"So, if the Sages atop the Tower of Sages hadn’t already locked onto the Tyrant King, I might not have been able to drive her off. She truly is a formidable foe. I’ve clashed with her before, but only briefly. Only when facing her head-on do you feel the terrifying depth of her power."
Fiore held the Tyrant King in high regard. Her strength was undeniably awe-inspiring.
*How can you switch topics so casually after saying something so embarrassing? It makes me look like a fool for blushing!*
Lilithia was applying ointment to Fiore’s wounds.
She doubted this three-gold-coin-per-vial healing potion would do much for him. But since he’d asked her to apply it, she obliged—even though she distinctly remembered this medicine was meant to be taken orally.
"This healing potion is usually taken by mouth," Fiore explained, "but applying it directly works better for surface wounds. It’s not as effective for internal injuries."
He shared his practical experience with the medicine.
"Aren’t you going to check on those girls? They fought alongside you."
"Hmm… I should thank them, yes. But that can wait. Right now, I wanted to see my bunny girl first!"
Lilithia flushed again. What unsettled her most was how easily she understood that feeling.
Come to think of it…
"How did you hear what I said earlier?"
Fiore stiffened. After a pause, he replied, "Perhaps because our hearts are connected."
"*Stare…*"
"Alright, fine. Truth is, that drop of my blood inside you creates a subtle link between us. I only realized it later."
"So that’s why you weren’t surprised when you saw the mark on my stomach earlier. You already knew!" Lilithia’s tone made it impossible for Fiore to tell if she approved or not.
Flustered, Fiore turned away. "I only found out about it afterward."
"I’m not blaming you!" Lilithia gestured for him to turn back. "The ointment isn’t finished yet."
Fiore turned around. In that blood-scented room, an eerie silence settled.
"Were you serious earlier?" Lilithia forced the words out, shame burning her cheeks. "When you said you’d make me fall for you… Does that mean you like me?"
"...Yes."
Nothing to deny. He could be selfish—Lilithia had given him that right.
"*Mmph…*" Such a blunt answer.
Lilithia had no defense against his straightforwardness. But she knew the countermove: meet honesty with honesty.
"If you could use me so easily, why didn’t you? Even if you did… *inappropriate* things to me, I wouldn’t be angry."
"That’s not what I want," Fiore said firmly. "If I, Fiore, only craved physical pleasure, countless options exist in this world. But it has to be you, Lilithia. Only you."
Now she was certain.
Fiore laid his heart bare before her—so resolute, so undeniable.
"I like you," she said softly, lowering his tunic before wrapping her arms around him from behind. "But not as a man and woman. You’re my sun. I chase your light. What I feel is admiration, longing, reverence… deep affection. But not the love you seek."
Lilithia never lied to him.
This was her answer. Fiore knew it. And that was precisely why he felt…
"That’s exactly why I’ll make you fall for me," he said. "From birth until I met you, I never understood what ‘liking’ someone meant. But now I know. This ache in my chest when I see you. The joy in your voice. The thrill of your touch. *This* is liking someone."
Lilithia almost quipped, *"You just haven’t met enough good women,"*—a mature, dismissive line. But recalling the girls around Fiore, she bit her tongue.
She couldn’t sway him. She accepted that.
So the girl moved like a sprite across the room.
"Then how do you plan to make me fall for you, my Sword Saint~?" She winked, mischief dancing in her eyes. "Who knows? Maybe I enjoy rough handling. Pin me down right now, do me a hundred times over, and I might turn into a mindless velvet ball—begging for more like a well-trained pet at your feet, chanting ‘Master Fiore’ all day."
"…"
Lilithia’s bold words left Fiore flustered.
"Blushing already?" She giggled. "That won’t cut it, Fiore~ But… well, you *are* my sun. So whenever you think of a way—go ahead. Try to win me over. Gently or by force. I won’t complain."
Fiore was outmatched. Their emotional arsenals differed: his strength was brutal honesty; hers was absolute truth. Neither would lie to the other.
"You’ll see the bunny outfit next time!" Lilithia tugged his sleeve, exasperated. "Take this off. I’ll measure you for a new set. Returning in rags would disgrace the Sword Saint’s dignity."
She stripped him of his tattered clothes.
*How did such ordinary fabric—even luxury fur lining—survive his battles?* The defense couldn’t be high. Shaking off the thought, she began stitching. As a smith, she mastered more than steel: soft armor, leatherwork, cloth tailoring—all fell under her craft.
Watching Lilithia work, Fiore felt an unprecedented calm. *This* was why he loved her.
She never lied to him. She was endlessly gentle.
She called him her sun, chasing his light. But to him? She was the moon—a soft glow in the darkest night, guiding his path forward.
Her light wasn’t blinding, yet it soothed the loneliest hearts.
"LILITHIA! Forge me a staff already! I’ve asked forever! My old one doesn’t match my rank as an Intermediate Mage!"
Verutan burst through the door—and froze at the sight of Fiore’s bare torso.
***SLAM!***
She slammed the door shut. "Wrong time! I’ll come back later! No rush!"
Footsteps scrambled away.
Fiore jumped. He turned to Lilithia—only to find her grinning mischievously.
"Well? They’ve already misunderstood. Why not make it real?"
"…"
The girl laughed, needle dancing in her hands.
*If Fiore took me like that… it’d be easier. I’d become nobility. Use his resources… A Saint can live well in this world, especially without ambition.*
But Lilithia’s pride forbade it.
*Only if Fiore chose it could I accept freely.*
She knew he never would. That was why he was Fiore. Humans always choose paths that bring them pain…
*As a sensible adult, I should take the easy way out. Be shameless.*
*But I can’t lie to my sun…*
*Especially not about my own heart. That’d be too cruel.*
"Done! Try it on. Then go do whatever you need. Your harem might riot if you’re late. And doesn’t the Empress need her guard?"
Fiore dressed. Lilithia’s craftsmanship was seamless—the repairs looked like intentional embroidery, perfectly matching the garment’s style.
A small, proud smile lifted her lips. The sight made Fiore ache to pull her close.
"See you next time!"
"Don’t forget the bunny outfit. I still haven’t seen it."
"I know! I’ll make it right after you leave! It’ll be waiting!" Lilithia ushered him out the door.
"Oh—and!"
Fiore paused, puzzled.
"That sword you used against the Tyrant King earlier…" Her cheeks flushed. "It looked really cool."
She shut the door before he could reply.
Fiore puffed out his chest, walked away with regal pride.
Anyone seeing him might mistake it for the Sword Saint’s trademark arrogance.
Only after his footsteps faded did Lilithia slide down the door, breathless. Her skin flushed rosy, glowing with feverish warmth.
"*Is… is this a joke?* Does a Saint’s blood really have this effect?" She lifted her skirt, staring at the mark. She could feel it—her body thrumming with restless energy.
*Why didn’t this happen before?*
*Did I… finally grow up?*
She didn’t know. But…
…
Verutan crept to Lilithia’s door, ear pressed to the wood.
She recoiled instantly.
"*Fiore’s still in there?!* I never knew the Sword Saint was a pervert—am *I* next?!"
She glanced down at her own body and backed away slowly, spine chilled.
