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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Mod7
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“W… What?”
“I asked if you enjoyed playing the righteous hero.”
“H… How dare you…!”
“Isn’t it true? Punishing villains, rescuing the oppressed, upholding justice as your absolute standard, unwavering in your convictions.”
“Isn’t that exactly what you do, Your Highness?”
His mocking tone left her speechless. He was right. Her actions mirrored his own.
“Your Highness.”
“…What?”
“Why do you consider me a villain?”
“…?”
Her silence was brief. She scoffed, then spoke.
“The rumors surrounding you, your behavior, the testimonies of other students…! And you still deny it? How impressive.”
“So? Why does that make me a villain?”
Convinced reasoning with me was futile, she launched a spell, aiming for an opening. I dodged easily and continued.
“I’m aware of the rumors, Your Highness.”
“If you know…”
“But do you know why I did those things?”
She didn’t. She hadn’t even tried to find out. Everyone had labeled him a villain, so he must be one.
“What if there was a reason I tormented her?”
“…”
“What if there was a reason I went through so many women?”
“…Don’t be absurd—”
“What if there was a reason I was drinking in broad daylight?
“Perhaps she was my sworn enemy.
“Perhaps those women were all gold diggers after my money.
“Perhaps I was drowning my sorrows in alcohol.”
“…Those are all excuses.”
“You’re right. They’re all bullshit.”
My immediate agreement seemed to infuriate her further.
“But… why do you hesitate?”
Why did she falter?
She couldn’t answer. She’d considered the possibility that his words might be true.
“Shall I answer for you?”
“You judged me a villain without investigating, without considering my circumstances, and then you tried to impose your own sense of justice on me.”
“What if I did have a reason?”
“How would you compensate me?”
“How would you make amends for the misery I endured, disowned and condemned by everyone?”
I stepped towards her, my voice low and menacing.
One step. Two steps. Three steps.
I stopped inches from her face, my words dripping with venom.
“Your Highness. Please consider the villain’s perspective.”
My voice was chillingly cold.
She’d been raised on a pedestal, adored and loved unconditionally. She’d always gotten what she wanted. No one had ever dared to challenge her like this.
She was a kind, gentle soul, perhaps too naive for this world. She couldn’t handle the intensity of my animosity. Her legs gave way, and she sank to the ground.
I watched her, my face impassive, then turned and walked away.
I emerged from the dissipating smoke and informed the observing professor of my intention to forfeit.
“May I ask why?”
“Your Highness easily blocked an attack that depleted all my mana.”
“Hmm… You do look exhausted.”
I didn’t refuse his suggestion to rest in the infirmary. I left the training ground and headed for the infirmary.
The smoke cleared, revealing the aftermath of the spar. A large, spherical dent in the ground. Scorch marks. And the princess, struggling to stand.
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It had been exhausting.
But surely she understood now. That not everyone in the world was as fortunate as she was.
That some people yearned for the simple comfort of sharing a meal with their family. That some people were condemned, not celebrated.
If she learned to consider other perspectives, to temper her self-righteousness, she’d be a worthy ruler. She was talented and hardworking.
Her words had angered me, but considering her privileged upbringing, it was understandable. I, too, had been arrogant, relying on my family name.
I still felt resentful, but dwelling on it would only hurt me. I needed to let it go.
As I entered the infirmary, I saw a pair of eyes watching me.
If the emperor was the most noble person in the empire, then the person before me was the most divine.
A woman in a white nun’s habit, a cross hanging from her neck. Her auburn hair shimmered in the fading sunlight. Her golden eyes shone with an otherworldly light. Her figure, despite the modest attire, was striking.
The Saint, Hildegarde, a woman even the empire treated with reverence.
The messenger of God.
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She frowned at the sight of me, her expression a mixture of disgust and pity.
“Why are you here?”
“The professor told me to rest.”
“…You’re speaking formally?”
“I’m a commoner now. I wouldn’t dare speak informally to the Saint.”
She shivered, rubbing her arms, as if I were something unclean.
“You’re giving me goosebumps…”
“Thank you for the compliment.”
“That wasn’t a compliment!”
I didn’t want to continue the conversation. I walked over to a bed and lay down, hoping to rest.
I would have, if she hadn’t started shaking me.
“Why are you here?!”
“…I’m out of mana.”
“Out of mana? Let me see.”
“There’s no need for Your Holiness to concern yourself.”
“I’d like to, but I have to record your symptoms. It would be inconvenient for the attending physician otherwise.”
“…Right. Why are you here? You’re a student, aren’t you?”
“The professor in charge of the infirmary had to step out for a moment. He asked me to cover for him.”
“…So you’re moonlighting.”
“Moonlighting? What does that mean?”
“Nothing…”
I tried to lie back down, but she kept pulling on my arm.
“What is it?”
“…What happened to you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Your left shoulder… it’s scorched.”
“Oh… is it holy power?”
“That’s not the point! What happened?!”
How should I answer?
That I’d cut off my arm to avoid being electrocuted by the princess’s magic, then regrown it?
No. She’d think I was crazy.
“It’s nothing you need to worry about.”
“That’s not an answer! Let me heal you…”
“It’s fine.”
“…Are you insane? Doesn’t it hurt?”
Insane? How dare she?
“I can handle this much pain.”
“That’s not what I meant! Let me see your arm.”
Why was she so insistent? I was fine. Annoyed by her persistence, I snapped,
“You don’t like me, do you, Saint?”
“…”
“You don’t have to worry about people you dislike.”
“…”
“I’ll be fine if I just lie here. I’m used to it.”
“…”
“But I would appreciate it if you’d let me borrow an infirmary bed, Your Holiness.”
Her expression was unreadable. She looked annoyed, but she didn’t speak.
She stared at me with a mixture of pity and something else, then closed her eyes.
“The Lord tells us to love our neighbors, even sinners.”
“…”
“I think you’re a bad person. That won’t change.”
“…”
“But I’ll still heal you. That’s what He wants. That’s my path.”
“Now, give me your hand.”
She was righteous, unwavering in her convictions. That’s what made her a saint. She followed her own path, guided by her faith.
It was a quality I admired, a quality shared by those who left their mark on the world.
“…You’ll be a great Saint, Your Holiness.”
I smiled faintly and offered her my hand.
She didn’t move for a long moment.
“Saint…?”
“Ah… uh… Yes!”
“What is it?”
“…You… you can smile…”
“…?”
A warm energy flowed from her hand into mine, and the throbbing pain vanished.
I thanked her, then, exhausted, drifted off to sleep.
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