~Chapter 32~
“They made sure to give him the brainwashing potion this time, right?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
The Emperor kept staring at the closed door. His voice was lower than before.
“The High Priest keeps whining that the brainwashing doesn’t work. If you’ve dragged Aster into this, then do it properly.”
“Yes.”
The Emperor stood up, still not glancing once at Caspar, and walked toward the bed. It was a silent dismissal.
Caspar bowed slightly to the Emperor’s back, then placed his hand on the doorknob. Just as he was about to leave—
“Oh, tomorrow I’ll send a few nobles to the Elio Temple’s confessional.”
Caspar froze.
“They’re of marriageable age, or looking to wed. Originally, I was going to pair you with that priestess, but…”
The Emperor spoke as if it was obvious that if he told Caspar to marry Floria, Caspar would agree without question.
“If we marry that priestess to Count Ridante, then brainwash her into becoming the Saintess, both the Ridante family and the temple will benefit greatly.”
“…”
Caspar’s grip on the doorknob tightened.
“…I’ll take my leave now.”
He yanked the door open and strode quickly out of the palace.
***
The next day, Floria was shocked the moment she arrived at the confessional.
No—shocked wasn’t enough. It was closer to horrified.
“Priestess Floria—no, Saintess Floria. I wish to confess to you.”
Three nobles had come, all at once, asking for her specifically.
“Priestess Floria, this is Viscount Bamor, Baron Narjan’s eldest son Beanel Narjan, and Count Ridante.”
Floria stood frozen, her mouth open. She hadn’t even noticed when Priest Raili appeared at her side, whispering an explanation.
Raili was the priest who, ever since Floria moved into the annex dormitory, had gotten curious and tried to be friendly during mealtimes. One day, Floria had grabbed him for questions, and he’d ended up spilling all kinds of annex-related gossip.
He seemed to assume Floria wouldn’t know any of these nobles—since she had no friends among the other priests.
And unfortunately, he was right.
The only one she vaguely knew was Beanel Narjan, because he would inherit his father’s title in about five years. She recognized him by his brown hair and green eyes.
Floria bowed politely, lifting the hem of her robes slightly.
Wait, a viscount or baron’s son is one thing… but why is a Count here?!
She had expected her return from leave to bring in a flood of believers. She’d even prepared herself, though she had only slept three hours after studying Caspar’s reports all night.
But nobles? She had never imagined that.
As they appeared, the common believers immediately stepped aside, whispering in awe.
This… feels just like when Caspar came to the temple.
She remembered how, back then, the believers had parted the way as Caspar strode confidently toward her.
The difference was that these nobles had at least two knights each as escorts, and they were dressed like they were attending a grand ball.
Floria bowed her head low, until she could see only the tips of their polished shoes. She forced her lips into a smile and raised her head again.
“I’m very sorry, but I’m just a regular priestess. Perhaps you should speak with the High Priest instead—”
“We already spoke with him. He said we could confess to you.”
“….”
Was that true?
Unlike last time with Caspar, the High Priest was nowhere to be seen. Normally, with such a noisy commotion, he would have shown up by now.
But considering she had just spent hours reading reports about his corruption, Floria was almost glad not to see his face.
Still, why did he allow this without asking me?
Where was her say in all this?
“Haha… understood. Please come in one at a time.”
But under the oppressive presence of three nobles and their knights glaring down at her, she had no choice but to force a smile and walk into the confessional.
Inside, she clasped her hands together and sat down, trying to calm her nerves.
The first “believer” was Viscount Bamor.
They couldn’t see each other—just a solid wall between them, with a small round hole at the bottom where their hands could be placed.
Thump, thump, thump—
Her heart raced as she realized she was about to face a noble in confession.
If I say the wrong thing, I’ll be executed.
She was certain of it. Instinct told her this was different from Caspar.
Caspar never looked down on commoners. He joked, teased, and treated her gently, even if he was pushy sometimes.
But these nobles? They despised commoners. Even when believers glanced at them, their knights were ordered to drag those people away.
Through the thin veil of the confessional, Floria could still feel their greedy stares. They looked at her as if they expected her to fulfill their selfish wishes the moment they whispered them.
But if I say the wrong thing, I’ll die right here.
Floria clutched her trembling hands tighter, trying to look like she was praying.
Please, don’t let me say anything stupid… villainess soul, help me.
Yes, her desperate prayer wasn’t to Elio but to the villainess soul inside her.
Time ticked by. Finally, Viscount Bamor pushed his hand through the little hole.
A wrinkled hand covered in heavy jeweled rings appeared in front of her eyes.
“I lost my wife recently. The loneliness is unbearable. I want to take a new wife… or maybe a mistress. But would my late wife forgive me? Should I ask her pardon?”
“….”
Sir… isn’t that something you should decide for yourself?
Floria almost blurted it out—but stopped just in time, covering her mouth.
Stay calm, Floria. Stay calm.
When she thought back to her usual confessions, the villainess soul’s words were always blunt and direct.
So she had to phrase it in a way that wasn’t offensive but still honest.
Don’t be sorry anymore. Just do what you want.
Yes—that sounded safe.
Floria uncovered her mouth and spoke:
“Do whatever you wish, my lord. You’ll do it anyway, won’t you?”
“…What?”
Wait—what?!
Her eyes flew wide open. That wasn’t what she’d meant to say! She quickly slapped her mouth silently, horrified.
But her lips kept moving on their own:
“If you properly said farewell to your late wife, then feeling guilty is worse than not forgiving yourself. But if you weren’t sincere, then reflect on it—and ask for forgiveness.”
She couldn’t stop herself from talking. But… actually, it didn’t sound so bad.
Maybe it even made sense.
Oh. That… actually worked out okay?
Viscount Bamor repeated her words softly, lost in thought.
Then his hand knocked against the wall a few times. He stood abruptly, breathing heavily, his nose snorting like a bull.
“…!”
Floria flinched at the noise, eyes wide, watching the shadow of his movements.
…Or maybe not. Maybe it wasn’t okay at all.
