The Priest Wants to Retire

〈 Chapter 3 〉 Saintess. This shouldn’t be happening. (2)

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Peck Peck (Bird Kiss).

A fresh kiss, just like little birds pecking with their beaks—only a light brush of lips.

I don’t know who came up with it, but it’s a pretty clever name.

Her soft, cherry blossom-pink lips constantly pecking at my skin looked just like a newly hatched bird.

But instead of a cute parakeet, it felt more like a crow pecking at a corpse. At least, that’s how it appeared to me at that moment.

“Oh my divine one. I am your finger. Just a mere child…”

Peck.

“All, under your authority… I shall bring peace to everything in this land…”

Peck.

“That glory is, ugh, all…”

Peck.

“Dedicated to you… huff, Saintess! Can you just stay still for a moment!”

Peck.

I’m going crazy.

Every time I tried to utter the healing prayer, that naughty wave of sensations constantly disrupted my consciousness.

A mysterious, sensual, yet heart-tugging awkward kiss. Every single movement felt like a divine trick aimed at completely melting away my pathetic rationality, wrapped in a decadent beauty that seemed otherworldly.

Her silken white hair, tangled messily over my body, still retained its brilliant shine without losing even a grain of it, while her wicked weight pressing down on my thigh kept teasing the desire within me, awakening the scattered sensations of my body over and over.

It felt like someone was forcibly excavating the vein of lust I had buried deep within my thoughts, a breathtaking lightness. If I hadn’t undergone training to suppress my emotions during my time as a priest, there’s no way I could’ve endured this trial of temptation.

“Saintess!”

In a hurry to erase the illicit thoughts crowding my mind, I hastily sat up.

Then, like a child caught sneaking snacks by their parents, I caught a glimpse of the Saintess quickly hiding her crimson hands, stained with a terrible scar, behind her back while casting furtive glances at me.

I knew well what her sullen demeanor and dissatisfied gaze implied.

It meant, “If you don’t lower your stature so I can kiss you, then I won’t let you heal my hand.”

I’m losing my mind. For real.

“Saintess. Didn’t we make a pact? This time, I won’t mind if you kiss anywhere on my body aside from my lips, so please cooperate with healing my hands.”

“…”

“But it’s not right for you to keep bringing your lips closer continuously, not giving me any time to finish the prayer! If this keeps up, how can I concentrate on the prayer? If I delay healing your hand and leave an irreversible scar, what will you do then?!”

“…”

My strength of will, already strained, was dwindling as I was confronted by the bizarre sensations swirling around.

Throb.

It ached.

If word got out that the precious Saintess had scars on her body, the punishment I would receive would definitely exceed my wildest imagination.

So, I needed to quickly heal the scars on her hands and obliterate any evidence left in this room.

Even if I didn’t do anything and the Saintess self-harmed on her own, there was no way the other believers would take it at face value. Even if they did, the crime of allowing the Saintess to self-harm would lead all the believers to tear me limb from limb, so nothing would change in the end.

“I’m going to… peck….”

“Hah…”

Whether she knew my anxious feelings or not, the Saintess rushed at me like a bulldozer, only to fulfill her own desires. Annoyed, a nightmarish phrase from my childhood suddenly popped into my mind.

“Did you meet me for this?”

Yeah, I guess this is how it feels.

In my previous life, I gained a bit of understanding of the feminine heart, which couldn’t even fathom a shard of a fragment. However, the situation at the root of this thought hasn’t changed, so it offers little comfort.

More than that, I couldn’t comprehend at all why she was so fixated on something as trivial as my lips.

The Saintess had often shown her unreasonable stubbornness, but those situations had usually been sorted within the boundaries I had set. This was the first time I had ever witnessed her unwavering will so boldly expressed.

Could it be that her refusal to act like an adult awakened a child-like instinct to want it even more? I seriously hope that’s not the case.

“Saintess. That’s enough now… Please just give me your hand…”

“I’m going to… peck….”

The Saintess, seemingly intimidated by my resolute attitude, took a hesitant step back. Even amidst this, she showed no willingness to relent.

Anyone watching would think I was trying to snatch her precious item. It was my precious meal time that I was losing.

Ah, damn. I guess I’ll have to settle for just one potato for breakfast again. Living is driving me crazy.

Tick-tock. Turning my gaze from my agitated heart to the still regular melody of my wristwatch. 9:30. Breakfast time had ended long ago; I couldn’t afford to waste any more time.

It’s unavoidable. In that case, I had to resort to my last resort.

“Welna. We made a promise.”

“…!”

In normal circumstances, a Guardian Priest, who should risk his life to protect the Saint’s safety and authority, speaking informally or even claiming the lowly title of ‘brother’—that would be a grave sin punishable by immediate removal of rank and execution for such a heinous act.

But for me, the title “brother” was a so-called magical word that carried enough merit to willingly endure the demerits mentioned earlier.

“A promise must be kept unless there are unavoidable circumstances. Since I let you do what you wanted, then this time, you should also do what I want. I hope you’ll quietly let me heal your hand.”

“Aah…”

“I don’t like it when Welna breaks promises.”

“Ah, aah…! Aahhh!”

For the first time, her feelings shifted in response to my words and actions.

That meant my words as ‘brother’ held significant weight for her.

She kept glancing back and forth between her hurt hand and my face, seemingly checking for my reaction, and her pitiful movements were stirring my protective instincts, but the negative ions stemming from the annoyance of my precious meal time being wasted easily overshadowed those feelings.

Swish.

“…Alright.”

It should’ve been that way from the beginning.

Though she sounded somewhat hesitant, the Saintess finally offered me the injured hand.

After that, everything went smoothly. I prayed and performed the healing. This time, there were no interruptions. The Saintess’s wound healed cleanly, and the traces of blood spread around were also tidied up, so I could consider this concluded without any aftermath.

Some might say to me,

“If you had just used the brother card from the start, wouldn’t everything have gone smoothly till now?”

That’s a valid question. In fact, I think the same.

But—

At this age, playing the brother card with a girl nearly a decade younger than me feels like something a freeloader or even a male prostitute would do, so my mental resistance is no joke.

It’s somewhat akin to how I feel when looking at overly pretentious acquaintances or those Japanese idols who speak in the third person.

It feels like I’m playing house with a perfectly functioning adult whose mental age is about five years old. It’s a peculiar sensation that you might not fully comprehend unless you experience it directly.

Anyway, this marked a significant crisis that I might consider the biggest of my current life through without harm.

The kiss incident that happened today was more like a small happening resulting from picking the wrong Fairy Tale Book. So as long as I pay attention to vetting the Fairy Tale Books next time, such accidents like today shouldn’t occur again.

Most importantly, kids get bored with things quickly. By tomorrow, this incident will likely be erased from the Saintess’s mind.

That blissful thought of mine shattered into a million pieces just a few days later.

“Saintess… It’s breakfast time…”

“I’m going to…”

Lord.

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