Taming the Evil Saintess

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The golden sunlight streamed through the stained glass of the cathedral.

In the solemn atmosphere, countless worshippers gathered, all unable to hide their eager anticipation for the miracle they were about to witness.

As the clock struck, a faithful follower stepped out, cradling a newborn in their arms.

In the very center of the cathedral, on a chair adorned with a royal scepter, sat a girl.

With her silvery-white hair and brilliant green eyes tinged with gold, the girl, wearing a pure white holy garment, captured the attention of everyone around her.

“….”

A scene so beautiful it seemed divine.

As I stood back, hand resting on my sword hilt, I couldn’t help but think it was as if a goddess had descended upon the world.

Of course, the girl was not a goddess.

Yet, in this world, she was a human infinitely close to divinity.

“Saint Lady!”

“Ophelia! Please perform the miracle…!”

“Oooooh!”

As the worshipper with the baby called out with awe-filled eyes, voices erupted in response. The girl, named Ophelia Meredein, descended the stairs slowly, wearing a gentle smile. Once in front of the crowd, she tenderly embraced the child handed to her and whispered softly.

Just that was enough for the divine to answer. A golden light began to pour down from the ceiling. One of the fundamental powers of this world, Divine Power. The favor of the gods upon their cherished saint etched itself onto the newborn’s body.

Anyone belonging to this world and this church had to undergo a blessing ritual immediately after birth.

There was something similar in Earth, I suppose.

“Miracle! It’s a miracle!”

“Ahhh! Divine Lady, Saint Lady, please lead us to paradise!”

“Forgive our sins!!”

Witnessing the miracle with their own eyes, the faithful each offered a word of praise.

They continued to extol the miracle of the gods and the beautiful form of the saint who gave rise to it.

Honestly, it felt a bit excessive.

“….”

How long had it been?

Finally, the girl, having completed the blessing ritual, closed one eye and smiled faintly. The worshippers sighed with admiration, spellbound by the saint’s smile.

As the congregation began to disperse one by one, silence enveloped the cathedral. Ophelia turned her body. After a moment of closing her eyes, she let out a small sigh.

And as if that were a signal, the calm atmosphere that surrounded her was abruptly shattered.

“Damn.”

What slipped from the saint’s lovely lips was, indeed, a curse. When Ophelia opened her eyes, her expression resembled someone who had just bitten down on a bug, at least ten.

“I can’t even stand this.”

Who would think of this girl as a saint? It was a shocking reversal.

The once mystical and benevolent aura of the saint vanished entirely; she now resembled a wicked and meticulous villain.

“Chattering, chattering, chattering. This is just the worst. Why on earth does the saint have to perform blessing rituals? Those lowly people are the same. Mass should be held at the local church, why on earth are we here in the archdiocese doing this ridiculous thing, damn it.”

“…Don’t they need a place to lean on as well?”

“Then what about me? Who do I lean on?”

“God, I suppose.”

“Because I’m a saint?”

“Yes.”

Thump.

It was the sound of Ophelia kicking my shins.

It didn’t hurt, but it carried enough anger to make her point clear.

“Elliot.”

Ophelia spoke.

Elliot.

That was my name in this world.

“Don’t you think you ought to be on my side? You’re my knight, after all?”

“I’m simply stating the facts. And I am not your knight but the knight of God.”

“…You little bug.”

After giving me a glare with her crescent-moon eyes, Ophelia let out a soft sigh and walked past me.

“What’s the point? Talking to this idiot is just a waste of my breath.”

The identity of Saint Ophelia was, thus, closer to that of a villainess.

When one hears “saint” in the world I originally lived in, they envision a benevolent and understanding woman. In that sense, Ophelia directly contradicted my perceptions.

I couldn’t help but wonder why the gods granted such incredible power to a woman with such a dreadful personality.

If they’re giving power, they might as well give it to me.

“I’ll tell you about the afternoon schedule.”

I hurriedly followed behind her.

“After lunch, the archbishop will….”

“I’m not going.”

“He requests your presence.”

“Have that old man come directly.”

With that remark, I let out a sigh.

No matter how outstanding the saint may be, is it really possible to demand an archbishop around like that?

Plus, calling him an old man? If I dared to say something that brazen, I wouldn’t just lose my head.

“This is tiresome too….”

I muttered quietly so Ophelia wouldn’t hear.

It’s been six years since I was dragged into this world.

Two years since I became a Knight of the Saint.

As of now, I was scraping by as the personal knight of Saint Ophelia… no, wicked Ophelia.

*

This all started with a game.

“Sword & Magic Chronicle.”

It wasn’t a particularly famous game. In fact, it was quite obscure. However, for a minor game, it managed to gain a decent level of popularity.

The genre was a simple simulation RPG. It revolved around the protagonist hero gathering companions to form a party and strategizing to defeat the Demon King, a classic good-versus-evil tale.

I had bought the game for a price cheaper than a Big Mac during the spring sale; it struck just the right chord with my preferences.

It wasn’t a fantastic game.

The story was mediocre, and the settings were filled with clichés.

Yet, the depth of strategy was impressive, and the volume was quite generous for its price, with plenty of aspects to delve into. Although the game had its flaws, it turned out to be more fun than a lot of triple-A titles when actually played.

One could say it had the taste of fermented soy bean paste.

I think I played it non-stop for over a month.

And finally, after slaying the Demon King and completing 100% of the game, I was dragged into this world.

Instead of the protagonist hero, I found myself an unheard-of commoner mercenary.

Thrown alone into the world of the game, I was desperate to survive.

Joining a mercenary group was akin to signing a slavery contract. If I tried to escape, it meant execution; the pay was meager compared to the hardships, and I was treated like less than human. I had no choice but to put my life on the line time and time again.

After nearly four years of mercenary life, all my superiors either died or retired, and I became the mercenary captain.

On that day, I retired from the mercenary life as well.

And I took refuge in the cathedral.

There wasn’t really a particular reason.

I found myself reincarnated about ten years before the main story of the game began.

The Demon King had yet to appear, and the world was relatively peaceful. However, soon the Demon King’s army would begin to stir, ushering in chaos across the continent.

I never thought of confronting the Demon King directly. I had learned painfully over the past four years that I wasn’t the protagonist.

So, I rummaged through my knowledge of the game. The safest and most secure position—the so-called iron rice bowl—was the Knight of the Saint.

Anyone with skill and faith could become a Saint Knight. For a lowly commoner like me, it was a perfect fit.

Fortunately, the bishop of the Cathedral acknowledged my skills, far beyond what my status warranted, and granted me an extraordinary position.

As the personal knight of Saint Ophelia.

Ophelia Meredein.

She was a character that appeared in the game. The healer of the hero party and a must-have companion. Even in the game, she stood as the only pure healer, and despite her low aptitude for swordsmanship and magic, she always managed to exceed expectations in any combination, a true powerhouse character.

On top of her impressive specs, she was adorned with a pretty illustration and voice. Naturally, she was the character with the highest selection rate in the game.

I became her personal knight.

At first, I celebrated. Finally, my chance had come. After four years of grueling labor, I was being recompensed.

However, the moment I faced her, I realized I had been misunderstanding everything.

“You, a common bug, are my escort?”

That was her first line.

“Hmph. You look so pathetic, I’d think you’re easy to trample.”

Smack.

Ophelia slowly approached me and slapped my face.

The absurd reason being that I dared not lower my head in front of her.

Ophelia kicked my shins and forced me to kneel, thrusting her bare foot out.

“Kneel and obey. Or would you like to lick my foot? Remember, you’re my dog. No, not even as low as a mere dog.”

That memory still enrages me when I think about it.

In the game, Ophelia’s image was, quite literally, that of a saint.

Benevolent, kind, with a soft-spoken mannerism—most notably beautiful. She embodied everything expected of a saint.

But the Ophelia I faced was…

“What are you looking at?”

“….”

My thoughts were interrupted as Ophelia locked eyes with me. Puzzled by my gaze, she tilted her head, then raised her eyebrows, grinning.

“Ah! Are you perhaps falling for me?”

“What?”

What nonsensical words were those? As I turned to look up, I found Ophelia wearing a smirk on her lips.

“You don’t need to deny it. No matter how much of a wuss you are, it’s only natural you’d fall for my beautiful face, right?”

“….”

“That won’t do. With so many suitors vying for my affection, how would this sinful saint confess to God if your name were to make it onto that list?”

Despite her words, the corners of her mouth twitched.

“Ah! You’re not thinking of tackling me here in my room, are you? If you did, I’d be sure to stick a knife into your pudgy belly, so be prepared.”

Her flippant demeanor and lack of faith were staggering.

Is this truly the same saint I saw in the game?

I sighed deeply.

“What’s with that sigh!”

“Just… I’m starting to worry about the fate of the world.”

“What?!”

Ophelia shouted in disbelief as I ignored her.

I was beginning to understand.

The fact that the bishop assigned me, a mere common mercenary, to be Ophelia’s personal knight wasn’t out of recognition of my talent. It was simply that there wasn’t a single knight willing to deal with Ophelia’s troublesome character.

In simpler terms, it was a case of we fit together.

‘This is maddening.’

It had been a year and a half since I became Ophelia’s personal knight.

From our first meeting until now, she had been ceaselessly tormenting me. Almost daily, I endured her insults, and during sword training, she would smack me in the back of the head with a wooden sword, or toss food in my face complaining about its taste. One day, she even put bugs in my food, laughing as she called it a tragedy of fratricide.

This abuse didn’t just target me; it extended to other attendants too. In the year and a half I spent escorting her, the number of attendants who quit exceeded double digits.

It would be a lie to say I didn’t feel disgusted.

Being belittled by someone younger than me was truly infuriating. I considered running away multiple times.

The archbishop and the other knights thought I wouldn’t last a month, but I endured.

The reason, of course, was that Ophelia was a pivotal character in this game.

In other words…

Knock, knock, knock.

Came the sound at Ophelia’s door.

“Who is it?”

“It’s me. I told you, the archbishop wants to see you this afternoon.”

Even without me going to fetch her, it seemed he’d sensed that he would be turned away.

“Ah, that old man’s bothering me again? Tell him to go away. Don’t open the door.”

“That’s not possible.”

“Hey!”

No matter how much she was a saint, the archbishop was my direct superior.

As I opened the door, I found an old man with a head full of white hair leaning on a cane. His hands trembled as he gripped it.

Ophelia, without a hint of empathy for the old man struggling to come, shot him a disgusted look the moment she saw him.

“Thank you for your trouble, Bishop Belwin. I should have come to get you myself.”

“No, my dear. You have your responsibilities too. It’s your priority to escort the saint.”

“Hmph.”

Ophelia turned lazily and flopped down onto her bed.

The bishop, Belwin, slowly entered the room and sat down opposite the table.

“Ophelia.”

Though he called her by her name, she didn’t respond.

Belwin sighed softly, shaking his head. I leaned against the wall, observing his expression. Belwin’s usual bright demeanor appeared unusually dark today.

“Is something wrong?”

As I inquired, Belwin couldn’t hide his uncomfortable demeanor.

He fidgeted with the grip of his cane for a while before finally speaking up.

“Ophelia, you should listen. This is important for you too.”

“Shut up.”

Came her cold reply.

Belwin continued undeterred.

“I have news from the northern diocese.”

The north, huh…

Could it be?

“…The Demon King has resurrected.”

“What?”

At that, Ophelia bolted upright from her lying position.

Upon hearing those words, my expression hardened.

The time had finally come.