong and Seti.

The revenge they sought had long strayed from the teachings of Ledox.
Killing every Korean government official involved with the Necromancers and the Cleaner’s Guild?

How many would they need to kill?
It would easily be in the dozens—perhaps even the hundreds.

That wasn’t revenge. It was a massacre.
Something vile, the kind of atrocity only an evil apocalyptic cult would commit.

As both a Saintess and their friend, she had a duty to stop them.
She had to persuade them, guide them onto the right path, even if they came to resent her for it.

She had to do it… and yet…

…I don’t want to.

She didn’t care.
What did it matter to her what became of the corrupt Korean government officials allied with the Necromancers?
To her, Yeomyeong, standing before her, and her friend Seti were infinitely more precious than any of those vile people.

Deep down, she wanted to help them.
No—perhaps helping them with her power was the right thing to do.

Think about it: Instead of letting innocent civilians suffer like in the foresight, wouldn’t it be better to help them target only the guilty?
Yes, she could become their accomplice. That way, she wouldn’t just be their friend…

…Enough!

The Saintess clasped her hands together in prayer, trying to steady her wavering resolve.
How could she allow herself to abandon her lifelong teachings for such temptation?

Saintess, what am I supposed to do?

She thought of the previous Saintess, the woman who had taken her in as a child.
She had raised her when everyone else, including her birth mother, had abandoned her.
The woman who had survived two great wars and written a legend alongside the Border Marquis… what would she say now?

The Saintess desperately tried to recall her words, but what came to mind instead was an entirely different voice.

—A Saintess must not love an individual.

The Archbishop’s habitual admonitions, spoken whenever he confined her to the temple.

—Like the previous Saintess, you must love all followers equally. That is the duty of a Saintess.

The memories of her lonely days in the prayer room, practicing her faith and divine blessings without a single friend to keep her company.

—Endure solitude. It is better than betraying your faith.

Her thoughts snapped back to the present as she glanced at Yeomyeong, sitting beside her.
He waited quietly, his expression calm as always, seemingly unbothered.

Whatever words she chose now would undoubtedly change their relationship.
She was content with things as they were, but maybe… just maybe, things could move forward.
Or… they could fall apart entirely.

…I don’t want that.

The Saintess closed her eyes, diving inward for answers.
She tried to recall the advice of the former Saintess, but none came to her.

Instead, she could only picture the sorrowful expression of the previous Saintess, who had spent her final days alone.

Why… did you regret it, Saintess?

That question lingered as the Saintess imagined herself in the former Saintess’s place.
A life spent isolated, seeing only servants and power-hungry nobles begging for foresight, save for a single weekly meeting with common followers.

No friends, no lover—a lonely, pious life, just as the Archbishop praised.

The Saintess had already lived much of that life.
Once her days at the Academy, her only rebellion, were over, she would return to it for eternity.

She had accepted that fate long ago… and yet, at this moment, she found it unfamiliar.
The life she once saw as natural now seemed unjust and repulsive.

…I don’t.
I don’t want to live like that.

The Archbishop’s words played in her mind once more:

—A Saintess must not love an individual.

As soon as the thought ended, Yeomyeong’s voice cut through her hesitation.

“Saintess?”

Her heart raced uncontrollably.

The Archbishop’s scolding didn’t matter anymore.
Her face flushed, and her chest felt like it would burst.

“Yeomyeong, I’ve made my decision.”

“…You’ve been thinking about it for a while. Whatever it is, I’ll respect your choice.”

The Saintess swallowed nervously, gripping his hand tightly.
Then, with unexpected resolve, she spoke words that caught Yeomyeong off guard.

“I’ll help you with your revenge.”

“…Help? Not just pretend you don’t know?”

Yeomyeong’s narrowed eyes revealed his confusion, and the Saintess added hastily,
“Pretend I don’t know? What do you take me for? If I help, we can make sure innocent people don’t get hurt like in the foresight, right?”

It was a flimsy justification, but she didn’t care.
Crossing the line only took a moment, and she had already crossed it.

“Trust me. I’ll… I’ll be your accomplice.”

“….”

“If you need it, you can even use my political influence. You know, I’m a Saintess.”

The Saintess was grateful for her eyepatch.
If Yeomyeong could see her eyes, he might have noticed the ambition hiding within them.

“Why aren’t you saying anything? Don’t tell me… you don’t want my help?”

“No, it’s not that. I’m just… surprised.”

“…That’s a good thing, right?”

For a brief moment, the Saintess wondered what Yeomyeong’s reaction would have been if she had tried to stop him.

Would he have been disappointed? Angry? Or would he have silenced her somehow?

It didn’t matter now.
Whatever his reaction might have been, it couldn’t have been more valuable than the smile he gave her at this moment.

“Yeah, it’s a good thing.”

 

Waking up from foresight wasn’t much different from waking up from any other dream.

Mana surged, senses fluctuated, and the body felt disoriented.
Yeomyeong quickly stabilized himself, but the Saintess wasn’t as experienced.

It was her first time entering foresight with someone else, and more importantly, her first time waking up holding someone’s hand.

As a result, she stumbled as she woke, pulling Yeomyeong with her.
The next moment, a loud crash filled the room as they fell, toppling chairs and tables in the process.

The Saintess hit the floor first, with Yeomyeong falling on top of her.

Fortunately—or unfortunately—Yeomyeong regained his balance at the last moment, avoiding any awkward contact.

“…Are you okay?”

Yeomyeong asked with concern. The Saintess nodded in response, still too flustered to speak.

Both tried to get up but were interrupted when the lounge door burst open, revealing a large crow.

“How much longer are you going to… oh…?”

Yeomyeong, the Saintess, and Corvus froze simultaneously.

An abandoned lounge, a man and a woman lying on the floor holding hands—it was an obvious scene.

Before silence could fully settle, Yeomyeong opened his mouth to explain.

“Corvus, wait, this isn’t….”

“My apologies. I seem to have interrupted something.”

But before Yeomyeong could finish, Corvus slammed the door shut with a loud bang.

The reactions of the two left behind couldn’t have been more different. Yeomyeong sighed and shook his head, while the Saintess buried her red face in her hands.

“S-sorry….”

“…It’s fine. There’s nothing to apologize for.”

They both stood up, brushing themselves off awkwardly.

Just as they were about to leave the lounge, the door opened again.

It was Corvus, once more.

“Forgive me, but as your mentor, I must say this.”

Ignoring their bewildered expressions, she clacked her beak decisively.

“…Make sure to use proper contraception.”

Before the words even finished echoing, both Yeomyeong and the Saintess hurled chairs at her simultaneously.