Ch. 139 🔒 The Saintess and Her Guardian (17)
by Afuhfuihgs
Chapter 139 – The Saintess and Her Guardian (17)
“Ughhh….”
Her legs had gone numb beyond mere pins and needles—now they felt completely dulled. Her shoulders ached so badly they might as well have popped out of their sockets. Yet, despite it all, Cecilia did not stop praying.
It was the third day. The scarred man had brought her meals twice, and a long stretch of time had passed since then—it must have been nearing evening.
Growl.
Even her stomach-clock told her it was about time for dinner.
The hour she had promised the witch was almost upon her.
This was no time to worry about her legs or her shoulders. Even if it killed her, she had to summon a miracle—for the sake of saving him.
“Ughhh…!”
She was anxious.
Her impatience twisted into something wordless, filling the shabby, run-down room with incoherent noise.
Could she even perform a miracle in the first place?
The longer time stretched on, the more vivid the image in her mind became—him being tossed into the witch’s cauldron, boiled down into food.
Cecilia’s confidence had already plummeted off a cliff. At this point, she couldn’t even tell if she was still praying or just lost in her own delusions.
If she failed to summon a miracle, she’d never see him again… and yet, for some reason, she didn’t feel the desperation or urgency she expected.
She didn’t know why. Maybe it was the work of the devil—the kind the Holy Kingdom always warned about, the one that interfered with prayers.
“I brought dinner. Still no sign of a miracle?”
Perhaps that devil was the scarred man himself, bringing her delicious food that made her mouth water even now.
Cecilia, struggling to keep him from becoming witch food, was just an obstacle to him… yet he acted like he wanted her to perform a miracle.
Bringing her meals.
Cheering her on to perform a miracle.
Even throwing in what felt like subtle encouragement for his and her love.
All of it could very well be an elaborate scheme to stop her from performing a miracle.
“Don’t interrupt me. I just got the feeling—like, bam!—so back off.”
Cecilia didn’t even glance at the man as she snapped at him, continuing her prayer.
She hadn’t even tasted a hint of a miracle yet, but there was no way she’d admit to him that all she felt was impatience.
A Saintess showing weakness in front of the witch’s lackeys?
Forget her position—her pride wouldn’t allow it.
“Hoh. Perfect timing. I was just curious about what this ‘miracle’ of yours looks like.”
The man set the food down on the table, but the sound of footsteps leaving never came. It seemed he had no intention of leaving until he witnessed this so-called miracle.
“Not eating?”
“…….”
Cecilia ignored him and kept praying.
She was hungry. The smell of food was tantalizing. But—!
If she ate now, drowsiness would follow. And praying in her current exhausted state was already hard enough as it was.
She already regretted not cutting back on sleep, eating only one meal a day to focus on praying. She didn’t want to add more regrets to the pile.
But Cecilia’s resolve—
—was utterly shattered by the three careless words the man tossed at her.
“Estelle told me that eating three meals a day is essential for proper growth. But you? You need six. Otherwise, the baby’s gonna starve.”
“Wha—WHAT?!”
Her hands, clasped together in prayer, instinctively flew to her chest.
She understood exactly what he was implying.
In the Holy Capital, such blasphemy would’ve gotten him executed on the spot—yet he said it like it was nothing.
Cecilia knew how small her chest was.
Her growth had nearly stalled since the Holy Mark had manifested.
Even now, if she told anyone she was seventeen, not a single soul would believe her…
And worst of all—he had a thing for mature women. It was a sore spot, a nerve she couldn’t stand having touched.
“Who the hell’s starving!? You seen it!? Have you even looked at my chest!?”
Forgotten was her prayer. Still on her knees, she whipped around and glared at the man with murderous intent.
This was the first time she’d been directly hit like this.
Even when she’d been caught stuffing wool into her bra, nobody had dared say it to her face—!
“I may be a man, but I’ve heard enough from Estelle to know. A woman’s chest produces milk for babies, right? Yours is so pathetic, I can’t even tell if it’s the front or the back.”
Fuck. FUCK—!
Barely holding back tears, Cecilia screamed curses inside her head.
That bad, huh? Can’t even tell front from back?
Sadly, even if she compared herself to Gray and the scarred man—her chest was still the smallest in the room.
[Shall I kill him?]
‘Shut up, Angel. I told you not to speak unless I say something first.’
Back when she first met the witch, the Angel had warned her that attacking would get her killed—yet now, here it was, running its mouth.
Still, knowing the Angel was on her side was comforting… in a way.
But at the same time, the fact that she was being pitied by an Angel made her feel utterly pathetic.
…This was complicated.
Of course men all liked big chests.
The kind that—just like the man said—would never let a baby starve. The kind that looked like they’d been sculpted by violence given human form.
She glanced at Gray—only to see him nodding along with the man’s words. She bit her lip so hard it bled.
Here she was, struggling to perform a miracle, and this is what she had to deal with—!
“My apologies. Estelle told me not to talk about a woman’s chest. I forgot for a moment. So forget about it.”
Cecilia was floored.
Forget about it?
As if she could forget something like this even in her grave!
“Are you kidding me!? Forget? Forget!? I’ll never forget this! I’ll perform a miracle, save him, and make my chest grow—bigger than the witch’s! Giant, jiggling milk-tanks! Just you wait! Even if you beg on your knees to be my Guardian, I won’t let you!”
Blood trickled from her bitten lip, but she didn’t care.
She had to point at him, scream at the top of her lungs—until the rage from him mocking her underdeveloped chest subsided.
“Haa… haa… Get out. Leave. Go grope the witch’s stupidly huge chest while you wait for my miracle. Bet those saggy grandma-tits of hers are all stretched out by now! Sucks to be her! Mine are still growing, so I won’t have that problem!”
She piled on the insults, fueled by the inferiority she’d felt seeing the witch’s chest and the anger from the man’s mockery.
“Stretched… out? Estelle’s a… grandma?”
For the first time, the man’s expressionless face flickered with something like panic.
“You didn’t know? Big chests are a pain to maintain.”
Cecilia had learned this against her will, buried under the complaints and humble brags of well-endowed nuns. But hey, maybe the knowledge would come in handy someday.
“Sweating is torture. Your shoulders kill you—just walking hurts. You can’t even see your feet, so you’re constantly worried about tripping on stairs. And if they sag? They’re worse than small ones.”
“…That can’t be.”
‘Oh, it could.’
Just thinking about that one nun in the Holy Capital who’d agonized over sagging made her grind her teeth.
The man didn’t believe her.
No—he refused to believe her, his face twisting into something serious.
“Never touched ‘em, huh? You’d know if you had. So leave. Go grope the witch’s milk-tanks or suck on ‘em or whatever the hell you want.”
“Haa…”
After the man left, Cecilia slumped, exhaling deeply.
Instead of praying, she’d spent her energy being furious—and now her stomach was growling even louder.
The time she’d promised the witch was almost up… and thanks to that nuisance, performing a miracle within three days seemed impossible. At this rate, she’d be lucky to even excuse her failure.
‘Can’t even tell front from back.’
She tried turning back to her prayers—but the man’s words kept echoing in her head, making focus impossible.
‘That bad, huh?’
‘Tch. It’s not that bad.’
She tightened her nun’s habit, emphasizing her chest—and while small, the two mounds still existed.
“Do you think so too? Can’t tell front from—Huh!?”
She was about to show him and ask when—
Her legs, numb from kneeling so long, gave out.
She caught herself with her arms before faceplanting into him, but the impact split her lip—a fat drop of blood splattering onto his.
Cecilia didn’t care about her bleeding lip or the blood on his.
“MY LEGS—!!”
All her focus was on the pins and needles, trembling as she waited for the pain to fade.
[Warning. Danger. Immediate evacuation recommended.]
The Angel’s voice cut in, completely out of place.
“Angel, I told you not to speak unless I say something first. This is the second time. Got it?”
[Cecilia’s safety is top priority. Recommend fleeing or eliminating the threat ahead.]
The only thing ahead was him.
Was he the threat?
“How is he a threat? Angel, I get that he’s attractive, but this is just petty.”
The Angel had treated him as a threat since yesterday, and she didn’t like it.
[Explaining threat factors. First—]
“Enough. Shut up.”
She cut the Angel off, gripping her halo hard.
She couldn’t physically break it, but the message got through—the Angel fell silent.
“Hey, mister, know what the Angel just said? That you’re a threat. Ridiculous, right?”
With the Angel quiet, she vented to him, her frustration clear.
First the witch, now the Angel—why did everyone have it out for him?
“Hoh. How clever. I thought I hid it well… but you’ve caught my eye.”
“……?”
Wait—he could talk?
She was resting her numb legs against the bed when his voice suddenly reached her—
—in a tone she’d never heard before.
Rough and low, yet with the cadence of a high-ranking noblewoman.
Cecilia shot up, ignoring her tingling legs, and stared at him.
“H-Hey…?”
He was smiling—grinning—with sharp fangs glinting. His eyes were bloodshot, veins stark against the crimson.
She should have been happy to hear his voice again.
But…
An ominous feeling clung to her.
Like something wearing his skin was glaring at her with malice.
“First… I should free myself from this cramped vessel.”
[Emergency Protection Mode activated.]
A crimson aura swirled around him—then exploded.
BOOOOM—!
It happened in an instant.
Before she could process the Angel’s words or the explosion—
Two pairs of wings wrapped around her, shielding her as she was blown back.
The destroyed room was bathed in moonlight, but dust clouded her vision.
“HEY—!?”
Even so, she screamed for him.
Thanks to the Angel, she was unharmed—but he was just a normal human. There was no way he’d survive that blast.
As the Angel’s wings cleared the dust, she saw him—
—walking toward her.
Step. Step.
Unharmed. Unscathed.
And radiating something terrible.
[Engage attack? Target is threatening Cecilia’s existence.]
Her halo vibrated.
Even without the Angel’s warning, she knew something was wrong.
His eyes, his gait, the angle of his raised arm—
It was like someone else had taken over.
When he reached for her, her holy power repelled him—
—his fingertips blackening from the burn.
Yet he didn’t seem pained. If anything, he looked delighted, lips stretching into a grotesque smile.
“Such potent holy power. I want it. The power… the flesh.”
That same sinister energy from before pulsed from his hand.
The Angel’s shield strained—his forearm crushing under the pressure—but he didn’t care.
[Danger. Defense insufficient. Immediate retreat advised.]
“…….”
She should run.
But she couldn’t move.
Tears blurred her vision, making him look like a stained-glass depiction of a demon from the Grand Cathedral.
Had the witch broken her promise?
Maybe the witch, unable to resist hunger, was already turning him into dinner.
Then again, why would a witch ever keep a promise to a Saintess?
In the end… she’d failed to save him.
She’d been so confident—
A tear rolled down her cheek.
Running away alone would be meaningless. A life without him wasn’t worth living.
She’d rather die by his hand.
“…….”
But even as she closed her eyes—no pain came.
“Guh…! You dare defy me!?”
She opened her eyes—
—to see him holding his own corrupted hand back.
The sinister energy faded.
His expression softened—back to the one she knew.
“Kid… go back to the Holy Capital. This is the last time I’ll be your Guardian. Don’t go looking for me. Sorry… I couldn’t keep my promise.”
“H-Hey…?”
He gave her an awkward smile—
—then ran, vanishing into the moonlit night.
Why was he running?
Why couldn’t she follow?
Couldn’t keep his promise?
She’d rather die than accept that.
[Threat neutralized. Emergency protection mode deactivated.]
The halo’s vibration whispered a cruel truth she didn’t want to acknowledge.
Lucent
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