He definitely looked like someone with a soft and gentle spring breeze of a demeanor—but without expression, his face turned ice cold.
Was my statement really that shocking to cause such a drastic change in his face?
“…You’re saying you want to resign as the Saint?”
I nodded firmly.
Then I began rattling off the excuses I’d prepared on the way here.
“After returning from my family estate, I had a lot on my mind. I realized this role doesn’t suit me.”
“…”
“It’s like forcing myself into clothes that don’t fit—it’s been so stressful that I lashed out often. That’s why I ended up being rude to you, High Priest, and to everyone at the temple.”
I brought my hands together and bowed deeply to Irik.
“I sincerely apologize for everything I’ve done. If needed, I’ll meet with each person one by one and offer a personal apology.”
I mean, none of it was actually me—but if apologizing helps me break free from the original plot, I’ll do it as many times as needed.
Compared to bowing my head to the precinct chief, who only cared about his record and treated his subordinates like dirt, this was nothing.
“…That’s quite sudden. I’m surprised.”
“I didn’t expect myself to say it either. But I promise I won’t change my mind again, so I’d appreciate it if you’d accept my decision.”
“…I’m sorry, but I can’t accept your resignation, Saint. Please take back what you said.”
I didn’t think he’d agree so easily, but that was a much firmer rejection than I expected.
“I mean, I’m not even a real saint. I’m not that useful, right?”
“Saint.”
“Oh, wait… is this about the donation from the Kiris family?”
The Grand Temple’s been in decline ever since the Sun God’s power weakened. The number of believers dropped, and so did the donations.
Right now, they’re basically surviving off the contributions from the Kiris family.
If I step down, the donations will stop too. Of course he’d be reluctant.
“But don’t worry. We can keep it a secret that I left. I won’t be returning to the estate anytime soon anyway.”
“It’s not just about the donations. And doing that would be deceiving the Kiris family, would it not?”
Why does that bother him?
“Aren’t we already deceiving everyone who believes I’m the real saint?”
Irik’s face hardened—like someone had stabbed him directly in the heart with an ice pick.
“Instead of continuing to fool good people because of me, wouldn’t it be better to deceive the Kiris family, who used a fake saint just to profit?”
“…”
“If you let me, I’ll help you make it work. So please reconsider, High Priest.”
Despite my sincere plea, Irik stayed silent for a long time.
“…Even so, I can’t allow it.”
After moving his lips a few times as if searching for the words, he finally spoke—and the answer was exactly what I didn’t want to hear.
“Please don’t entertain strange ideas. The place you belong… is here, Saint.”
With that, he stood up, gave me a stiff glance, and carried the empty dishes out of the room.
Was he mad? Did I strike too close to the truth and offend him?
But I didn’t even say anything wrong.
“I really thought the biggest issue would be the donation, and if I resolved that, he’d let me go.”
Wouldn’t it be better to kick out the fake saint who’s done nothing but cause trouble and just keep the money flowing?
In the novel, Irik was portrayed as someone who knew how to bend when needed—I didn’t think he’d reject it.
“But I’m not someone who gives up that easily.”
Who am I, after all? I’m the very embodiment of persistence—a detective from Violent Crimes who once did undercover work for months just to catch one criminal.
Let’s see who wins this, Irik. You or me.
* * *
After leaving the Saint’s chamber, Irik headed toward the dining hall.
But he hadn’t walked far before he leaned against the wall with a twisted expression on his face.
His eyes dropped to the tray in his hands, now empty—but his thoughts were anything but.
This wasn’t even supposed to be his job.
But because all the maids and servant boys—those little assistants in the temple—were terrified of Ordell, her small errands often became his responsibility.
Since he was the one who had accepted the existence of a fake saint, he bore the burden of serving her without complaint.
Ordell had found that convenient and often laughed with satisfaction, treating him more and more like a personal servant.
‘But today…’
Today was different.
There was no contempt in her eyes.
No anxious fear that she had to crush others before they could reject her.
Instead, there was a confidence in her gaze that he’d never seen before—calm, clear, and direct.
“What on earth happened?”
It had only been a few days.
She left the temple with a face that looked utterly disgusted by the place, boarded a carriage like she was escaping something…
And now, in just a few days, she’d come back completely changed.
‘Did Count Kiris do something?’
There was only one person who could affect Ordell that deeply.
Count Kiris.
Could this be part of the Count’s scheme to test the Grand Temple somehow?
“High Priest!”
Lost in heavy thoughts, Irik looked up at the voice calling him.
Dietrich Warren, his right-hand man and one of the temple’s senior priests, was approaching.
His normally sly, smooth-talking expression was unusually tense—he must’ve already heard that Ordell had returned earlier than expected.
“Not this again… I’ll take that.”
Without waiting, Dietrich grabbed the tray from Irik’s hands.
He was one of the many people in the temple who hated how Ordell treated Irik like a servant.
Then again, who in the temple didn’t dislike Ordell?
“High Priest… What happened to your robe?”
Dietrich’s face darkened as he noticed the priestly garments—normally symbols of purity—completely crumpled and wrinkled.
“Don’t tell me she grabbed you by the collar?!”
Okay, fair enough. That’s a reasonable assumption.
“She collapsed the moment she arrived. I was supporting her. That’s all.”
Technically, she did cling to him, but there was no malice in it—only desperation to survive.
Yes. Let’s leave it at that.
Irik forcefully brushed away the feeling of her hands, which kept lingering in his memory for some reason.
“…Wait. She collapsed?”
Dietrich’s eyes widened. His pale-blue eyes trembled as if he couldn’t believe it.
“She was unusually famished today.”
Only now did Dietrich notice that all the plates on the tray he’d taken were completely clean.
Ordell—who had never stopped complaining about the temple’s food—had actually emptied her dishes.
“She’s not in good condition. She’ll be more sensitive than usual, so make sure the servant boys don’t go near her chambers for a while.”
At Irik’s order to protect the young assistants from Ordell, Dietrich nodded firmly.
“And one more thing. Keep an eye on her for now.”
It was a surprising order. Dietrich blinked in disbelief.
Irik, who had always let Ordell do as she pleased—even misuse temple funds without question—was now ordering surveillance?
“I’m not saying to stop her. Just observe. She’s not the most perceptive person, so it’s unlikely she’ll notice.”
“Uh, yes. Understood.”
Though confused, Dietrich didn’t refuse.
It was essentially an order to spy on someone, but since it was Ordell, whom he disliked, it didn’t feel particularly unpleasant.
As he watched Dietrich walk off, Irik turned his gaze toward the window.
The Sun they worshipped was still shining brilliantly across the earth.
He had accepted a fake saint under the excuse of saving the Grand Temple—an act not far from blasphemy.
He wondered how the god he served viewed such a sin.
Even if divine punishment were to fall, he would accept it willingly.
“Instead of deceiving good people because of me, isn’t it more righteous to deceive the Kiris family who used a fake saint for profit?”
Ordell’s words still lingered in his chest like a thorn—buried deep in his guilt.
If only the Sun God would punish him and take away this pain… perhaps then, he wouldn’t have to feel it anymore.
* * *
As soon as Irik left, I sprang into action.
I had no intention of sitting around and waiting for his approval.
I had one goal for today:
Find Ordell’s secret stash of money!
I turned the entire room upside down.
Under the bed, the drawers in the desk, even possible hidden compartments—I checked everything.
And after all that effort, I came to one undeniable conclusion.
“This room… is really damn luxurious.”
Not a speck of dust anywhere. Expensive-looking decorations studded with gemstones.
A bed big enough for five adults, and furniture that looked like it cost a fortune.
This bedroom was massive, and obviously belonged to someone very rich.
“But the Grand Temple is supposed to be broke.”
Recalling the setting from the novel, I stared around the room with an uneasy expression.