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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Lord Fourth
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In a corner of the infirmary…
“….”
Sitting dazedly, Ophelia slowly stroked her cheek. It didn’t hurt.
As Elliot had said, the divine magic of the Holy City was the best on the continent.
It could even reattach a severed limb, so healing Ophelia’s swollen cheeks was a simple matter. However, Ophelia remained seated in the infirmary, lost in thought.
The physical pain was gone. The problem was the mental anguish.
“W-why…?”
She stammered, struggling to form a coherent sentence. The events that had just transpired felt unreal.
She had been slapped by Elliot. A mere knight had dared to lay a hand on the Saintess.
That alone was unbelievable, but what shocked her even more was that the Archbishop had condoned Elliot’s actions. Elliot had declared that he would continue Ophelia’s discipline until the hero appeared.
This meant that today’s humiliation would continue.
“That bastard…”
She muttered, then startled, covered her mouth, and looked around.
Even for a brief moment, the fear of further discipline was deeply ingrained in her mind. Fortunately, Elliot was nowhere to be seen in the hallway outside the infirmary.
She breathed a sigh of relief and punched the bed.
“Argh! This is so frustrating!”
Why did she have to be so careful about every single curse word she uttered? In this Holy City, Ophelia held absolute power. That was the nature of being the Saintess.
She could speak informally and curse at the Archbishop without punishment, and she could torment the knights without consequence.
Well, until now, that is. In the end, it was all because of Elliot, that knight.
“A way… I need to find a way.”
Ophelia clutched her head, curling up.
“This can’t continue…”
If she had to endure such humiliation and insults repeatedly, Ophelia, with her immense pride, might just bite her tongue and die.
She racked her brain, trying to figure out how to punish Elliot. But nothing came to mind. Now that the Archbishop had given his approval, there was no one in the Holy City who could stop Elliot’s tyranny.
Well, not no one. If she went to a Cardinal, or even the Pope, things would be different.
As Elliot had said, if she petitioned the Papal Office, the issue would be resolved somehow.
“…No other choice, then.”
Ophelia sighed deeply. She didn’t want to involve the Pope. If things escalated, her own misdeeds would be brought to light.
But what other choice did she have? Ophelia was not one to let things go. Her own standing was less important than dragging Elliot down with her.
She would return to her chambers today and write a letter to the Papal Office. And tomorrow morning, she would entrust the letter to the courier.
With the Saintess’s seal on it, action would be taken within six months, at the earliest.
“That fucking bastard must be feeling pretty smug right now.”
The thought of having Elliot’s head cut off and displayed in the center of the Holy City brought a smile to her face.
“Just you wait.”
She muttered, grinding her teeth.
“I’ll show you who’s more ruthless.”
The next day, at the crack of dawn, Ophelia shook her head, trying to shake off the lingering drowsiness. She had stayed up all night writing the letter.
Even then, dissatisfied with her handwriting, she had woken a sleeping maid and made her rewrite it. The finished letter was now preciously tucked away in Ophelia’s bosom.
“….”
The Holy City, as befitting its reputation, was vast. To entrust the letter to the courier, she had to go all the way to the plaza.
Ophelia pulled her hood low and hurried across the plaza. There was no reason for the Saintess, Ophelia, to be wary of others, but this was a different matter.
Attracting unnecessary attention could lead to trouble. Above all, she wanted to avoid running into that commoner.
Who knew what absurd reason he’d find to torment her next? Today was different from yesterday. Being slapped in the middle of a crowded plaza was something she absolutely wanted to avoid.
Lost in thought, she arrived at the post office. Just as she was about to pull out the letter from her bosom with a triumphant smile…
“There you are.”
“Ugh.”
A deep voice. Ophelia’s face hardened. There was no mistaking it. Having lived together for nearly a year and a half, she could recognize Elliot’s voice anywhere.
So, instead of turning around, she spoke in the thinnest voice she could muster,
“Y-you’ve mistaken me for someone else…”
“No. I believe I’ve found exactly who I was looking for.”
However, Elliot had also spent the last year and a half with her. He recognized her voice instantly. His strong hand gripped her shoulder, forcing her to turn around. Their eyes met.
“Good morning. What brings you out so early? Shouldn’t you be sleeping in at this hour?”
“Ugh…”
“And why that expression? It’s unlike you. Shouldn’t you be looking down on me and calling me a worm? Are you feeling unwell?”
His mocking tone infuriated her. She barely suppressed the urge to curse him.
“You were up all night working on something, weren’t you? Is that it?”
“What?”
“Do you have business at the post office? Are you sending a letter, perhaps?”
Ophelia gasped. She clutched her robe tighter, concealing the letter within. If Elliot found out that she was sending a petition to the Papal Office, who knew what he would do?
“N-no… That is… what to say…”
“Well, it’s none of my business.”
Fortunately, Elliot seemed to lose interest. Instead, he grabbed her hand and pulled her along.
“You seem well enough. Let’s go.”
“G-go where…?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
Elliot grinned. It was an ominous smile.
“Training.”
Just like that, Ophelia was practically dragged by Elliot to the outskirts of the Holy City. She wanted to wrench her arm free, but overcoming the strength of an adult man, a trained knight no less, was impossible.
“H-hey. I… I have something to do…”
“Is that so? What a coincidence. I also have something to do. To be precise, training you. If you have other matters to attend to, you can have a servant run your errands, or do them during your free time in the evening.”
“Ugh.”
He was airtight. Elliot was clearly enjoying this. Was there no way out? As she pondered, a brilliant idea struck her.
“….”
Yesterday, Elliot had slapped her every time she cursed. He had also told her to be respectful and refrain from insulting others.
Then… couldn’t she just not say anything at all? If she responded with complete silence, giving him nothing to latch onto, she wouldn’t be slapped or humiliated.
And if Elliot questioned her, she could simply say she was observing a vow of silence. While Ophelia couldn’t comprehend it, she’d seen priests in the Holy City occasionally observing vows of silence, supposedly to test their faith.
‘Let’s see how you handle this.’
With that thought, Ophelia smiled triumphantly, looking at Elliot’s back.
“Here we are.”
We arrived at the training grounds. Despite the early hour, a few diligent paladins were swinging their swords at straw dummies. However, the moment they saw our faces, they scurried back inside the barracks.
News of yesterday’s incident had already spread. To make matters worse, rumors had become exaggerated, with stories circulating about me beating the Saintess black and blue. I had inadvertently become known as the crazy knight.
Understandably, no ordinary paladin would want to get involved with me.
Thanks to that, the training grounds were deserted. Perfect. No prying eyes.
“We’ll be training here today. Are you ready? You can warm up if you need to.”
I looked at Ophelia, but she simply stared back at me, lips firmly pressed together.
“Saintess?”
“….”
“…Saintess?”
Did I break her? I didn’t hit her that hard… As I pondered, Ophelia finally spoke.
“Vow of silence. Don’t talk to me.”
I frowned, wondering what nonsense she was spouting. But the moment I saw her expression, I understood her intentions. Narrowed eyes, a twisted smirk. Ophelia’s face was filled with mockery.
“…Ah, I see. I understand.”
Indeed. The Saintess was certainly cunning. She must have thought that if she didn’t speak, she wouldn’t be hit. It wasn’t entirely wrong. If she gave me nothing to criticize, my discipline would lose its justification.
“…Interesting.”
I murmured, turning around. I walked over to the rack of practice weapons and picked out two wooden swords that looked the most manageable.
I briefly considered choosing the ones with metal cores, but decided against it. Too excessive.
“Saintess.”
“….”
Ophelia remained silent. I slowly approached her and offered her the hilt of one of the wooden swords. She tilted her head, looking up at me, as if asking why I was giving this to her.
“What else? Training, of course. If you join the hero’s party, you’ll inevitably have to face the Demon King’s seasoned soldiers. This is training to ensure that you can pull your weight as a proper party member, not just a freeloader.”
I placed the wooden sword in Ophelia’s hand and stood opposite her. Her clever tricks wouldn’t work. As long as I labeled it as “training,” I could hit her legally.
Vow of silence or not, it didn’t matter. This wasn’t discipline; it was training.
“Take your stance. I’ll go first.”
“W-what?”
As Ophelia fumbled, I positioned myself, holding the wooden sword at an angle.
“Now, let’s begin.”
With that, I lunged forward, swinging the wooden sword. Ophelia, who had likely never held a sword before, made no attempt to dodge or parry.
Thwack!
With a sharp crack, the wooden sword landed squarely on the top of Ophelia’s head.
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Hi Lord Fourth here!
I’m still new to translating as this is my second novel to pick up, so if you find some mistakes or inconsistencies let me know about it on the dedicated channel on discord.
