~Chapter 33~
Maybe he didn’t like being told to repent and ask for forgiveness.
What if he suddenly storms into the confessional and orders me executed—?!
“Thank you, Priestess Floria. Thanks to you, my head feels so clear now!”
“Th… that’s really good to hear, my lord!”
Thank goodness, really thank goodness.
Floria held her racing heart, sighing silently in relief.
“Even though my wife passed away just a week ago, I gave her a grand funeral. So it should be fine.”
…Huh?
Her mind froze.
Wait—just a week ago? And now he’s already looking for another woman?
What a lunatic.
“Thank you. Truly, thank you.”
And without waiting for more, the viscount stormed out of the confessional, looking absolutely delighted.
“…”
Floria slumped in her chair, drained.
Did he even love his late wife? He had just treated the words of some random priestess as if all his sins were erased.
Well… maybe he really does want to move on.
Shaking her head, she decided not to dwell on it.
After all, that was only the first noble. Two more were left.
Soon, Beanel Narjan, the baron’s eldest son, entered calmly and asked:
“I’m of marriageable age, but I can’t find a single lady I like. My father insists I marry soon, and I feel sorry. If I ask Elio for forgiveness, will a perfect lady appear before me?”
Why do they all like to stick their hands through the hole?
Floria frowned at the hand pushed forward through the small gap in the wall.
He was flexing it on purpose, making the veins bulge. It wasn’t impressive—it was just… blue veins.
“You don’t need to ask forgiveness for that. I think you’ll meet the right woman soon.”
“How soon?”
The twitching fingers froze. His voice brimmed with desperate hope.
“A month…”
“A month?”
“…A week.”
“A week?”
“…No, three days.”
“Three days?”
“…Thank you!”
Once again, her mouth had run wild without her control.
Beanel Narjan beamed happily and left the confessional.
“…”
Floria stared blankly. Are they all insane?
Somehow, the villainess’s soul had blurted out “three days” with so much confidence.
It wasn’t harsh, but it sounded like a binding prophecy.
Now completely slumped in her chair, Floria realized both nobles had walked out practically skipping for joy—completely forgetting how serious and dignified they had looked when they first came in.
Even the hundreds of common believers watching looked confused, but the nobles didn’t care.
Sighhh. Floria rubbed her eyes hard through the veil.
I really need to speed up this whole “exposing temple corruption” plan…
Because in less than a week—no, in only three days—Beanel Narjan would definitely return demanding to know why his “destined bride” hadn’t shown up.
She could already picture his disappointed, angry face.
Should I just run away with Rose?
Just a few hours ago, she’d been so determined to dig up evidence and reform the temple for Rose’s sake.
But now, after barely three hours of sleep and a mountain of stress, all that fiery passion had flown away.
And the problem was…
There was still one noble left.
The highest-ranking one. Count Ridante.
Creak—
The door to the adjacent confessional opened again. Floria straightened her posture at once, though he couldn’t see her.
From the start, Count Ridante’s presence felt off.
The confessional was small—enough for just one person and a chair. Normally, you’d enter and sit right away.
“Do I sit here?”
“Yes, my lord.”
He sat down… then leaned forward.
“Oh, there’s a hole here.”
“Kyah!!”
He suddenly shoved his face into the opening!
A massive face filled her view, peering in. She screamed and jumped back in shock.
And the way he looked at her—scanning her from bottom to top—was disgustingly lecherous.
Floria quickly pulled her veil tight over her face. The count clicked his tongue in disappointment but finally leaned back.
Thump, thump, thump—
Her heart pounded for a new reason now.
Ugh. Absolutely disgusting.
Wrinkled forehead, a nose dented as if it had been punched, eyes stretched wide as if trying to drink her in…
Did someone actually punch him before for doing this?
That grotesque face was burned into her memory, sure to show up in nightmares tonight.
She glanced nervously at the hole, fearing he’d shove his face back in.
Compared to this man, Caspar was practically normal! Even the two giddy nobles who had just left seemed saner than him.
But soon she understood his reason.
“Priestess Floria, I’ve been searching a long time for someone who suits me.”
“Yes, I see…”
She answered cautiously, dread rising.
His voice was slow, slimy, and suggestive.
“I didn’t see your whole face, but I saw your emerald-green eyes clearly. Yes… coming here was the right choice.”
…Is this creep talking about me?
She must have been too late to cover her face. Somehow, he’d caught a glimpse of her eyes.
Floria tugged her veil tighter, but it was useless now.
“That soft voice… those jewel-like eyes. Exactly my taste.”
“….”
Her throat went dry. She knew what was coming next.
Please, please don’t say it.
But her prayers failed.
“If you marry me, I’ll make you Saintess immediately. What do you say, Priestess Floria?”
“…Do you seriously want to creep on a woman twenty years younger than you?”
The confessional went deathly silent.
Wait.
Did I… just say that out loud?
Yes. She had. Not even the villainess’s soul this time. Just her raw, unfiltered thought.
And it was by far the most reckless thing she’d ever said to anyone.
I’m doomed.
Floria’s jaw dropped in horror.
“Y-you—what did you just…!”
The count finally exploded with rage, leaping to his feet.
“How dare you! A mere commoner priestess dares speak to me like that?!”
His furious voice rang in her ears. She barely listened, her mind half detached, imagining the floor drenched with his spit.
Bang—!
Unable to contain his anger, the count shoved the door wide open.
So this is how I die.
There was no escape from this tiny confessional.
Floria lowered her head, clasped her hands, and braced herself for the end.
Creeeeak—
The door opened. She squeezed her eyes shut.
Better death than marriage to this disgusting count.
But then—
“Floria. Come out.”
The voice wasn’t the count’s.
Her eyes flew open.
A tall shadow filled the doorway, blocking her view. A man leaned against the frame, one arm raised.
Beyond him, the count stood frozen in shock, unable to move.
And standing there, golden eyes gleaming dangerously—
Was Caspar.
