Chapter 22
The front lines were a place of bloodshed. Why would the Saint be here? Could Liu Siruo have failed to gather accurate intelligence when scouting the enemy?
Wakako wanted to use the communication stone to question Liu Siruo, but she didn’t have the chance. Footsteps were closing in outside the tent, and she could faintly hear suppressed growls as they searched the area.
“Where did they go? Could they be after… ?”
“Protect… My Lady!”
None of them dared to utter the words “Saint”, clearly apprehensive about something. It was evident that the Saint’s presence was a secret known only to a select few, not to be widely publicized.
Miki stood up, her bare feet peeking out from under her white gown, stepping onto the carpet. With no heated floors, the cold had turned her skin slightly red.
She lifted the tent flap, revealing a soft bed. “Come in,” she said simply.
Wakako hesitated for a moment.
Then, gritting her teeth, she rolled into the tent and followed Miki onto the bed.
Outside, a group of people stood near the tent. The leader peeked in cautiously, asking, “Lady Saint?”
Through layers of sheer curtains, he could vaguely see a figure lying down.
“What is it?” Her voice carried a hint of weariness.
The man lowered his voice. “An enemy has infiltrated the camp, and we fear for your safety. Have you heard any unusual noises?”
Inside, Miki sat at the head of the bed, gazing at the silent figure huddled at the foot of the bed.
“No,” she replied.
“Are you sure?” The man outside remained skeptical. “The guards outside your tent have been killed, and we’ve found some scattered footprints leading towards your location…”
Miki reached out and parted the curtains slightly, revealing a glimpse of her exquisite face. She cast a cold glance at him.
“I said no. Why are you still here?” Her tone was indifferent. “Are you planning to search my bed for the intruder?”
The man recoiled, terrified of incurring her wrath. He hastily apologized. “Please forgive me, Lady Saint. Knowing you’re safe puts my mind at ease.”
With that, he swiftly retreated.
The two women on the bed sat in silence.
After a while, Miki chuckled softly and said slowly, “Perhaps they really should have searched my bed.”
For some reason, Wakako couldn’t even bring herself to look up.
She had, of course, wanted to see Miki, but she had never expected it to be under these circumstances.
Amidst the clash of blades and the pervasive scent of blood, with the constant threat of death– the battlefield was no place for the immaculate Saint.
Miki did not belong here.
She should be comfortably residing in a tranquil bamboo garden, or perhaps in the opulence of a grand palace.
The Saint’s bed was soft and filled with a familiar fragrance. For a fleeting moment, Wakako felt an urge to rest there for a while.
But this wasn’t the mindset she should have while on a mission, so she quickly extinguished the dangerous thought.
“Where is Saionji Saburo?” Wakako asked, keeping her head lowered.
Miki didn’t answer. “When speaking to someone, it’s basic courtesy to look at them.”
Wakako instinctively retorted, “That’s not true. When the master speaks, you can’t…”
She cut herself off, realizing her mistake. These were the old rules she had learned in the Saionji household. Servants were forbidden from meeting their master’s gaze directly, as it was considered disrespectful. They had to keep their heads bowed in humility.
Rules she should have long forgotten.
“You still remember that I am your master?”
Miki lightly tapped Wakako’s head with a folding fan that rested on the bedside table.
“Come here.”
Wakako remained huddled at the foot of the bed, unmoving.
“I’m dirty,” she murmured.
Miki was obsessed with cleanliness, bathing several times a day and keeping her bed impeccably clean and fragrant.
But Wakako had just killed. She felt filthy, inside and out. It wasn’t just the grime she had accumulated outside; it was something more, something intangible and undefined.
Miki stared at her for a moment, her thoughts unreadable. Then, without another word, she leaned forward and ripped away the black veil covering Wakako’s face.
A speck of blood, from who knows whom, stained Wakako’s brow. Miki slowly wiped it away with a pristine white handkerchief, which quickly became stained.
“You’re clean now,” Miki said.
Wakako finally met her gaze, but only for a fleeting moment. She forced herself to look away, unable to lose herself in those captivating, lake-like eyes.
“I should go.”
She rolled off the bed, nearly fleeing in her haste.
“Saburo isn’t here,” Miki said calmly from behind. “He left last night.”
Is that so?
Wakako paused. “Whether he’s here or not, I should go.”
She was here on a mission, not to see…
Miki stepped off the bed and onto the carpet, silent as a cat. She reached out and tugged lightly on Wakako’s sleeve.
The touch was gentle; with a little force, Wakako could easily pull away.
“Why don’t you ask me?” the Saint whispered, her voice like a sleepy murmur, almost a hallucination. “Why don’t you ask me why I’m here?”
Wakako remained silent for a moment, then replied without turning around. “Is there a point?”
What good would it do to ask? Would she even get an answer?
The Saint could go wherever she pleased. What did it have to do with her, a mercenary from an enemy kingdom?
“Of course, it matters.” Miki tugged on her sleeve again, a hint of frustration in her voice. “Don’t you… care about me anymore?”
Wakako took a deep breath and turned around, a sour and bitter feeling rising in her chest.
“What do you want from me?” she blurted out. “I don’t know why you chose the Eagle Kingdom, why you disappeared for five years without a word… What good would it do for me to care? Am I just a joke to you, a fool?”
Wakako’s hands trembled. “I know you’re the Saint. You can see the future, and everything you do is the will of God. It’s all about the fate of kingdoms, life and death… But what about me? Am I just supposed to stay in the dark like an idiot? Five years ago, what did I have besides you?”
“Wasn’t it you who told me to stop being a servant? I finally managed to achieve everything I have now… I have a team that treats me like family, they give me a sense of belonging, they make me want to protect Mios as a mercenary. It took me a long time to move on.”
“But now you’re back, and my heart is wavering again…”
“Maybe, in the end, I’m just a weak-willed person. I hate this feeling.”
Miki listened silently to Wakako’s outpouring of accusations.
No one dared to address the Saint in such a manner, yet her face remained devoid of displeasure.
“Pull away from me,” Miki said simply. “Pull away, and I’ll let you go.”
So much time had passed, yet Wakako still allowed Miki’s fingers to cling tightly to her sleeve. Whether it was dust or blood, it had dirtied the Saint’s once-pristine fingertips.
A surge of anger and bitterness finally erupted.
“Stop pretending you don’t know,” Wakako said, her eyes welling with tears that she fought hard to hold back. “You know I can’t do that… Does hearing this make you happy?”
Miki rose slightly on her tiptoes, reaching out with her other hand to caress Wakako’s face, drawing her closer until she rested against her shoulder.
The scent of the fine perfume on Miki’s white gown was intoxicating, reminiscent of wood and warmth.
“Yes,” Miki replied softly. “It makes me happy.”
Her demeanor bore a resemblance to a divine statue—an aloof, untouchable God, devoid of sorrow or joy.
“I love hearing you say that you miss me, that you can’t live without me, that I mean so much to you. I never tire of hearing it, no matter how many times.”
Wakako froze, feeling as though she had punched a pillow of cotton, her anger absorbed and diffused.
A tiny seed of malice sprouted within her, fleeting but not ignored. It grew, taking root in her mind.
“Then would you like to hear about my visit with my fiancée?” Wakako asked, bolder than she had ever been. “A few days ago, we went to see the snow outside the city, just the two of us.”
She knew the Saint better than anyone. Her preferences, her sensitivities, her deepest fears… Wakako understood them all.
Wakako understood all too well that the Saint’s perfect, jade-like beauty was only a facade. Beneath that flawless surface lay a twisted, obsessive need for control, something so full that it had nowhere to go—an insatiable hunger that was always on the verge of igniting, like dry twigs ready to catch fire.
And her words had just lit the match.
As expected, Miki’s face paled, becoming as white as the snow on the ground.
“Stop it, Wakako,” the Saint said softly. “Don’t make up such stories.”
“It’s true.”
Seeing how much Miki cared filled Wakako with a strange, twisted satisfaction, as if it could ease her frustration just a little.
Miki’s tone remained calm, but her breathing grew heavier, her eyes locked intensely on Wakako. “You’re saying this to provoke me on purpose.”
She tightened her grip on Wakako’s sleeve, twisting it like a rag in her hand until it constricted Wakako’s wrist. “I know you’re hurting, but don’t lie to me about this.”
“Do you need me to tell you every detail for you to believe me?”
Wakako, on the other hand, had calmed down. “Fine. The lake outside the city is frozen over. We watched the snow together, sat on a tree stump carving wood for walking sticks, went ice skating with the others, and then…”
It was all true. She hadn’t lied. She had gone to see the snow with Miki, and they had even played on the ice for a while – although the true purpose of their outing was to mutually agree to break off their engagement. But there was no need for Miki to know that, was there?
Should she tell Miki that even when faced with her admiring Omega fiancée, she couldn’t muster any feelings or interest, that whenever she closed her eyes, all she could see was Miki?
She was simply furious. She wanted the Saint to taste the same bitterness she felt.
“Enough.”
Miki’s hand loosened, dropping abruptly to her side.
Anyone who had ever raised a dog would recognize the small expressions they sometimes show that only their owners understand. Miki could read Wakako just as clearly, and she knew when Wakako was telling the truth.
“You don’t have to say anymore.”
Wakako saw tears welling up in the Saint’s eyes. The tear tracks, still fresh, resembled translucent pearls gliding across the surface of a lake, shattering the calm facade and revealing the truth beneath.
Before Wakako had barged in, someone had delivered hot water to Miki’s tent. The temperature had dropped slightly, but steam still rose from the bath.
Suddenly, Miki reached out and grabbed the sash of Wakako’s black attire. “Take it off and get in,” she commanded.
There was a dark gleam in Miki’s eyes, something flickering and unsteady.
“It seems wiping with a handkerchief isn’t enough. You need a proper bath,” Miki murmured, glancing to the side. “Where’s the soap? Ah, there it is.”
She turned back to Wakako, her expression strangely calm, and asked, “Why haven’t you gotten in yet? Do you want to see me get even angrier?”
As always, she wore that face that shouldn’t be tainted by worldly concerns, speaking words that contradicted her serene expression.
“A lot of people are going to die because of this,” Miki said.
Wakako met her gaze, her heart suddenly gripped with fear.
“You’re insane,” she muttered through clenched teeth. “What are you planning to do?”
Miki feigned surprise. “Is this the first time you’ve realized I’m mad?”
She smiled faintly, almost as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “Remember the people who used to bully you—the musician, the stewards… they’re all dead, aren’t they? Whenever anyone touches you, I can’t help but kill them.”
“Now that you’re disobeying me, it’s because of that ‘fiancée,’ isn’t it?”
Miki’s face remained expressionless as she continued. “But I don’t know who she is. So maybe I’ll just let the entire city of Nanling die instead. War, divine retribution… Which do you prefer?”
Wakako snapped, unable to hold back any longer. “Miki!”
“Yes?”
The Saint responded with a gentle smile, color returning to her face, like a pure yet alluring white rose.
“You know what they did to me before,” Miki said. “I don’t care about other people’s lives.”
She glanced at the bath and then back at Wakako, her voice a mixture of command and affection.
“So, Little Waka, please hurry up. The water will get cold.”
