“Precisely, Miss Elise. Would you accompany me to pay respects to His Majesty?”
Luke nodded solemnly.
“No problem.”
For Elise—maid by title yet wielder of the Elven race’s national treasure—power struggles were neither distant nor unfamiliar. She simply disliked dwelling on them. That didn’t mean she was clueless.
She grasped Luke’s intent in a moment. But rather than tangled politics, she cared only whether this would help the victims.
Besides, someone as noble and compassionate as Her Saintess Highness Aelia must have foreseen this—that’s why she sent her.
No time like the present. They promptly requested an audience with the king.
Inside the grand hall:
“My Lord, your thoughts on this matter?”
“Your Majesty, this subject believes the Hero has shown remarkable tact.”
Truth was, the king was troubled by the Marquis’s affair and had summoned the Prime Minister privately.
They’d expected Luke to act rashly and leave chaos behind. Instead, he reported first—earning their immediate goodwill.
Still, they disagreed on granting his request.
To the king, letting nobles indulge in minor transgressions beyond court intrigue actually strengthened royal control. He didn’t view such “hobbies” as grave sins—he had similar tastes involving the Duchess of… ahem.
Ultimately, he hoped Luke would drop it. He’d then quietly urge the Marquis’s household to tone things down and source supplies abroad.
“Your Majesty, I advise we agree.”
“Why?”
“Because accompanying him is Lady Elise—personal maid to Her Saintess Highness.”
The king’s expression wavered slightly.
The Messiah Kingdom was but a speck among nations; the Church of Holy Light commanded deference even from the Three Great Nations. A single Archbishop rivaled the king.
Though treated like a princess, Aelia—as a candidate among the Seven Saintesses—held status surpassing any Archbishop. She was the undisputed authority of the Southern Realm.
“Lady Elise has never meddled in politics. This feels… suspicious,” the king mused, still reluctant.
Yet it was true: even Elise, of extraordinary standing, had remained wholly uninvolved in state affairs since arriving. They were a rare breath of integrity among saintly figures.
Now, with the Hero’s arrival, her sudden exception naturally raised doubts.
“But records show Saintess Aelia aided the previous two incidents,” the Prime Minister noted. The royal intelligence network prioritized capital nobility gossip—even during rebellion, only one-tenth of agents operated outside the city.
“Perhaps they’re merely borrowing the Saintess’s authority.”
Though biased, the king listened as the Prime Minister offered counsel:
“Send someone with them. If Her Saintess Highness intervenes, we gain the Church’s favor. If not, we still earn goodwill from the Hero and Lady Elise. A win either way?”
Honestly, a Hero ranked #250 was beneath the Messiah Kingdom’s notice.
But with Aelia as their sole asset, the Heroic Party’s formation relied entirely on the Church.
So “favoring the Hero” was really appeasing the Church—a subtle reminder of the kingdom’s fragile position.
The king hadn’t forgotten that. Yield to the Church and Aelia? Understandable. Bow to *Luke*? Unthinkable.
“Fine. If she doesn’t intervene, frame it as a favor to the Hero regarding the Marquis. But the aftermath remains ours to handle,” the king declared.
Sensing his intent—to curb the Hero’s boldness while preserving the enterprise to control nobles—the Prime Minister swiftly proposed a replacement candidate and vowed to destroy all “goods” to protect royal dignity.
*What if the Hero blocks the destruction?*
You misunderstand. Most do-gooders care only briefly. They don’t want beneficiaries lingering in their lives or tracking their futures.
After ten days? Disposal becomes *their* decision.
All hinged on Saintess Aelia staying out of it.
Meanwhile, as Luke and Elise headed to the throne room, a certain invisible pink-haired beauty slipped from the Marquis’s manor with quiet satisfaction.
“Perfect. Everything’s set.”
Having chosen to help—even halfway—Aelia refused to waste this publicity goldmine.
Her third refinement transformed the effect: first, a translucent vision of her praying would shimmer into view, *then* holy light would erupt.
Intensity escalated from lighting a single room to a radiance spanning the horizon. All would see *she*—the magnificent, flawless Saintess Aelia—was the true catalyst, not some damn Hero.
Aftermath? Heh. None of her concern.
With a triumphant tilt of her cute nose, she strutted away.
That night, as foretold, a pillar of holy light pierced the capital’s sky.
Citizens cried “divine revelation!” Others trembled before the Church’s overwhelming might, vowing never to defy its will.
A certain mind-reader simply chuckled.
“Your Saintess Highness! All involved were arrested overnight!”
The next morning, hearing her Elven maid’s report, the pink-haired Saintess froze.
*What?!*
King?! With your loyal-looking brows, how could you betray your own class?! Imprison your loyalists?! Do you even *know* how to rule?! Sucking up to the Hero doesn’t require *this*?!
Aelia nearly fumed enough to overthrow him herself—if he weren’t her benefactor.
Her original plan? Similar outcome—but *only* if her magic made him selfless, or her counsel sparked a miracle.
Now? It screamed the Hero’s influence rivaled *her* magic and renown. How could she not rage?
Thankfully, her acting was flawless. Though seething inside, her face shifted seamlessly: relief first, then a trace of worry, as if recalling something tender.
“That’s… good. But those who suffered… their road ahead will be hard.”
*Not ruined yet.* These victims were a ticking bomb. Even a foolish king wouldn’t ignore them…
“Worry not, Your Saintess Highness! Marquis Hysteron will pay. His Majesty will fine the guilty nobles for compensation. The Archbishop will send Novice Saintesses for counseling… All thanks to *you*, Saintess Aelia!”
Aelia’s composure shattered.
*(Damn it all!)*
