Hahahahaha.
After hearing the latest at Count Bagge’s manor from other maids, an unrestrained yet melodious laugh spilled from Saintess Aelia’s chamber.
Aelia had worried Lady Mary—even if turned wicked—might not handle that damn Hero. So she’d set up a three-tier challenge: each opponent stronger than the last, the earlier ones meant to wear down his will…
Yet the damn Hero began foolishly—brazenly accepting the invitation with zero disguise, walking straight into a trap at the gate.
Now, whether he resisted Lady Mary’s temptation or not, his reputation was ruined. Even if he denied everything, no one would believe he did *nothing* inside.
A sliver of hope remained… only if the damn Hero truly did nothing, *and* Elise vouched for him publicly.
So while inwardly celebrating, Aelia quietly stashed the champagne, waiting for her maid’s crucial report.
“Your Grace, are you still awake?”
At the soft knock and whisper, Aelia barely tamed her surging excitement, leaving just a hint of urgency: “Come in.”
The golden-haired elf maid entered. As expected—no smile, face grave, shadowed with fatigue. Clearly, the damn Hero had messed up badly.
*(Hahaha…)*
Aelia’s heart laughed wildly, but her face softened with concern. She gently patted Elise’s head and asked, voice weighted: “Elise, how did it go?”
“Exactly as Your Grace foresaw… They’re truly pitiful.”
“I see…”
Aelia’s expression tightened with feigned sorrow—while inwardly cheering.
*(So the damn Hero couldn’t resist temptation and preyed on a widow and orphan. A beast in human’s clothing, indeed!)*
“But thanks to Your Grace, they’re safe now.”
“That’s a relief.”
She forced calm relief onto her face—not the glee bubbling inside. This meant Elise had intervened… and Aelia could harvest nationwide goodwill again. Pure win.
*(No. Not enough.)*
Switching to worried tones, she asked: “And Lord Luke?”
Elise’s brow furrowed, irritation flashing. “Honestly? Not well.”
*(Naturally!)*
Aelia’s joy swelled at Elise’s displeasure.
“What did His Majesty say?”
“Guards were sent, but many ignored orders. Count Bagge and Lady Mary are overwhelmed… Your Grace, could you help them tomorrow?”
Predictable. Lady Mary’s tarnished name, Count Bagge’s “mama’s boy” reputation—tying the Hero to them? Public outrage was inevitable.
But Aelia had planned to step in anyway. Saving the vulnerable fit the Saintess role perfectly—and deflected suspicion from her. That holy-light magic she’d left? Pure branding. To her, being Saintess was influencer work in another world.
“I’ll go now.”
How could a Saintess who cares for her people ignore this overnight? And seeing Elise’s clear concern for Lady Mary over *him*… If Aelia now showed unwavering loyalty to the fallen Hero, public hatred would deepen. A perfect chance to kick a man when he’s down—she wouldn’t miss it.
Elise, knowing speed mattered, didn’t protest.
Soon, mistress and maid reached the manor gates.
The evening’s suffocating crowd had thinned—but thirty stubborn souls remained. Count Bagge and his mother fielded accusations, while behind them, the black-haired Hero could only watch, speechless.
Aelia’s eyes sparkled with hidden delight. She approached, face solemn.
“Saintess Aelia!”
The crowd surged toward her, condemning the Hero’s “unchaste” acceptance.
“I know your doubts,” Aelia said smoothly, “but trust me—Lord Luke acted with reason…”
Her vague, overly forgiving words forced tempers down. *For now.* Too few witnesses tonight. She needed the backlash to explode later, harder.
“But Count Bagge and Lady Mary? Your Grace can’t believe their lies!” some pressed.
No one had recounted facts—only vented. They assumed Aelia knew all via Elise.
She didn’t need details. Her mind filled every gap. She understood their confusion over the pair’s sudden shift.
“This is my fault,” Aelia murmured, head bowed. “Had I acted sooner, they wouldn’t have suffered…”
A seasoned influencer—*ahem*, Saintess—knew: before claiming credit, humble yourself. List your failures. Make them believe delay was *your* shortcoming.
Instantly, voices rose in defense:
“Not your fault, Your Grace!”
“You manage the kingdom’s burdens! That you spare us a thought is a blessing earned over lifetimes!”
Touched, Aelia bowed. “Thank you.”
With the Saintess’s seal of approval, doubts vanished. The crowd dispersed.
“Thank you deeply, Your Grace,” the count and his mother said, bowing with guards.
Once alone at the gate, only three remained.
Elise tactfully retreated, leaving space.
Aelia studied Luke—exhausted, lost, grief-stricken. She bit back a smile, stepping close with gentle tones:
“Lord Luke… I’m sorry you endured this.”
“No—I owe *you* the apology. My failure caused this…” Luke bowed deeply, like a scolded child.
No cure for regret.
“Don’t worry,” Aelia soothed. “Tomorrow will be better.”
By dawn, Dickden Royal City would buzz with tales of his fall. Even groveling wouldn’t save him.
“Mm… I’ll take my leave. Rest well, Your Grace.” Luke trudged off, shoulders slumped.
Back in her chamber, Aelia savored her most satisfying night in weeks.
Dawn broke.
Freshly dressed, heart light with anticipation, she stepped outside—ready to taste the sweet, thrilling fruits of victory.
