Nine Summers of Divine Punishment

Even if Wakako had lost more blood, even if she had been blinded, she would still recognize that hand.

Miki.

Even though the arrow had been traveling slowly, catching it still required all of the Saint’s strength. She gasped, barely avoiding being dragged to the ground by its weight.

Upon contact, the arrow lost the force that had propelled it forward. Miki gently tossed it aside and leaned against the same sturdy tree by the manor gates.

She extended her hand towards Wakako, as if to help her up.

Wakako hesitated to take it, instinctively glancing at her own palms, which were covered in blood and dirt.

How did Miki get in here… and why…?

“Give me your communication stone,” Miki said. “I need to speak with the Crown Princess.”

So that was it. Wakako felt a flicker of embarrassment at having misunderstood.

The communication stones were a unique product of Mios. As long as two individuals each carried one and remained within a reasonable distance, they could communicate seamlessly. Wakako and Lin Lin had relied on them to stay in contact while infiltrating the Eagle Kingdom’s royal palace.

Wakako retrieved the stone from her pocket, pinching it between clean fingers, and placed it in Miki’s hand. Yet, the Saint didn’t withdraw her hand.

“Stand up,” Miki said calmly. “How long are you going to keep kneeling?”

Wakako glanced down at herself, realizing she was still kneeling where she’d been thrown.

In truth, she had the strength to rise. Even if she didn’t, Miki’s frail body couldn’t possibly lift her. Yet she took Miki’s hand anyway.

Their palms met, the communication stone pressed between them, smearing blood and dirt onto Miki’s hand.

Miki didn’t seem to notice. Normally, she would wrinkle her nose in displeasure if anyone who hadn’t bathed recently came near her, but now she seemed not to care, her focus solely on the communication stone.

“Wakako, can you still carry me onto the roof?” she asked.

Of course. God had only allowed Tsukiyo to enter, but since everyone else was lost in the forest, and only the two of them had been permitted to reach this point, there must be a reason. They could still observe from the top.

“Yes,” Wakako replied without hesitation.

The earlier impacts were no small matter. Though she felt no pain, her body still trembled occasionally. But just as Tsukiyo couldn’t turn back, Wakako had to persevere as well.

Although she felt she shouldn’t be this intimate with Miki, now wasn’t the time for such concerns. In this trial that would determine the fate of two kingdoms, there was no Wakako and Miki – only the Queen’s mercenary and the saint. The trial had to come first.

Wakako crouched down, letting Miki climb onto her back. Ignoring her injuries, she scaled the crumbling wall with practiced ease, quickly reaching the roof.

The eaves of the abandoned manor were so dilapidated that there wasn’t enough space for two feet to stand side by side. Wakako could maintain her balance, but Miki could easily fall.

Wakako didn’t fail the Saint, keeping her securely on her back. Her night vision was sharp, and she scanned the ground below, her eyes sweeping the shadows in search of Tsukiyo’s figure.

Suddenly, Miki’s voice came from behind her, speaking through the communication stone, her words reaching Tsukiyo. “Princess.”

Perhaps because the voice was unfamiliar, Tsukiyo didn’t respond immediately, only asking hesitantly, “Who are you? Where’s my Master?”

Miki’s hand, holding the stone, dangled from Wakako’s shoulder, reaching to touch her hand.

To hear Tsukiyo’s voice clearly, their hands had to remain in constant contact. Wakako knew there was no deeper meaning to the touch, yet her heart still skipped a beat.

She replied, “Tsukiyo, the Saint is here. We’re watching you from the roof.”

Just then, Wakako finally spotted Tsukiyo. She was in a nearby courtyard, which was completely empty.

Tsukiyo’s voice crackled faintly through the communication stone. “I’ve searched three or four courtyards, but I haven’t seen anyone. Can you see where I should go next?”

She still couldn’t bring herself to like the Saint. The respectful title reached the tip of her tongue, but she swallowed it back.

Wakako narrowed her eyes, scanning the area while continuing to move along the eaves, adjusting her position. “It’s too dark. I can’t see anyone.”

Tsukiyo’s responded with disappointment. “Oh, then I’ll keep searching…”

But Miki interrupted her before she could finish. “Someone is crawling towards you. Medium build, carrying a gun.”

Wakako glanced sideways and saw that the Saint’s beautiful eyes were closed, as if she were deep in meditation. Clearly, she wasn’t relying on her sight like Wakako, but on her heightened senses as a Saint.

It would be difficult for Miki to survey the entire manor, but with her specific descriptions, pinpointing the enemy’s location was easy for Wakako.

Wakako quickly devised a strategy. “Tsukiyo, southwest direction, the hole behind the well! Use the gun!”

Using a gun was a last resort, as its loud noise was a major disadvantage.

However, in such darkness, Tsukiyo, who hadn’t received any night vision training, wouldn’t be able to shoot an arrow accurately. At the age of ten, she would be at a disadvantage in close combat. The only option was to rely on the firearm she had acquired.

Having spent months training together, following orders was second nature to Tsukiyo. Despite her lingering fear, she instinctively pressed down on the gun’s trigger, firing a shot.

BOOM!

The enemy was hit before they could even reveal themselves. The wall crumbled, burying the lifeless body beneath the rubble.

“That gun is empty. Go and grab his gun,” Wakako instructed rapidly. “Then head toward the southeast courtyard!”

The Crown Princess, who had been raised in the comfort of luxury, knelt on the ground, using her bare hands to dig through the rubble. The bricks were so sharp that they cut into her skin. By the time she recovered the gun, her hands were bloodied and throbbing with pain.

She had never experienced such hardship in her life, but there was no time for complaints.

Miki detected three more individuals approaching stealthily. She described their characteristics, and Wakako guided Tsukiyo on how to eliminate them one by one, securing their weapons.

This was their first time they cooperated in combat, yet they worked together seamlessly, as if they had been partners for years. There wasn’t a single misstep.

With just a few words, or even a single word or phrase, they could understand each other’s intentions without needing further explanation.

Perhaps the five years they had spent side by side at the Saionji clan had already connected their hearts in this unspoken way.

Wakako suddenly felt a strange sense of illusion—was the person on her back really the revered and untouchable Saint, or was she a comrade, someone she could trust with her life, someone to fight beside?

After the last enemy fell, Tsukiyo collapsed onto the ground, gasping for breath, nearly exhausted. “Master,” she said wearily, “This one only has a knife, no gun.”

She described the sword’s appearance, and Wakako understood at once. “Be careful when you handle it. It’s probably poisoned. Check your gun as well — look through the muzzle and see how much gunpowder is left in the chamber.”

Tsukiyo did as she was told. “There’s only a little bit left.”

The Eagle Kingdom’s forces had run out of ammunition, which meant the last bullet in her hand was invaluable.

Miki’s voice came again. “There are only two people left in the manor.”

One was Tsukiyo, and the other, needless to say, was the Eagle Kingdom’s Crown Princess, Loren.

She had heard that Loren had been healthy but had suffered a serious illness that she never fully recovered from. Her health was frail, and she was often confined to her bed. Though she was a few years older than Tsukiyo, she was likely not a formidable opponent.

However, “Crown Princess Loren must also have a gun,” Wakako said with a frown. “You still need to be very careful.”

Tsukiyo leaned against the wall, sitting down. There were corpses all around her, but she no longer cared. She pulled out her water pouch and took large gulps.

Her lack of experience had caught up with her, and she’d suffered some minor injuries. Only now did she have the chance to tend to them.

Wakako glanced back. Miki had fallen back into deep meditation, so she whispered to Tsukiyo, “Rest for a while.”

With Crown Princess Loren’s whereabouts unknown, all three of them gained a brief respite.

Wakako continued her patrol along the eaves, moving like a cat, her eyes now fully adjusted to the darkness, allowing her to see the entire manor clearly.

Most of the buildings were ruins, with only a few roofs still intact. She began searching again for potential hiding spots…

Miki’s familiar voice came from behind her again. She opened her eyes. “The small courtyard with the garden.”

Almost as soon as the words reached her ears, Wakako located the spot. “Head east from the entrance. The innermost courtyard. Crown Princess Loren is there!”

“Alright,” Tsukiyo replied. “I’ll rest a little longer, then head that way.”

The three of them fell silent once more.

Using her heightened senses took a toll on Miki. She seemed exhausted and, either intentionally or unintentionally, leaned her head against Wakako’s shoulder.

Wakako didn’t move, allowing the Saint to rest against her for a moment.

Just as Miki had calmly allowed Wakako to carry her without worrying about falling, Wakako didn’t doubt the accuracy of Miki’s words and acted decisively.

This sense of mutual trust and reliance made Wakako feel as if she were fighting alongside a longtime teammate, or perhaps even closer than that.

She thought of Hua Yumu, who had guided her into the life of a mercenary; of Lin Lin, who had fought alongside her countless times; of Liu Siruo, who had disguised her on numerous occasions; of Carol, who had trained her with relentless precision; and of Albert, who had taught her the art of archery…

These companions had formed an unbreakable bond with her, earned through countless life-and-death situations.

But in the face of Miki, all of that paled in comparison.

It felt as if this was how it was meant to be between them—her master issuing commands, and her carrying them out without question. A single glance, a touch, and she would understand.

There would never be another Miki, and there would never be another Wakako. This bond existed only between them.

But Wakako had less than three months to live. Even if she could survive, she wouldn’t be allowed to treat Miki as her master anymore.

In the eyes of God, her feelings might have been insignificant, but she cherished these fleeting moments more than anything, and she truly resented God for it.

All the while, their hands remained clasped around the communication stone. Wakako could feel Miki’s hand growing colder, but she couldn’t transfer her heat to her.

Miki was in the midst of meditation and couldn’t be disturbed.

So Wakako simply used her other hand to support Miki’s feather-light body.

Her lips moved silently, forming words without sound.

“Miki, I don’t want to die.”

As a child, she had been an orphan begging on the streets, fighting for scraps of food. Later, she became the wrongly accused Thirteenth Guard of the Kitagawa clan, clinging to life until the Saint saved her.

If she had ever lost the will to live, she wouldn’t be here today.

Now she was a mercenary, Wakako, poisoned and living on borrowed time..

No matter who she was at any point in her life, all she ever wanted was to live.

Only by living could she carry the Saint on her back, catch a glimpse of that beautiful face from afar, and to hear the voice that haunted her dreams.

After that day, Wakako hadn’t given up. She had scoured medical texts, consulted countless doctors, but the answer was always the same.

There was no cure, unless medicine was infused with the Saint’s blood.

Even though she knew Miki would agree, even though she knew it wouldn’t endanger Miki’s life, she couldn’t bear it!

She couldn’t bear to see Miki shed another drop of blood for her.

Only Miki could cause her pain, not just through her touch, but even the thought of Miki being hurt tore at her heart, numbing it, as if it might stop beating at any moment.

Tears quietly streamed down Wakako’s face as she turned her head slightly, feeling the light shift as Miki raised her head. Even though no one could see her expression, she instinctively smiled to cover the traces of tears that hadn’t yet dried.

“Tsukiyo, it’s time to move,” she called softly.