If the Hero’s loyalty couldn’t be secured for the Holy See—if he refused to act under the Church’s command—answering to that old Pope alone would be trouble enough.

*You Lindeberg bitch. Just wait. Trying to lure the Hero into your noble faction? Not that easily!*

Silphiel’s bright eyes flashed—a glare that looked murderous to Gao Ying. But such raw hostility was unlike the professional actress he knew. Had she lost her composure?

And Gao Ying sensed it: her malice was aimed at Lelia.

*Convenient.* He’d just been scheming how to turn Silphiel against her.

Lelia, facing Silphiel’s killing intent, nearly jumped out of her skin. *Did she uncover my identity as a Heretic?!* Why stare at me like I’m already condemned? I only exchanged two words with this honored guest! Even my fleeting dark thoughts weren’t enough to warrant burning at the stake!

After two hasty apologies, Lelia fled like a startled rabbit.

Silphiel watched her retreat, eyes sharp as blades. *Time to fabricate a ‘reason’ to frame her. How about… an ‘Heretic’ assassin plotting to murder the Hero?*

—

After parting with Lelia, twilight faded into dusk. Gao Ying and Silphiel returned to the Holy See’s headquarters atop the sacred mountain.

A modest dinner awaited them inside the Church—just a prelude to the grand Hero Welcoming Banquet three days later. Only Gao Ying, the Pope, the Holy Maiden, and a few venerable archbishops attended.

By the Pope’s deliberate arrangement, Gao Ying’s seat was placed close to Silphiel’s. He understood the old man’s intent and maintained a politely reserved demeanor throughout the meal.

With few guests, the mood stayed light. The archbishops dropped heavy hints that "the Holy Maiden is the Hero’s destined bride," playing eager matchmakers. Gao Ying feigned surprise and flustered awkwardness.

His acting improved by the day. The old men chuckled, none the wiser—except Silphiel, the seasoned performer.

A flicker of irritation stirred in her. *Could I really lose to that Lindeberg wretch? That vulgar woman luring the Hero with her… depravity?* For Silphiel, who’d never tasted defeat, the thought was a deep, unspoken shame.

But she wasn’t one to surrender. The Hero *would* become her loyal dog. She was certain.

Later, she’d contact her closest friend. Time to forge evidence against that bitch and send her to the pyre.

"Hero," the Pope stroked his beard, thoughtful. "For now, we ask you to stay within the Church grounds. Soon, we’ll prepare a proper residence and guards for you." His eyes narrowed slightly. "After your tour today… what are your impressions of our world?"

*Testing my stance?*

Gao Ying couldn’t possibly echo his past self’s naive vow to "save the world." It’d ring false—and raise suspicion.

Instead, he met the Pope’s gaze earnestly. "To save this world, one must first understand it. I’d like to visit the library tonight. Study its histories."

"And if suitable mentors are available," he added, "I wish to begin training immediately. To grow stronger, as swiftly as possible."

These words came from his core. In his past life, Silphiel’s manipulation had blinded him. He’d seen only what the Holy See and she wanted him to see. Then the Demon Race invaded en masse, and five years of endless battle stole any chance to truly know this world.

Deeper knowledge was key to his revenge. To outmaneuver the companions who’d betrayed him.

*"The Hero fights monsters; the Holy Maiden handles the rest."*

That had been Silphiel’s "puppy-training scheme" for him last life. He’d bitten whoever she pointed at—even, he now suspected, the wrong targets. This time, he’d choose his own prey.

His muscle memory remained. His combat instincts, intact. Only his base attributes needed rebuilding. Regaining strength was revenge’s foundation.

Silphiel found no flaw in his sincerity. The Pope agreed readily.

"A Hero’s mentor must be beyond reproach in both virtue and power. Selection requires care. But since you’re eager…" The Pope smiled. "Silphiel will guide you these next days. The fundamentals are universal. No harm in that."

Gao Ying nearly cursed aloud. *I should’ve held my tongue.*

Training under Silphiel? He could barely endure a single day of her false smiles while choking down his hatred. Constant proximity might shatter his control.

But the Pope’s word was law. No objection was possible.

*Of course they’re allies. Why would the old man play matchmaker for anyone but her?*

Proximity breeds affection. Even if the Hero disliked Silphiel at first glance, time would soften his resistance. Right?

Gao Ying thanked the Pope effusively. The old man chuckled warmly, shooting Silphiel an encouraging glance.

*The stage is set. Fail to make progress now, and you’ll have no excuse.*

Silphiel read the message clearly.

But "time" wasn’t enough for her. That the Hero hadn’t fallen instantly for her beauty was already a crushing failure.

She glanced at Gao Ying—and found him watching her. His gaze held something… unsettling.

Deep in his eyes lurked a shadow that made her blood run cold, as if she’d glimpsed an abyss.

She looked away, forcing calm. Her chest heaved; cold sweat slicked her back.

*What was that look?* Fleeting, but unmistakable. Not affection. *Hatred. Blood-deep hatred.*

Gao Ying quelled the fire in his chest, his expression smoothing into neutrality.

The days ahead would demand smiles. Patience. Even feigning delight when Silphiel engineered "accidental" touches.

The thought revolted him. Yet a twisted satisfaction coiled beneath the nausea.

*Gao Ying. Endure.*

For revenge, he’d swallow her lies. Every sweet word. Every false caress. All to ensure she’d *choose her own fate* later.

So he beamed with forced delight at the Pope’s "thoughtful" arrangement. The old man’s smile widened, as if already seeing the Hero leashed to the Holy See.

Amid clinking glasses, the banquet drew to a close.

Only Silphiel lingered in thought as night fell over Borezzo. Under a deep-blue sky scattered with stars, she escorted Gao Ying to the Church library. Magic gems bathed the halls in daylight-bright radiance.

Silphiel despised books. Stacks of parchment made her drowsy. Her passion was music—she played the flute and piano exquisitely. A Holy Maiden must shine in all things, after all. Even mandatory hobbies.

While Gao Ying buried himself in archives, Silphiel’s eyelids grew heavy. She yawned, slumped onto an empty table, and soon drifted off.

Her golden hair spilled like liquid across the wood. Soft murmurs escaped her lips—dream-words, sweet and low.

Gao Ying’s gaze flickered over her. With a quiet sigh, he shrugged off his coat and draped it gently over Silphiel’s shoulders.

*Play the part a while longer. Revenge… can wait.*