At last, everything settled. Bael’s face darkened as he led his knights to clear the blood-soaked corpses. Father Norls rose silently—and vanished without a trace.

Blood stained the church inside and out. The metallic stench was so thick it made one gag. Sherlock staggered to her feet. Morris steadied her, then—deciding it was too awkward—scooped her up in a princess carry again. Moments ago, the church had been nearly empty. Now Bael’s knights watched. Flushed with embarrassment, Sherlock squirmed slightly before curling into his arms like a kitten. “Just this once,” she murmured. “Understand?”

“Alright, alright, my princess,” Morris chuckled, adjusting her gently. He glanced around—no sign of the priest. Turning to a nun nearby: “Excuse me, is there a room where she can rest?”

“Ah, yes! Of course, kind sir!” the nun beamed, rising and gesturing inward. “Please follow me.”

From a distance, Bael’s grip tightened on his sword until the hilt seemed ready to crack. His legendary swordsmanship, his unmatched fame—powerless against these petty villains.

“Princess Sherlock!” Bael called, striding over. He shot Morris a venomous glare. “Come home with me. House Valentyn will give you everything you deserve!”

“No,” Sherlock whispered. “And Master Bael… the blood on you reeks. I don’t like it.”

Bael froze as if shot through the heart. Teeth gritted, he stumbled back two steps—then swung his blade at Morris!

The sword halted inches from Morris’s face. Unmoving. Unyielding. Around him shimmered a sacred domain—untouchable, unbreakable.

“So you’re actually—” Bael’s eyes widened, fury boiling over. “A wizard! I see now!”

“Master Bael, stop!” Sherlock cried, struggling. “Morris is my savior—the one who saved this entire church! Stand down!”

“I had my suspicions, Your Highness,” Bael murmured, slowly sheathing his sword. Morris sensed a faint Arcanum aura rising from him—barely Artificer Tier. “I had my suspicions.”

He turned. One step. Two. Never looked back.

“I’m sorry,” Sherlock said wearily, curling tighter. “Bael and I grew up together. I’ve always seen him as a friend… but lately, he’s grown so arrogant.”

Her eyes lit up—then dimmed with unease. Morris, following the nun, glanced down at the girl in his arms and simply shrugged. *It’s okay if you don’t say more.*

“Please enter, Mr. Morris,” the nun said reverently, opening a surprisingly tidy room. “This guest chamber behind the church is reserved for our most honored guests.”

“And right now,” Morris smiled, “this princess certainly qualifies.” He laid Sherlock gently on the bed. As she slipped from his arms, her fingers brushed his sleeve—a trace of reluctance in her eyes. Then she swiftly rolled into the blanket, turned her back, and faced the wall like a pouting little girl.

“Not at all, Mr. Morris,” the nun bowed earnestly. “The princess is noble, yes—but today’s most honored guest is undoubtedly you.” She smiled at Sherlock. “I’m sure Her Highness won’t mind.”

Morris nodded. The nun added she could be summoned by name, then took her leave with a respectful bow.

Silence filled the room.

Morris sank into the desk chair and let out a long, heavy sigh…

WHAT THE HELL?!?!

He slammed the desk.

He was here to relax—to eat, drink, and enjoy his vacation! Why did *this* have to happen?!

After a deep breath, Morris pinched the bridge of his nose. *Of course.* A robbery like this near the church? Never happened before. The bandits’ coordinated attack confirmed it. He’d just been an unlucky passerby—an “appetizer” for their scheme. Little did they know *that* appetizer ruined everything.

But his identity—*must* stay hidden. One whisper, and Lenna would hunt him across continents. His hard-earned vacation? Gone.

And Uthak’s blood curse…

Morris clutched his head. His life was complicated enough. Now this? Just unnecessary drama.

As a Saint, he couldn’t fully control the 【Destruction】 Catalyst. Buried deep was a shadow: his final moments in his past life—kneeling on an overpass, glass shards everywhere, vision blurred by blood. Dying in despair. Waking here.

Time hadn’t healed it. That memory was branded onto his soul.

The Cataclysm Catalyst dredged up every buried fear, crashing like a tidal wave. When triggers echoed his death, 【Destruction】 seized him. He lost all control.

*That’s* why he’d snapped at the banquet.

But… it made sense.

It was *death*.

The death everyone fears.

The death that steals memories, life, heartbeat, love—*everything*.

How could anyone walk away unscarred?

Morris sighed softly.

Then—Sherlock’s voice, hesitant behind him: “Um… um… Mr. Morris…?”

He smoothed his expression and turned with a smile. “What is it, Your Highness?”

“Um… um…” Sherlock sat up, cheeks flushing, fingers twisting the blanket.

A flicker of joy sparked in Morris’s chest. *Wait—this scene!* He’d seen this plot a hundred times in manga, novels, games. When a girl looked like *that*, only two lines followed:

*“Please… devour me.”*

*“I wish to dedicate myself to you.”*

Either option would be absolutely incredible!!

His heart fluttered. After all these years… was *today* the day…?

“I’m very sorry, Mr. Morris,” Sherlock said, eyes shut, head bowed. She shouted:

“I HAVE A FIANCE!!!”