Chapter 1 – More Like a Clown Than a Saint
I dreamed that I was killed by the hands of someone precious to me.
I could not remember who he was, but just looking at him made my chest ache with a sorrow so deep it felt unbearable.
I could never harm him.
With a cold expression, he pressed down on my throat. I felt like I was going to vomit, but my airway was blocked, making my chest tighten even more.
“Kh—!”
Strangled, Winter desperately moved her red eyes and looked around.
There was no one there to save her.
Is anyone there? Anyone! Ah—!
Wake up! Run!
Ugh… my legs…!
Soldiers lay pierced through their silver armor. Shrill screams echoed. Priests who had volunteered to help the soldiers failed to overcome their fear, called out to God, and then burned away until nothing of them remained.
Staring at the red land blazing with dark crimson flames, Winter realized something.
The world had been destroyed by evil. It was a catastrophe that had been decided from the moment she loved him.
“Do you regret it, Saint?”
The same voice that once whispered sweet words of love now asked her if she regretted it.
Tears gathered at the corners of Winter’s eyes. Perhaps the tiny blood vessels had burst, because her vision was red. The face of the person she cherished was blurred, hidden behind a mist of blood.
“I’ve wanted to do this… ever since I first saw you.”
“Ugh…”
Through her shaking vision, she could finally see his face. Everything except his face was covered in shadow.
Dark blue hair. Sharp blue eyes. Clear, bold features and a defined jawline. Everything about him was something she had loved.
Winter forced out a trembling voice.
“Why… you…?”
“Well…”
It felt as if even breathing was forbidden. A killing intent so cold and heavy that it crushed her muscles wrapped around her body.
He had become the Demon King, the ruler of the demon race.
Winter tried to move her dry lips to speak again, but his firm hand gripped her throat, and no sound came out.
At last, he smiled brightly. Not a trace of hesitation.
“Goodbye, Saint Winter Bella.”
Crack.
A chilling sound rang out. With the familiar sensation of her breath being cut off, her neck snapped.
***
“Haah…!”
She opened her eyes with a sharp gasp and saw a familiar ceiling.
Raising herself from the bed, Winter frantically touched her neck like someone out of her mind. Only after confirming that nothing was wrong did she finally let out a sigh of relief.
That dream… again.
To distract herself, she turned her head toward the cool draft. Outside the window beside the bed, camellia flowers with a strange red hue were embroidered across the snowy field. Small birds, plump from preparing for the harsh winter, chirped atop the camellia tree.
The peaceful scene made the dream she had just seen feel like a lie.
Winter touched the corner of her eye, which was still trembling.
It’s the fourth day in a row I’ve had the same dream.
The Demon King had died a year ago. The man in the dream was someone she did not know.
But dreams this vivid and terrifying repeating like this could hardly be dismissed as mere nightmares. A faint possibility crossed her mind.
A revelation.
One of the six miracles granted to the Saint, God’s apostle. More precisely, a prophetic dream. A warning and a divine message of something that would surely happen in the near future.
In the future, I will be killed by the revived Demon King.
As that thought reached its conclusion, her mind filled with questions.
Is there no way to stop it?
Could it be a warning rather than an unchangeable prophecy?
But prophecies had never once been avoided. Whenever she told someone about them, the future delivered through the prophecy twisted into something even more horrifying.
Which meant only the Saint herself could prepare for what was foretold.
While she swallowed the bitterness rising from deep inside her thoughts—
“Saintess… wake up…”
“Still… sleepy…”
“Chloe… be quiet!”
Soft chatter drifted in from outside the door.
Recognizing the familiar voices, Winter could not help but smile faintly.
Soon after, there was a knock. Then a bright voice called out.
“Saintess! We’re coming in!”
Winter wiped away the troubled expression lingering on her face and answered calmly with a smile.
“Yes. Come in.”
The door opened immediately. Three girls entered in a neat line, tallest to shortest. The tallest pulled back the curtains and greeted her.
“Good morning, Saintess.”
“Good morning. Did you sleep well too, Anne?”
“Thanks to you.”
As white sunlight filtered through the glass walls, the girl’s face became clear.
Anne had brown hair braided below her shoulders. She usually kept her lips tightly pressed, giving her a strict impression, but her voice was as soft as drifting dandelion seeds.
“Th-the weather is nice today… Saintess.”
“On a day like this, we’d usually go for a walk or visit the market!”
The two younger girls, sleeves rolled up as they carried water for washing, gazed out the window and muttered regretfully. Anne shot them a sharp look.
“Nina, Chloe. Did you forget what day it is?”
“Of course not…”
“We know!”
The two girls were the same age. Nina, who answered timidly, had small curls of red hair and a petite build. Chloe, with black hair tied in a ponytail, looked lively and bold.
Even if they became priests at a young age, they’re still children.
Winter smiled softly. The sharp pain that had been stabbing her heart earlier had somehow faded. Just having the three girls in the room made it easier to breathe.
Just as she was about to indulge their fussing, Anne, the eldest at thirteen, spoke.
“Saintess, you had a nightmare again, didn’t you?”
“How did you know?”
Anne sighed.
“Every time you have a nightmare, your chemise is soaked in cold sweat. There’s no way I wouldn’t notice.”
Winter let out a small “Ah.” Just as Anne said, her silk nightdress clung to her body.
Seeing her embarrassed silence, Anne clapped twice.
“Chloe, Nina! Help her.”
“Yes!”
“At your service!”
As the two younger girls answered energetically, Winter pressed a hand to her chest.
So that’s why I felt so drenched.
Then she called out to Anne, who was going to fetch more towels.
“By the way, what’s the occasion today? Why are we starting with a bath? You seem busy.”
Anne looked at her in disbelief.
“You forgot? Today you’re meeting your eighth fiancé.”
***
When she sank into the bath, foam spread across her snow-white skin. Leaning her head against the wooden tub filled with steaming water, Winter inhaled the scent.
Chloe and Nina lathered her arms and legs with sponges. Her long black hair floated on the water’s surface.
In this calm moment, it almost felt ridiculous that a prophecy had declared the Demon King’s return.
“The scent is nice. Did you add flowers?” Winter asked.
“Evening primrose oil and white rose petals.”
“Oh? Is there some special effect?”
Nina hesitated thoughtfully.
“The cook at the temple said they help improve fertility, so they’re perfect for meeting a fiancé.”
“…I see.”
Winter immediately regretted asking.
Soon after, she rose from the bath. Her long black hair clung to her pale skin.
“That’s enough. Hand me a towel.”
After drying herself, she dressed in a jet-black cassock prepared by the girls. Ordinary priests wore white, but hers was different.
Her robe was black with gold embroidery. Around her neck hung a golden rosary necklace, marking her special status within the Holy Kingdom.
At the same time, it proved that her identity could not be carelessly revealed before others.
After brushing her hair, she placed a black veil adorned with small crystal beads over her head.
“Isn’t the veil uncomfortable?”
“It’s fine.”
“Is the robe too tight?”
“No. It’s comfortable.”
After answering their questions, she put on low-heeled shoes and headed for the door.
She wondered how long this fiancé would last. Hours? Minutes?
“Hopefully this one doesn’t run away.”
It was only half a lie.
***
The Saint’s sanctuary, Atlans, was a land of piercing cold and harsh northern winds. Three previous fiancés had given up, shocked at the thought of spending their lives in such a place.
The rest were rejected by Winter herself. Sending fiancés away empty-handed had practically become one of the few amusements in this snow-covered sanctuary.
“I wonder how long this one will last? The last one ran away the moment he saw her face.”
“Shh! Don’t say that!”
I can hear you.
Winter walked ahead, pretending not to notice the whispers.
Her heels clicked against the limestone floor as she passed rows of stone pillars toward the altar.
Then an angry voice rang out.
“Saintess! Why are you only coming now?!”
Anne, who had brought the fiancé ahead to the altar, called out with faint reproach.
“Sorry. Has he been waiting long?” Winter asked calmly.
“Quite a while! I thought you were trying to ruin another engagement!”
Winter smiled faintly beneath her veil.
“So this one is rather patient.”
As she pushed the door open, the hinges creaked.
And then—
Her entire body felt crushed by an overwhelming pressure.
“Saintess? What’s wrong?”
Anne asked in concern, but Winter could not answer.
It felt as though icy blades were sweeping over her skin. A killing intent so sharp that even one step forward felt dangerous wrapped around her.
The man standing beneath the stained glass at the altar sensed her presence and slowly rose.
“…You are the Saint?”
He walked toward her.
Winter stood frozen, staring at him with ruby-red eyes.
Blue-black hair. Icy blue eyes. A white uniform embroidered with gold thread and golden epaulets. His face was cold and stern.
“I wanted to meet you.”
As winter sunlight streamed through the stained glass, his face became clear.
He looked as though he belonged to this frozen land more than anyone else.
Winter steadied her breathing.
She recognized him.
The man from the prophecy.
He looked her over and spoke in a tone devoid of warmth.
“And yet… you look more like a clown than a saint.”
Winter’s lips trembled beneath the veil.
The man who killed her in the prophecy had come to her—
as her fiancé.
