Chapter 7
Going with the Hero was now a foregone conclusion.
Whenever members of the Erotic Cult saw me, they congratulated me on the news.
I gave them an awkward smile and thanked them.
Not that I was grateful at all.
“So you’ll really get to meet the Hero, Saintess?”
Makarov, who had been listening beside me, said enviously.
I answered while wearing the mask of a dutiful saintess.
“Yes, it is an honor far beyond what I deserve.”
The blond boy’s eyes sparkled as he let his imagination run wild.
“The Hero must be incredibly wonderful, right? Ah, I wish I could see him too!”
Makarov seemed to have built up quite a fantasy about the famous Hero.
A flicker of worry rose in me: What if he was disappointed?
The gap between fantasy and reality could be mercilessly cruel.
“He might not be anything like the rumors.”
So I deliberately voiced a pessimistic view.
But the boy showed no sign of taking my words to heart.
Instead, he looked at me as if I were talking nonsense.
“Come on, he’s the Hero!”
“It’s fine to have high hopes, but you shouldn’t get too carried away, Believer Makarov.”
Even after my heartfelt advice, the boy looked displeased.
“Why would there be rumors without any basis?”
“Some people are different from the rumors, you know.”
Makarov furrowed his brow and let out a thoughtful “Hmmmm!” but soon settled down.
Then he looked triumphant, like a mathematician who’d just found the answer.
“Heh, even if you say that, we have a precedent, you know?”
“A precedent…?”
“Saintess Aria! The Hero isn’t the only one I had high hopes for. Just look at you! You’re just as kind as I imagined—or even kinder—and compassionate, and… Ah, you’re beautiful, too!”
To say something like that right in front of me.
It was the kind of honest, unvarnished thing only a child could say.
His innocent words made me feel something inside me turning black and dying.
Because I wasn’t the person he described.
Kind and compassionate?
Who was that supposed to be?
I was just…
Just…
…just.
My body began to tremble.
I was scared.
So I impulsively pulled the boy into a hug.
“Huh? A-Aria, Saintess?”
Makarov’s face flushed in confusion as he waved his hands around.
I, too, wondered what I was doing and tried to come up with a rational excuse, but for some reason, my throat was tight.
Maybe that was why what came out of my mouth was an emotional plea.
“Just for a little while… please stay like this.”
“Ah, okay.”
I held the small boy in my arms for a long time.
Makarov’s youthful scent calmed me a little.
When I let go, I saw the boy blushing awkwardly.
“Are you feeling better?”
“Thanks to you, Believer Makarov.”
“I-it was because of me?”
“Yes.”
“That’s good.”
I called the child’s name.
“Believer Makarov.”
“Y-yes?”
Makarov looked noticeably flustered.
Still, I had to say what I needed to say.
“You said I was kind, compassionate, and beautiful.”
“I-I did, didn’t I?”
“I’m happy you think so.”
My sincere thanks seemed to leave Makarov at a loss for words.
Should I say this now, or shouldn’t I?
I hesitated.
But in the end, I decided I should.
“…But I’m not the wonderful saintess you think I am.”
“What?”
Makarov looked at me as if I’d said something absurd, and I didn’t know what to say to him.
So I simply let out what I was feeling.
“Even so, I think I can keep going thanks to you, Believer Makarov, for liking someone like me.”
“Hehe, Saintess, you’re something else.”
I quietly watched the boy laugh bashfully.
Makarov was, in a sense, the only person I had.
He was the only human relationship I had that felt normal.
What if that boy ever learned the truth about me?
What if he came to hate me and be repulsed by me?
The saintess you imagined is actually nothing more than a filthy person.
What if he shuddered in disgust at that truth?
Just imagining it made me feel as if the whole world had turned black.
A sharp ache pricked my chest.
No matter what it took.
No matter what happened.
I wanted to hide it from this child, at least.
I desperately wanted to remain the saintess the boy had imagined.
Marblov, who had dragged me down into the abyss.
Paradoxically, Makarov, his son, was my last refuge.
The irony of it nearly brought a bitter smile to my lips.
Makarov and I exchanged a few more words, then parted.
It had grown late.
Click.
I went into my room and threw myself onto the bed.
I liked the soft cushions and the fresh scent of the sheets.
I breathed in that fragrance deeply and sighed.
Today was a day when I didn’t have to deal with a man.
That meant I could think about things I normally wouldn’t.
“…The Hero.”
Going with the Hero.
How should I look at this?
Though I was the cult’s surrogate saintess, I was still a saintess in name, so the cult wouldn’t harm me.
But the outside world was different.
I had no idea what dangers might be lurking there.
Even if I went with the Hero, I would face danger.
I might even die.
Death.
The word, cold as a blade, seemed to brush against the nape of my neck.
Goddess.
I’m afraid of fighting.
If this had been shortly after I possessed this body, I would have boldly volunteered, but not now.
I know how weak I am.
I know it all too painfully.
I’m a coward, a wretched person who tries to escape reality.
And yet, choosing to go with the Hero was a small act of rebellion.
Perhaps I wanted to irritate Cardinal Marblov and have my body toyed with.
Because I’m a filthy, vulgar person.
At the same time, I’d believed His Eminence wouldn’t allow it.
He was the one who kept me from taking part in public activities.
That was why I couldn’t believe the situation I was in.
Going with the Hero.
Really?
Why?
I sighed as I rubbed my buttocks and crotch, bruised from the rough sex.
They stung and throbbed.
I could have healed them quickly with divine power, but I didn’t.
It seemed I had a masochistic streak buried deep inside me after all.
I carefully caressed the bruised areas for several minutes.
A damp stain appeared on my white panties.
I realized my crotch had grown wet.
It seemed this lewd body couldn’t hold back from feeling desire even that long.
This is wrong.
“Ah, mm, hngh♡”
By now, I was used to caressing my pussy.
I knew exactly where and how to touch myself to feel pleasure.
I had been touched by all kinds of believers, and I had touched myself, too.
Goddess of Eros.
Please do not forgive this lamb who knows nothing but pleasure.
Please chastise me with your solemn, stern reprimand.
Swallowing that confession, I began to fondle my pussy obsessively, like a boy discovering masturbation for the first time.
“Haa, ah, hii, ah♡.”
Suppressed moans came out in short bursts.
This pleasure, and the boy named Makarov, were the only things that brought me comfort.
I repeatedly pleasured myself.
I pulled my fingers out of my vaginal canal.
I licked the sticky fluids coating them.
They tasted bitter.
With my left hand, I toyed with my left nipple, while the slender index and middle fingers of my right hand explored the sensitive depths of my vagina.
My shoulders jerked, and my legs pressed together in instinctive reactions.
At this hour, when everyone else was fast asleep,
I caressed my own body for pleasure.
“Ugh, ngh, hnn, mm.”
I bit the blanket to muffle my moans.
The room was well soundproofed, but it would be a disaster if an ordinary believer happened to hear me.
The fact that I was the cult’s surrogate saintess wasn’t widely known, surprisingly.
“Hngh.”
I curled my toes and tensed my calves.
Just as I was about to exhale, feeling the sensation clear my head,
“Eek!”
I let out a loud moan that sounded like air escaping.
I was startled and tried to cover my mouth, but my body, already in the throes of climax, wouldn’t obey.
“H-hngh.”
My brain felt as if it were melting from the climax.
Why was I thinking of Makarov at a time like this?
I felt as though I’d used that innocent boy as masturbation material.
For some reason, I felt guilty.
“Hngh, mm.”
When I reached a powerful climax, the lust filling my head rapidly faded.
Surprisingly—or perhaps not—women experienced post-orgasm clarity, too.
I was overcome with intense self-loathing and self-reproach.
And you still call yourself a man?
You’re fucking disgusting.
Aren’t you?
Look at yourself panting with pleasure.
Did you get shot in the head or something?
The remnants of ‘him’ still lingering inside me shouted those words.
But what could I do?
He was a coward, too.
I gave a dry smile.
“Hah.”
A foolish laugh slipped out.
It was a laugh that escaped me whenever I got too worked up.
I felt I needed to sleep in order to stitch together my crumbling mind.
Even if I’m in tatters, I want to keep living.
I want to live.
The night only grew deeper.
Taking that darkness as my companion, I fell asleep.