Nine Summers of Divine Punishment

Inside a cramped tent in the Eagle Kingdom, Lin Lin opened her eyes.

No matter how skilled a mercenary was, they were no match for an entire mountain’s worth of beasts. Before they could react, they were surrounded and then rendered unconscious by a strange scent.

Lin Lin found herself tightly bound, her hands and feet completely immobilized. She was as thin as a sapling, she wasn’t particularly strong to begin with, and now, for some reason, all her strength was gone. She couldn’t even make a sound, let alone struggle.

Realizing this, she stopped resisting and lay down, tapping the ground with her fingers in a specific pattern, sending a signal unique to the mercenaries.

After a while, a response came in the same manner, indicating someone was trapped on the other side of a thin curtain.

Through the signals, Lin Lin learned that the person next door was Miki, but that was all the information they had for now. What exactly had happened last night?

The memories slowly returned, and she suddenly recalled a passage she had read in a scripture. It said that under certain circumstances, the Saint’s pheromones could exert immense pressure on ordinary people, causing them to lose control of their bodies and submit completely.

There were two types of rituals: the Water Purification Ritual and the Blood Sacrifice Ritual.

The Water Purification Ritual used holy water to bless the people, while the Blood Sacrifice Ritual… Lin Lin didn’t know its purpose, only that the book said it came at a great cost to the Saint.

Last night’s sweet cherry scent seemed to have been mixed with a strong smell of blood. Could it be that all of this was the Saint’s doing?

The complexities between the former master and servant, and the fiancée, were too difficult for the fifteen-year-old Lin Lin to comprehend.

As she pondered this, she suddenly realized—wait, why was it just Miki beside her? Where had her big, clumsy Senior Sister gone?

Unbeknownst to Lin Lin, the Wakako she was worried about was only a hundred paces away. However, she had also just woken up and wasn’t confined to a separate tent. Instead, she was in the Saint’s bed.

Dressed in white, Miki sat quietly at the bedside, gazing at her.

The figure leaned closer, a strand of silvery-white hair brushing against Wakako’s cheek, tickling her skin.

Wait, white?

In just one night, the Saint’s jet-black hair had turned lighter than the color of her cloak.

Wakako thought she was dreaming. She blinked hard several times before confirming that everything was real. She tried to speak, but no sound came out.

She had accumulated too many drops of the Saint’s blood in her body over the years, and it had been triggered by the blood sacrifice last night, causing her to temporarily lose her voice. Her situation was even worse than Lin Lin and Miki’s.

The naturally gifted mercenary couldn’t even move a finger now, only managing to blink slowly.

In front of her, it wasn’t just Miki’s hair that had lost its color—her eyelashes, her irises… everything had turned a pure white, like snow falling on a rooftop, adding a new touch of ethereal beauty to her face, resembling a white lotus blooming on a mountaintop.

The Saint’s constitution was weak to begin with, and using the blood sacrifice to achieve pheromone suppression had depleted her remaining vitality, causing her hair to suddenly turn white.

The Saint bit her finger and smeared a tiny drop of blood on Wakako’s lips. “Sorry, Waka,” she whispered. “Does your body feel uncomfortable? A little more of my blood might make you feel better.”

She picked up a piece of cake from somewhere and offered it to the person in bed. “Are you hungry?”

Despite her weakness, Wakako couldn’t help but hesitate. The Saint was her master. It was always she who served her master, not the other way around.

It felt too strange, and for a moment, she was caught off guard, even a little overwhelmed, and didn’t take the cake.

To Miki, Wakako’s hesitant reaction seemed to mean something else entirely. Without changing her expression, Miki withdrew her hand, saying. “Doesn’t it suit your taste? I remember you used to enjoy it.”

She wasn’t mistaken. It was indeed the type of cake Wakako used to love.

“What does she usually feed you?” the Saint asked with a smile, her eyes crescent moons, giving the appearance of someone in a good mood. “I’ll have someone make the exact same thing.”

As soon as these words left her mouth, Wakako’s expression changed visibly.

This was bad.

The Saint must have seen Miki.

They had just parted on the mountain, seemingly for good, and now she had changed her mind…

The Saint’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. Her pure and innocent, gentle and demure appearance was merely a fragile facade, easily shattered to reveal the darkness that had long festered within.

She slowly leaned over Wakako, so lightly it felt as if she had no weight at all. “Or would you rather she feed you?”

The Saint crawled onto the bed, her bare feet, unused to walking, stepping on Wakako’s clothes. “Waka.”

She knew full well that Wakako couldn’t respond, yet she called her name again and again, as if reciting a poem.

“Waka, Little Waka, Kitagawa Wakako.”

“You shouldn’t use the Kitagawa clan name. I brought you home. You should take my name.” Miki’s breathing slightly rapid, her head drooping and resting softly against Wakako’s chest. “But…”

But the Saint was God’s messenger. Although she came from the Saionji clan, she only had a given name, no earthly surname. Wakako couldn’t possibly take her name.

So what could be done? How could she make it clear at first glance who Wakako belonged to?

A flicker of anxiety crossed her pale eyes, and the Saint suddenly sat up.

Even kneeling on Wakako, her posture remained elegant. She stared at her, as if making a decision, and then smiled once more.

“Open your mouth,” Miki coaxed softly, gently pinching Wakako’s cheeks.

Wakako’s lips parted slightly.

“Don’t be afraid,” Miki touched her forehead. “It won’t take long.”

The Saint lifted the hem of her white dress, revealing her unusually slender legs—thin from rarely walking. Without hesitation, she moved forward slightly and lowered herself onto Wakako’s lips.

“Mmm…”

Wakako’s eyes widened in shock.

Her mouth was filled with the taste of Miki.

The familiar scent, never before so intense, completely took over her senses. It was like the sweetest cherry juice, squeezed from the ripest fruit, trickling into her mouth and moistening her lips.

It was the most unique cherry on the tree.

The Saint looked down at her, her once-white eyes now seemingly tinged with the same cherry red, half-open, her expression filled with emotion.

Her delicate left hand rested lightly against the wall, supporting her body as if she needed something to lean on. Her command, however, was crystal clear. “Lick me.”

Lick her?

Wakako’s mouth was full of the sweet juice of cherries, and she dared not move a muscle.

The drop of blood the Saint had fed her earlier finally took effect, and her stiff tongue could now obey her commands. But could she really…

The Saint lowered herself further, her hair brushing against Wakako’s cheek, her voice slightly hoarse. “Isn’t it your duty to serve your master?”

The master’s word was law.

Wakako’s body reacted before her mind could, her tongue tentatively reaching out to touch the Saint.

“Good girl,” Miki said, a blush rising on her cheeks, a mixture of intoxication and lucidity. “Continue.”

Despite her evident arousal, her gaze remained sharp and cold, like a blade, fixed intently on Wakako. At the slightest hint of hesitation, Miki would let her fingers graze the spot Wakako feared most—the same spot she loved Miki to strike.

Pain, amplified tenfold.

The blood sacrifice had made her sensitivity to pain even more intense.

Wakako was already on the verge of breaking, her subconscious urging her to reach down and touch herself. But the Saint’s hand on her wrist stopped her.

“Did I say you could move?” The Saint’s smile deepened, her gaze more direct. “Lick me until I’m satisfied.”

By now, Wakako’s strength had returned somewhat, enough for her to speak, but with the Saint on top of her, her mouth filled with cherry-flavored juice, she couldn’t utter a word. She could only look up with a confused, passion-filled eyes, like a puppy who didn’t understand its master.

Didn’t they agree not to see each other for a while? Why was she…

God would surely punish the disobedient Saint again… It would be very painful.

Miki understood that look. She didn’t avoid it, instead calmly raising her right hand and gently pressing Wakako’s head downward.

She admitted to herself that she wasn’t an honorable master—her words could be retracted just as quickly as they were given, making her unreliable, even despicable.

But what choice did she have?

Hearing the word ‘fiancée’ was like a hand tightening around her throat, but seeing Miki in the flesh was as if the air had been completely sucked from her lungs, leaving her throat so dry it felt like it might crack.

These were things she could endure, having grown accustomed to the chains of divine punishment after so many years, but…

“Miki.” (Saint)

“Miki.” (Fiancee)

Why?

From the moment she was born, everyone, even God, had repeatedly told her the same thing: the Saint was supreme, and no one, whether commoner or noble, was more noble than her.

Miki had almost believed it herself, but then she learned that they shared the same name. The dying embers of a twisted fire within her rekindled, burning brighter and fiercer, threatening to consume the entire world.

What right did a commoner have to desecrate the Saint’s name?

Why could that fake stand at the bottom of the mountain, so smugly jealous over Wakako, while she, the real Miki, had to constantly suppress her feelings, even contemplating pushing Wakako away in pain?

A secret and malicious voice echoed in her mind: perhaps she was the fake.

Perhaps she wasn’t as noble as she thought she was.

Miki had long been tired of her unique status as the Saint, but now, yet now she clung to it like a drowning person to a piece of driftwood, needing it to look Wakako in the eyes.

She was the Saint… one born under a rare celestial alignment, able to make flowers bloom out of season… the Saint, once in a century…

She wouldn’t lose to a mere commoner. She couldn’t.

The cherry scent gradually faded, and the Saint’s frail body trembled slightly as she sat back on Wakako’s legs.

Wakako wiped the cherry juice from the corner of her mouth and finally managed to speak. “Miki…”

She expected the Saint to lean in as she always did, either sulking or angry, tearful or complaining.

But all she saw was that beautiful white hair, entwined like jealous vines.

“Who are you calling?”

The Saint smiled, and seeing that Wakako didn’t answer, she asked again.

“Miki, or Miki?”

A strange, unfamiliar look passed through Miki’s eyes, as if something deep within her had changed drastically without anyone noticing.

Wakako felt as though she was watching Miki step onto a path from which there was no return.