Lately, I find myself asking the same questions again and again.

What is good?

What is evil?

And who, exactly, decides that?

They’re questions with no real answer. Yet, the more I tried to ignore them, the more they spiraled endlessly until my head began to throb.

‘No…’

I shook my head urgently, but it was too late—my vision had already begun to crumble. 

A red haze seeped in at the edges. 

Bianca pressed a hand against her aching eyes, but once the erosion began, there was no stopping it.

All she could hope was that she wouldn’t cause too much damage this time.

“Saintess, shall I bring in the next one?”

Unaware of what was happening, her attending priest immediately called out for the next petitioner.

Shuffle, clatter, thud.

Her senses sharpened with the erosion. Even with her eyes closed, Bianca could see, hear, and feel everything with painful clarity.

“Saintess, please grant me your blessing…”

A thin, lifeless voice called to her. Bianca slowly raised her head toward its owner.

At her feet knelt a woman waiting her turn. She was dressed like any commoner, a plain scarf tied over her hair. Ordinary at first glance until one looked closer.

Pale, sickly face. Deep lines. Rough skin. Clothes worn to rags.

Anyone could see she was crushed under the weight of poverty.

What she needed wasn’t a blessing…

“…Even if I bless you, how long would it last?”

“P–pardon?”

The woman’s eyes went wide, startled by Bianca’s sudden change in tone.

Just moments ago, Bianca had showered the previous supplicant with holy power, gently urging him to be well. His injured leg had straightened instantly, and he left weeping with joy.

But now, Bianca’s gaze bore an icy chill.

Her aquamarine eyes, framed by her golden hair, shone with a godlike beauty. Yet there was no trace of the kindness she had shown before. Her expression was cold, nearly cruel.”

‘What did I do wrong…?’

As the silence stretched, the woman’s fear deepened. Then Bianca leaned forward slightly, meeting her eyes, and whispered,

“You should be asking for money.”

Gasps rippled through the crowd. The line of people waiting for blessings turned to stare, their shabby appearances no different from the woman’s.

This was the slums. Here, people waited year-round for this single annual visit from the temple. The only day they could act like human beings was the day the saintess came.

And yet…

Bianca smiled thinly.

“You should be begging, ‘Please, let me escape this filth.’”

“Saintess, that is too—”

“Ejen. You’re not needed right now.”

With a curt dismissal to her paladin, Bianca rose from her seat and approached the woman. All eyes followed her every step, prickling against her skin like insects.

I know I’m supposed to act like a saintess. But with the erosion eating away at me, reason feels distant… and instinct keeps clawing its way out.

Annoyance simmered alongside it. Pride as old as time itself, malice sharp as a blade, pressed for release.

“And what exactly is this?”

Her voice rang low and detached.

“I’ve thought about it. Healing small wounds, saying a few kind words—that’s not difficult. Really, it’s nothing.”

Step.

She moved closer.

“But you—do you really think this is enough? Hm? This one chance, once a year… is this really how you want to use it?”

Step.

She stood before the woman now, lips curling wickedly.

“Do you truly need a blessing? A blessing that won’t last a single day?”

The woman trembled, unable to answer, fear drowning her words. Freedom was a luxury she had never known. Thinking for herself was beyond her reach.

How pathetic.

Bianca clicked her tongue softly, licking her lips.

“Then let me ask differently. What’s worth more to you—the saintess’s blessing, or this?”

A gold coin appeared in her pale hand as if conjured from thin air. With a casual shake, its metallic chime rang out like a spellbound melody.

“Ah…!”

The woman gasped, covering her mouth, but the hunger blazing in her eyes betrayed her.

Now that’s more like it.

Bianca chuckled lightly, leaning closer. The coin jingled.

“Answer me. What do you really want? Blessing… or gold?”

Her soft, lilting voice brushed the woman’s ear.

“Be honest, and this coin is yours.”

The woman swallowed hard, eyes locked on the glittering mercy in Bianca’s palm.

“…Truly? If I just answer honestly…?”

Greed flickered like fire in her watery blue eyes.

Bianca smiled.

“Yes. Tell me honestly.”

Show me your greed.

“Then, this coin is yours.”

The woman held out her hands reverently, trembling.

“…Saintess, I want the gold. Please… show me mercy.”

“Good.”

Bianca’s eyes curved into a radiant smile as she let the coin tumble from her hand.

Clink, clink.

The sound of falling gold was sharper than any prayer.

“As you wish. I grant you mercy.”

No one could look away.

With a radiant smile, the saintess offered gold coins instead of blessings.

Clink, clink.

Golden “mercy” fell from her pale hands.

“S–Saintess…”

The woman sobbed ecstatically, clutching the coins with both hands as though holding salvation itself.

That day, every soul in the slums chose gold over blessings. And the saintess gave it without hesitation.

The story of that unprecedented “blessing” spread through the Empire overnight.

***

「The Golden Mercy — A True Saintess Who Blessed the Slums.」

「Saintess Aids the Poor Where Even the Crown Turns Away!」

「A Golden Blessing — Saintess Rebukes the Empire Itself.」

The newspapers praising her shook the Empire. The temple’s influence was already overwhelming, and this only cast more doubt on the Imperial Family’s competence.

“Damn it! They sing praises of the temple without even knowing what those bastards are plotting! The temple has always interfered with Imperial affairs!”

“If their power grows any further, it will be dangerous!”

The advisors in the Crown Prince’s office were heavy with despair. With the Emperor incapacitated, only he could manage the crisis.

Yet unlike his anxious retainers, the Crown Prince showed no tension at all as he read the paper.

“Your Highness, what should we do?”

He closed the paper gracefully, sapphire eyes gleaming beneath long lashes. His features—sharp nose, perfect lips, platinum hair shimmering like liquid silver—were so breathtakingly beautiful that his advisors momentarily forgot their worries.

“If we can’t break her… and if making her an enemy will only bring trouble…”

“Yes, Your Highness?”

“…Then we simply make her ours.”

“P–pardon?”

The Crown Prince smiled faintly.

“I shall propose to the Saintess.”

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