Chapter 2
In truth, after escaping the slums, she hadn’t decided exactly where to go. She vaguely thought about becoming a physician, but beyond that, she had no real plan.
The Duchy of Demias was a loyal family that had produced Sword Masters for generations, and thus held considerable influence within the Empire. Even if the temple came after Nar, they would be able to protect her.
Not only that—they were wealthy as well. Whatever troubles the Demias family might suffer because of her were, frankly, none of Nar’s concern.
Oh well. That’s why one should never carelessly incur debts to strangers. How was she supposed to know her “creditor” would turn out to be some ruthless loan shark charging 2000% interest?
“Welcome, sir. Nar’s one-way-to-heaven service is now—no, wait. The ‘Saintess’s Healing Hand’ service is beginning.”
Nar placed her hand over the man’s wounds. Her short, silver hair fluttered faintly, and pure white light poured forth.
The gaping wound closed in an instant. When the radiant glow that filled the area faded away, the man’s expression had softened noticeably, his pain gone.
Nar beamed with satisfaction.
“Now then, how do I wake this man up…?”
‘Cold…’
Duke Manuel Demias stirred, trying to open his eyes, but froze when he sensed someone nearby.
Right before losing consciousness, he had been ambushed. The memory rushed back, and his entire body tensed with alarm.
Then he heard rustling and the voice of a child.
“Whew, my mouth almost twisted from sleeping wrong. Ha, trying to earn a reward but nearly ended up on the road to the afterlife.”
…Wait. Was that really a child? The voice was young, but…
“Mister, are you really sleeping right now? You stole all my newspapers and still have the nerve to sleep?”
The small footsteps shuffled closer, and the child tapped at him. The steps were light—undeniably a child.
Yet the way the kid spoke felt strangely worldly.
Manuel slowly opened his eyes. He discovered he was lying on the street with nothing but a newspaper covering him.
Coughing awkwardly, Manuel sat up. Realizing there was no further danger, he sighed in relief. Before him stood a child, maybe ten years old.
“Little one, did you save me?”
“Wow. So the very first thing you say to the person who saved your life is ‘little one’? Is that how it is—like how people act differently going in and out of the bathroom?”
Manuel blinked, caught off guard.
“Then… child, are you the one who helped me?”
“I saved your life. If I’d just ignored you, you would’ve died. But kind, thoughtful me healed you, so now you’re fine.”
“Haha… thank you.”
Manuel assumed the child was exaggerating, but when he touched his wound, there was no pain.
How? He hastily pulled at his clothes—
“Eek!” Nar shrieked, covering her eyes.
Manuel knew those wounds weren’t ones that could heal overnight. Then he noticed her golden eyes peeking between her fingers. He murmured in shock,
“Those eyes…”
“Are we going to keep talking in the street?”
Though she didn’t show it, Nar was anxious. Dawn had already broken. The temple would soon come searching.
Their method was crude but effective: find the child in the slums who had impossibly radiant golden eyes—the unmistakable mark of one blessed with divine power. The purer the gold, the stronger the power.
Manuel studied her, then rose and extended a hand. His shirt was half torn open, his chest exposed.
“You’re right. I can’t leave my savior lying in the street. Will you come with me? Where we’re going, my identity will be vouched for.”
“Alright.”
Nar gladly took his hand.
The reason Nar followed this stranger was because she guessed he was connected to the Demias family.
The Duchy of Demias… ah, to her, it was just a den of old-fashioned knights. But in truth, it was a family exemplary of knightly virtues—helping the weak, upholding martial honor, loyal to the Empire and the throne. They were respected everywhere.
Still, she hadn’t expected that the man she picked up off the street was none other than Duke Manuel Demias himself.
“Father!”
“Master!”
“Everyone, no need to worry. I’m safe.”
They descended from the carriage before a grand mansion marked with the crest of a black horse rearing on its hind legs—the Demias estate, as expected.
Nar stood proudly beside Manuel, waiting for the family to appear. As soon as word spread of Manuel’s return, someone Nar recognized rushed out—Adrian Demias, whom she had known in her past life as the Duke.
‘Wait… father?’
Hold on. So this man was the duke? That meant…
“Father, who is this child?”
So the man beside her was the real duke. Nar’s golden eyes sparkled. By accident, she had saved the duke himself. Surely that meant an even greater reward.
Seeing that eager look in her eyes, Manuel felt oddly pressured, but introduced her nonetheless:
“This child is my benefactor.”
“What?”
“Let’s talk inside. Neither of us is in the state to discuss this here.”
“Father, what happened to your clothes?”
“Ah, hem! Hem-hem! Cough—ack, hack!”
Nar flinched and choked while faking a cough. Manuel worriedly patted her back.
“My, my, my benefactor must have caught a cold, sleeping outside like that. Come in quickly. By the way, I never asked your name. I am Manuel Demias.”
“Cough! I—I’m Nar.”
He had misunderstood her identity, but Nar didn’t bother correcting him. What bothered her more was Adrian glaring at her so intently. But she ignored him, used to his prickliness from her past life.
To Adrian, the boy his father had brought home was strange. Despite his ragged appearance, he showed no fear or discomfort in their grand estate, as if he belonged.
After washing up, he looked even stranger. Beneath the dirt, his hair was uneven and messy, but undeniably rare silver-white—purer even than the bluish-silver common to the Demias line.
“Thank you for the drink.”
Despite Father claiming he was from the slums, the child’s way of lifting a teacup showed a degree of etiquette, rough around the edges but clearly learned. It wasn’t imperial courtly manners, but temple etiquette.
And those golden eyes—signs of divine power. Adrian scrutinized him sharply.
Just then, Manuel looked startled at something whispered by the butler.
“What? Nar, forgive me—I thought you were a boy, but you’re a girl?”
Nar frowned. So that meant he had given her Adrian’s old clothes, when Jeanne Demias’s would have been more appropriate. But to her, it made no difference. Borrowed clothes were borrowed clothes.
“It’s fine. These are enough.”
“Watch your tone with Father—”
“Adrian. She’s our guest. Show proper courtesy.”
Adrian’s lips twisted, his glare even sharper, but Nar simply sipped her milk tea. Hmm, good tea here.
“On my way back to the mansion last night, I was ambushed.”
“…Master!”
“Father, are you alright? Are you hurt?”
“Don’t make a fuss. I was incapacitated by a fatal wound. This child saved me.”
Eyes that had been cold toward the ragged stranger now shifted. Apparently, they hadn’t believed Manuel’s earlier words.
Nar wondered if Manuel was perhaps not well-respected as the head of the family. That could ruin her plans.
“For even a Sword Master like you to be struck down… was it a powerful foe?”
“It was a mage skilled in throwing blades. He mixed his mana with… something else. A type of power I’d never seen before.”
“If you can describe him, we’ll have our retainers investigate.”
Nar’s hand trembled as she set down her cup, though her expression remained calm. Having lived three lives, she had a good guess who it was—and knew he wasn’t someone ordinary investigation would ever uncover.
There weren’t many bold enough to target both a Sword Master and the Duke of Demias. Nar thought grimly:
This could get me tangled in something troublesome.
Why had that man tried to kill Manuel? Her thoughts grew serious—before she waved them off. Did it matter? The world was going to end anyway. Until then, all she needed was to live well and comfortably.
“Is this child a cleric?”
“No. I’m a Saintess.”
“What?”
Bored with how slowly things were progressing, Nar dropped her bombshell.
“The temple will make the official announcement soon. A revelation has been given.”
“That’s impossible. A Saintess? You mean to say you are the Saintess?”
“Yes.”
“There hasn’t been a Saintess in fifty years! Why would one be wandering alone in such a place—wait. Did you run away from the temple?”
“Not exactly. But it’s true I don’t want to go back. That place is full of blockheads, deaf ears, and greedy fools.”
“…”
“I don’t want anything to do with them.”
As Nar shuddered in disgust, the shock of her claim finally gave way to clarity among her audience. No wonder her way of speaking was so… odd. Their expressions turned doubtful.
“How will you prove it?”
“Adrian!”
“But Father, her claim is just that—a claim. Even if the temple makes an announcement, how do we prove it’s her?”
“He’s right,” Nar replied calmly. She already knew Adrian was nitpicky, even as a child. But he was less intimidating in his youth, almost naive.
“So that’s why I want you to protect me, sir.”
“What?”
“I’m your benefactor, aren’t I?”
Nar smiled radiantly as she looked around.
“I don’t want to go to the temple, and you owe me a debt. Works out perfectly, doesn’t it? I’ll be in your care from now on.”
And just like that, Nar half-forced her way into becoming a guest of the Demias family.
