Nine Summers of Divine Punishment

“Miss Artist?”

Wakako’s prolonged silence displeased Minister Camus, who cleared his throat to bring her back to the present.

She finally raised her eyes to look at Camus.

        ***

A short while later, the door to the lounge suddenly pushed open, and the guards stationed outside immediately straightened up.

The artist who had been called in earlier walked out, politely saying, “Minister Camus wants wine and some food.”

She listed several items that would take hours to prepare, but they happened to be all Camus’s favorites.

The guard couldn’t help but take a second look at her, feeling that the smile on the artist’s face was contagious, sunny, and friendly.

Through the crack in the door, they saw Minister Camus dozing in his chair, so they didn’t question her and left to carry out the orders.

No one knew that Camus was already dead.

There were no visible wounds, no blood, not even a death scream. This was the speed and precision of the Royal Mercenaries.

While the doorway remained unguarded, Wakako whispered into the communication stone, “I killed Camus.”

Lin Lin gasped, incredulous. “What did you do?!”

“Forget about that, there’s new intel.” she said, quickly searching the entire room and Camus’s belongings. “I’m almost certain the Saint is still alive.”

Lin Lin asked, “Saint Miki?”

“Yes.”

Their kingdom, Mios, had once briefly had a Saint, but she had supposedly passed away five years ago. Now it seemed she hadn’t died but had fallen into the hands of the enemy.

Lin Lin fell silent for a moment, struggling to understand. “Wakako, how could you be so impulsive? If Camus had information about the Saint, we should have kept him alive to obtain more clues.”

Wakako’s hand paused in its search.

If someone had been standing in front of her, they would have seen a jarringly bright smile that didn’t fit the situation.

“My mistake.” Her apology lacked genuine remorse. “I accidentally used too much force. You know how strong I am…”

Lin Lin said gravely, “The situation is no longer suitable for continuing the mission. We need to retreat.”

“You need to retreat, Lin Lin.”

“What do you mean?”

Wakako tore off a small piece of parchment, grabbed a quill from the table, dipped it in Camus’s blood, and quickly scribbled something on it before tucking it back into his pocket.

She spoke slowly, “I’m staying here.” Then she crushed the communication stone in her palm.

Camus’s death wasn’t an accident; it was inevitable. Wakako would turn anyone who dared to defile the Saint into a corpse.

Lin Lin gritted her teeth in anger. “Kitagawa Wakako! How dare you!”

But there was only silence on the other end. There was no response.

Damn it! Lin Lin quickly hid herself in a corner of the banquet hall, suppressing her anxiety.

Within a few breaths, she had guessed Wakako’s intentions.

This person usually always followed orders with a smile. But when it came to matters concerning the Saint, she became a complete fanatic, unstoppable.

She must have learned of the Saint’s whereabouts from Camus and was planning something. Perhaps she was even going to find the Saint directly…

But this was the enemy’s royal palace, their original mission was already outside their usual expertise, and now Wakako was acting recklessly. Didn’t she value her life?

At this point, Lin Lin could only choose to retreat. From another perspective, the news about the Saint was crucial; she needed to send an encrypted message to the military department immediately.

As she walked quickly, she suddenly remembered that her master had once mentioned that before joining the mercenary squad, Wakako had been a guard for the Saint for a long time, and the two had a very close relationship.

…But it was only a bond between master and servant.

Lin Lin thought, confused.

Is it worth doing this?

***

The most magnificent palace in the royal city was naturally reserved for its most esteemed resident. Beautiful maids and servants poured wine, massaged his back, and attended to his every need with utmost diligence.

The object of their devoted service was none other than the King of the Eagle Kingdom, Alva, who was currently listening to his subordinate’s report with a frown.

“Still no other leads?” he inquired.

The minister tasked with investigating the matter was understandably panicked, sweat beading on his forehead. “Your Majesty, please forgive me. The only evidence we could find was that blood-soaked letter…”

Three days ago, Minister Camus had died under mysterious circumstances at the banquet, without a single wound on his body.

The only outsider present was a Beta artist from outside the palace, who was immediately arrested but revealed nothing despite intense questioning.

The death of a minister alone would have been one thing, but what truly alarmed them was the discovery of a hastily scribbled letter, written in blood, tucked into Camus’s pocket. It contained clues about the Royal Mercenaries!

Everyone knew that the Royal Mercenaries were a thorn in King Alva’s side, so Camus’s death was treated with the utmost seriousness.

But the question remained: how had the inept and pampered Camus managed to leave a clue right under their noses? This was an unprecedented situation.

As the ruler of the kingdom, Alva was not oblivious to the inconsistencies. He immediately recognized the possibility of a trap.

Yet, this was the first time they had received even a shred of information about the mercenaries…

He pondered for a moment, “Summon the Saint.”

Across the entire continent, if anyone held a higher position of reverence than the King, it was the Saint.

A Saint was born only once every century, always a female Omega. Upon reaching maturity, she could connect with the divine and offer prophetic guidance, making her a highly sought-after figure by both Kingdoms.

Five years ago, the Eagle Kingdom had acquired the Saint, who was presumed dead, and secretly kept her within the palace walls. Only a select few were aware of her existence.

Each time the Saint connected with the divine, it took a significant toll on her body, so it had to be done with extreme caution.

The lead on the Royal Mercenaries was too valuable to ignore, prompting King Alva’s decision to seek the Saint’s assistance.

He waited anxiously, and only after the shadow on the sundial had shifted a full degree did movement stir at the palace entrance.

A carriage unexpectedly entered the sacred grounds. This was a disrespectful act towards the King, yet Alva showed no displeasure. Instead, he rose to his feet as a sign of respect.

The surrounding maids and servants chorused in unison, “Lady Saint.”

The long-awaited Saint finally extended a hand to lift the curtain and gracefully descended from the carriage.

All eyes fell upon her face.

It was a face that, no matter how many times one saw it, would always captivate, feeling that all the world’s rhetoric was insufficient to describe such breathtaking beauty. Delicate as a porcelain doll, she appeared as a masterpiece painted by the divine hand itself.

A mysterious veil adorned her black hair, partially obscuring her profile, revealing only her eyes as calm as water when the wind blew.

The curve of her smile was perfectly measured, and every gesture exuded elegance. Each step she took was deliberate and precise. No matter what happened, she always maintained a lady’s demeanor.

Even if servants behaved improperly in front of her, she wouldn’t throw tantrums like those pampered nobles, but would just calmly shake her head and say “It’s alright.”

Knowledgeable servants would occasionally mutter that the Saint seemed like an emotionless doll.

Perfect face, perfect manners, perfect voice, perfect personality, and that supreme status… There was almost nothing about her that could be called a “flaw.”

Of course, if one were to nitpick, her delicate health, often plagued by illness, could be considered an imperfection.

An unhealthy flush stained her cheeks, made even more prominent against her excessively pale skin, giving her a sense of fragility as if she might break at any moment.

A specially crafted cushioned seat had been prepared to ensure the Saint’s comfort.

Miki lightly touched her forehead, appearing unwell. Her first words were a flawlessly polite apology:

“My apologies for the delay, Your Majesty. I haven’t been feeling well.”

“It’s no trouble at all,” Alva said, far too preoccupied to care about such formalities. “I’ve invited you today to request your assistance…”

He quickly explained the situation, concluding with, “I hope the Lady Saint can assist in uncovering the situation with the mercenaries.”

“Your Majesty, we’ve discussed this before,” Miki’s voice remained calm and unwavering. “They are numerous and scattered. In my current condition, I cannot provide a prophecy.”

Alva hastily nodded. “Of course, the Saint’s health comes first. I would never ask you to overexert yourself. I only wish to ask for your help in investigating one individual…”

He pushed the blood-soaked letter towards the Saint. It contained only a few lines:

23-year-old female Alpha.
Born without the ability to feel pain.
Plant-like pheromones.
Royal Mercenary.

Some parts were abbreviated and difficult to decipher, but this was the gist of the message.

“This is the information Minister Camus left behind before his death. I ask you, Lady Saint, to use your divination to determine its validity. If it proves true, the entire Eagle Kingdom will be mobilized to apprehend this mercenary.”

Alva awaited her response, but noticed Miki’s fingers tremble almost imperceptibly. Despite its fleeting nature, his keen eyes caught the movement.

He frowned, observing her distant expression, and spoke with a firmer tone, “Lady Saint?”

Miki had grown up in Mios and only arrived in the Eagle Kingdom five years ago. The suspicious King had never fully trusted her.

A startling thought suddenly crossed Alva’s mind. The letter stated that the mercenary was 23 years old, the same age as the Saint. Could it be…?

Miki calmly withdrew her gaze, as if nothing had happened.

“Since there was a witness present, why not bring them to me first?” she suggested.

Alva knew the Saint had an innate sharp sense, always able to discover subtle clues others missed.

However, his suspicions deepened.

Just moments ago, the Saint had claimed to be unwell. Yet, after a mere glance at the note, she suddenly seemed interested, even requesting to meet the witness. This was unprecedented…

Alva decided to test her. “The dungeons are filled with filth and blood. I fear it might frighten you, Lady Saint. Perhaps it would be better if you performed your divination directly.”

Miki didn’t hesitate. “Then I shall follow your arrangements, Your Majesty.”

Her eyelids drooped further, as if overcome with fatigue.

“If there’s nothing else, I shall take my leave…”

That indifferent response made Alva temporarily lower his guard.

Perhaps he was overthinking it.

After pondering for a while, he said, “No. You raise a valid point, Lady Saint. I’ll have someone clean up that artist later and send them to you.”

“Very well.”

Miki’s response was still indifferent.

But in her heart, she thought:

… At twenty-three, her handwriting is still so messy.