TNDOBM 28

Chapter 28

It was the holy knight, Miguel, who had been silently guarding her from behind.

“Sir Miguel!”

“Rest assured. As you can see, for the faithful, the bottom is within reach.”

Contrary to her startled cry, the water barely reached above Sir Miguel’s waist. She’d clearly not been able to see the bottom. It seemed that those with holy power truly did not sink.

But would that apply to her as well—someone who wasn’t the real Cecilia, and whose holy power flickered on and off?

As she stared gravely down at the lake—the very pinnacle of unscientific phenomena—a wet hand suddenly came into her view.

“If you’re still not convinced, would you like to see for yourself?”

“Oh, well…”

“I’ll hold onto you. I won’t let go, so please don’t worry.”

Cecilia blankly stared down at the holy knight who had fallen into the beautiful lake.

Clean droplets flowing down his sharp jaw, forearms accentuated by the clinging fabric, a rather resolute look in his eyes as if recalling the previous accident, and finally—that gentle smile rising on his stoic face.

The moment she helplessly grabbed his large, firm hand—

Somewhere, a grinding sound reached her ears. Cecilia swiftly turned her head and scanned the surroundings, but there was only the archbishop, a few of his assisting priests, and Sena and Riri waiting a few steps away.

*’What was that? Did I mishear?’*

Cecilia tilted her head, then dipped her toes into the water. She couldn’t understand the principle, nor did she want to, but she expected to sink up to her waist as well.

But the moment she placed her other foot in, the floor suddenly gave way.

“Ah!”

A firm hand caught her waist as she lost her balance in surprise.

“Are you alright?”

At the gentle voice by her ear, Cecilia finally steadied herself. Even after Miguel’s hand let go, the water only reached about her chest.

“Are you convinced now?”

A smug voice popped out from above, as if it had been waiting. Was it just her guilty conscience that made her think she glimpsed mockery in the gaunt priest’s eyes?

She parted her lips to retort, but his attack came faster.

“However, since your clothes are now wet, you should change quickly.”

“Pardon?”

“Perfect timing. The ceremonial robe alterations are complete.”

His perpetually dry lips twisted meaningfully. Cecilia finally realized that even the suggestion to step into the water had all been part of Kiar’s grand scheme.

“Then let’s go for a fitting.”

Unfortunately, by the time she noticed, everything was already over.

—

*’I’m escaping after all.’*

As she repeated the same worry for the ninety-ninth time, Cecilia finally made her decision.

She had endured kneeling for hours reciting prayers, reading texts that made her eyes feel like they’d pop out, and listening to endless explanations on a beautiful day.

But forced labor of changing ceremonial robes dozens of times?!

It was all the fault of that ceremonial-robe-obsessed archbishop.

What was worse, the robes all looked so similar that she couldn’t tell them apart with her own eyes.

In the end, Cecilia lost her patience and flung the new robe to the floor.

“I really can’t do this anymore!”

If you’re going to make me do physical labor, at least give me food! It was clear they had no idea how much energy changing clothes consumed.

On top of that, the headpiece was so heavy it felt like her neck would snap, and the dragging cape pressed down on her shoulders so much she felt like she’d pass out.

“At this rate, I’ll end up by God’s side before the ceremony even starts!”

When she burst out shouting, the archbishop lightly clicked his tongue and corrected her.

“I’ll be the one going to God first.”

*’What kind of competition is that?!’*

Frustration surged up, but she no longer had the energy to express her emotions.

Kiar glanced down at the unresponsive Cecilia, then let out a deep sigh.

“No choice, then. Since you seem to be losing strength, I’ll bring some holy water.”

What? Holy water?

He’d fill her stomach with nothing but holy water—no different from plain water—and then make her continue this hellish ordeal.

“Oh, no!”

Panicked, Cecilia urgently reached out, but she couldn’t even touch his shadow, let alone the archbishop’s robe.

*Click.*

Cecilia stared blankly at the closed door.

As thick despair settled over the room, even the priests who had been helping her began to quietly slip away.

“I, I forgot to bring the shoes!”

“Th-that’s right! I’ll go get them before His Excellency the Archbishop returns!”

In the end, the only ones left in the room were Cecilia, who had neither the strength nor the will to move, and Miguel, who had to stay by her side.

Normally, she would have squirmed in the awkward silence, but now she had no leisure for that.

Cecilia dragged her heavy body and collapsed haphazardly onto the stiff sofa.

*’Ah, I want to eat something spicy and greasy.’*

Remembering the tteokbokki and braised ribs she used to easily order when stressed, she felt like she might tear up from sorrow.

*’Did I sell a nation in my past life or something?’*

Otherwise, there was no reason she’d end up in such a plight without having done anything wrong.

If only she hadn’t been possessed into this unknown world—whether fake or real—in the first place. If only Cecilia hadn’t been the Saintess. No, if only the Pope hadn’t proposed they conduct the ceremony together!

Over the past week, Cecilia—who had accumulated nothing but anger, not reverence for God—muttered gloomily.

“This isn’t, by any chance, them pushing the ceremony onto me because they don’t want to starve, is it?”

“If you’re referring to His Holiness the Pope, he is also purifying his body.”

“Really? Then why haven’t I seen even a trace of him?”

At her harsh question, Miguel blinked in bewilderment.

True to his role as vice-captain, he quickly regained his composure and answered calmly.

“Currently, He resides in the treatment room, personally bestowing God’s grace upon laypeople in need of healing.”

*’He’s volunteering when he’s barely surviving just by breathing?’*

Cecilia was left speechless.

It was behavior befitting someone praised endlessly for their character.

*’Right. Whining won’t solve anything.’*

If even the Pope—the highest authority in the temple—was going hungry, she, a mere prospective Saintess, couldn’t very well throw a tantrum demanding food.

She reluctantly propped her upper body back up—when a young apprentice priest came looking for Miguel with a bright, beaming face.

“Vice-captain, the meal is ready! Shall I escort you to the dining hall—”

Of all times, it had to be to announce mealtime.

Belatedly sensing the chilled atmosphere, the priest quickly trailed off.

“…Or shall I not?”

“Yes, that’s fine.”

Miguel, who had been watching Cecilia’s reaction along with the priest, stiffly nodded.

“Just go ahead. It is lunchtime, after all.”

“No, I can skip one meal.”

“You’ll lose muscle mass.”

“Pardon?”

“Just go and eat my share too.”

She knew well that pain didn’t halve when shared—it only multiplied.

Cecilia roughly gestured toward the door and flopped back down.

She’d thought he would obediently leave after she said that much.

But instead of fading away, the heavy footsteps grew closer.

In the end, the knight couldn’t shake off his pity and decided to share the suffering.

He bent one knee in front of the sofa and cautiously spoke.

“Shall I carry you to your room?”

“No.”

To be honest, the offer was tempting. She could escape before that demonic archbishop returned with an armload of holy water.

But she was no child who didn’t understand duty. Even if she considered running away hundreds of times, in the end, she would remain in this place.

So she had no choice but to store up what strength she could for now.

As she was settling down into a steady rhythm of breathing—something suddenly touched her hair with a soft thud.

Cecilia snapped her eyelids open. Miguel, who had approached without a sound, was carefully tucking away a strand of her hair that had fallen loose.

When their eyes met—his clear blue and hers—at close range, he flinched and pulled back.

“I apologize. You looked uncomfortable…”

Since he was flustered, she instead became calmer.

“I’ve wanted to say this for a while—you don’t have to be so formal with me. I’m not His Holiness the Pope, and even if I’m called the Saintess, I’m still just a fake.”

“You are not a fake.”

Miguel clenched the hand that had touched her hair and declared firmly.

Cecilia opened and closed her mouth several times before finally closing it.

Receiving that upright gaze—whether it was admiration or faith—she felt as though she had become the most noble person in the world.

“Saintess, to me—”

*BANG!*

The intimate sentence shattered in an instant. The subtle atmosphere scattered in a flash.

“Saintess!”

The one who burst in with a loud cry was none other than Riri. She was supposed to have gone to the laundry room with Sena to handle Cecilia’s wet clothes at the archbishop’s request. Her breathing was ragged, as if she’d rushed over.

Above all, it was the first time the usually well-behaved Riri had shouted so loudly, and the startled Cecilia shot up at once.

“What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

The child who hurried over squeezed between Miguel and Cecilia and clutched tightly at her robe.

“Th-that’s not it—a, a guest has come…”

Before the child could finish, a familiar voice emerged through the wide-open doorway.