As the battle for the count’s estate raged, Stella occasionally swooped down using [Fly] to kill the few stragglers attempting to escape.

  It felt bad. It felt wrong. That was what she always felt when killing people. But she couldn’t let a single soldier who saw Marcus escape. This was the least she could do as [Saint] while he took the burden of eliminating evil in her stead.

  That, and killing was sometimes necessary for the greater good, just like when she was sent against the cult. Still, it hurt, because she was raised believing all life was sacred.

  For every kill she left, she muttered a silent prayer for them, even if they were awful people. Luckily, there weren't many of them, and she managed to stay largely in the rear.

  Sir Marcus…

  From the part where Marcus entered the estate, to the part where he massacred nearly an entire company-sized formation of soldiers within two minutes, to the part where he tortured the count in the sky, she saw it all.

  She used [Fly] to get onto another rooftop, staring at Marcus’ fluttering cloak as he stood on the rooftop of the count’s estate. Judging by his relaxed stance, it seemed like he had finished the mission.

  With the battle over, so many people were killed by Marcus and Stella’s blades. They were both essentially standing on top of a massacre. She wondered what Marcus felt at the moment, because she certainly wasn’t feeling good.

  Marcus turned to her before disappearing from her vision. She looked around in slight panic until she felt a hand on her shoulder.

  “Boo,” Marcus suddenly said behind her, surprising her. Stella nearly yelped and fell off the edge of the roof she was standing on, but Marcus’ gloved hand caught her just in time.

  “Sir Marcus!” Stella felt herself turning red beneath her mask as he pulled her back. “Why?!”

  “Sorry. You seemed all stiff and serious,” Marcus calmly said while Stella pouted a bit after she regained her footing. Not that he would see it under her mask. “I just wanted you to loosen up.”

  “Seriously, I can’t believe you sometimes.”

  “Fine, fine. I won’t do it again.”

  “You better!”

  Why does he seem like he’s in good spirits after all of that? Hmph, this guy.

  The two ceased bickering as Marcus scratched the back of his head with a sigh, while Stella huffed.

  “So…what do you think? Do I look like a demon to you right now?”

  “...I’m not sure,” Stella frowned. “The only thing I saw from the fight was blood and body parts flying everywhere.”

  “Shit. That sounds pretty demonic,” a low chuckle came from him. “That’s just who I am. Sorry. At least now you know.”

  She looked at Marcus’ cloak. Surprisingly, there were barely any bloodstains in it. Most of the blood was on his boots and gloves.

  Of course, she knew the reason why. He gave the count an agonizing death with them.

  “...Did he say anything that made you snap?” Stella cautiously asked. “While I’ve only known you briefly, you were always so composed.”

  “Yes,” Marcus looked away. “But, to be honest, I should have snapped earlier.”

  “Are you not willing to tell me what it is?”

  “His men assisted the Death God Cult in capturing you. Directly.”

  Her memory flashed. So those ‘bandits’ who ambushed her while she tried to pursue cultists during her mission…

  She nearly puked, the memory of their bleeding corpses still fresh in her mind.

  Marcus crouched, watching the flurry of activity below while the two remained unseen.

  “If you’re asking why I snapped because of that, I don’t know. It felt personal.”

  “...Why so? I was the one that they harmed.”

  “Do you still want me to train you?”

  “Yes.”

  Marcus suddenly turned to look up at Stella. While his mask disguised everything, she knew that her concise answer that left no room for doubt surprised him.

  For a while, he just stared at her with disbelief before shaking his head and grumbling a bit.

  “Well, there’s your answer. That’s why it felt personal.”

  “Because I’m your student now?”

  “Obviously.”

  She scowled a bit. He truly was always blunt and insensitive. As expected of a veteran soldier. No wonder he could easily murder people in cold blood.

  Stella looked up at the moon, sighing. Then, she clasped her hands together.

  “Why are you praying?” Marcus asked, while Stella kept herself silent. “...Do you feel bad about the count? Don’t worry, I didn’t torture him to avenge you. Lots of other things pissed me off too. This is all on me.”

  Stella unclasped her hands and looked down at Marcus.

  “Even the worst people deserve kindness and prayers. It’s not my place to decide anyway if they deserve damnation or salvation,” Stella said. “I hope he repented for his crimes at least before he perished.”

  “I may be someone who specializes in making unholy creatures bleed, but I’m in no way a devout follower of the goddess's scriptures,” Marcus scoffed. “So pardon me, but I don’t believe that the enemy ‘should be loved’ or whatever else you believe in. I want them crushed beneath my boot.”

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  “There’s nothing wrong with that. I’m sure that’s just a natural part of you after fighting monsters from hell.”

  “Well, I just hope I won’t get too tiresome for someone as good and holy as you. My hands will be drenched in blood yesterday, today, and tomorrow. That’s just how it is.”

  Maybe that’s why he survived hell, while I couldn’t even fight the cult.

  “...Am I too soft, Sir Marcus?” Stella asked.

  “All of the [Saints] picked by the goddess are soft.” Marcus must be scowling beneath his mask. “But, I wouldn’t have it the other way. From what I’ve heard, that class gives you skills and stat attributes that are enough to kill or heal an entire continent on a whim at some point.”

  “I…am quite far from reaching that.”

  “Still, I maintain my previous stance. That kind of power should be wielded by good people, unlike me, even if they’re easier to manipulate and eliminate before achieving their duty. If I had that kind of potential, who knows what I’d have done with it?”

  Stella felt her ears drooping. Marcus sounded so cynical again.

  “Yet, someone like you, who most likely only has a normal class, is stronger and more accomplished than me,” Stella countered. “I don’t think you’re bad. You just stopped someone evil. As a [Saint], I’m a failure compared to you.”

  If Sir Marcus were the [Saint] instead of me, the cult would have been wiped out by now.

  “I’m just a lucky survivor from a war I should have died in. That’s all. Don’t beat yourself down by comparing yourself to me,” Marcus said, before turning to face her. “Anyway, let’s go. I think you need some shut-eye now. I’m tired too.”

  “You can sleep after doing all of that?”

  “I can. Can’t you?”

  Stella stared at his impassive, inhuman mask. Those words—he said them without any hint of hesitation.

  Or was he?

  While it was faint, behind his words, she noticed something.

  He must be tired of killing again and again and again and again. She was sure of it. If there was one thing she knew she had, it was that her gut could tell what someone else truly felt.

  Maybe that was why she came here with him. From the start, even when her mind’s ability to trust anyone was shattered, her heart told her that her savior was no demon.

  Just a human being who survived hell.

  A smile finally crept up to her lips, though her words were bitter.

  “I’m sorry, Sir Marcus. Perhaps I really am a softie. I can’t sleep after all that, yes.”

  “...I suppose that’s just how sane people process things.”

  “What was that?”

  “Nothing.”

  He then offered his hand to her. Stella took it, and for a while, the two just looked at each other.

  “Now that you’re going to be travelling with me,” Marcus seemed a bit hesitant. “May I know your full name?”

  “My name is Stella Rosette vi Sordale,” she gladly answered. “Or as they call me in the Holy Church, ‘Stella the Ashen Saint’.”

  “...I’ll do my hardest so you can live up to that name then.”

  “I wish to do the same.”

  “I’m sure you will.”

  With that, Marcus then recited his signature spell as they left.

  [Blink Step].

  But this time, Stella the Ashen Saint finally stopped panicking, freezing, or even screaming. Not even a whimper came from her lips.

  Marcus was now her ally, and she was sure of it.

  Morning finally came.

  The entire city was still in shock after what transpired last night. Nearly a quarter of Almarche’s standing guardsmen, specifically, the count’s personal guard, died in the fighting.

  Each death was gruesome, their bodies reduced into unrecognizable red pieces left on the floors and walls of the count’s estate. Even the count’s body parts were found scattered around the city center.

  And the one that was responsible for said horrors was the Death God Cult.

  Or at least, that’s what they all believe.

  Marcus shrugged as he dipped his toast in his coffee, listening to the talk between the patrons in the coffeehouse they were in at the moment.

  “I knew that Count Talsby was a fool for trusting those crazies. I called it months ago. Now he’s dead!”

  “Dumbass, he negotiated with them. If he hadn’t, that necromancer would have killed us all, yet you’re gloating that the man who saved us is dead?”

  “Saved us? But the count’s men have been abducting slaves not just from surrounding villages and tribes but even from us. The old man had it coming. He’s no hero.”

  “And what after all of this? Now, the Death God Cult will come for us!”

  “Why are you defending the deal he made with the devil? Ain’t this just proof that any deal with them is pointless? I say we just take up arms and fight them when push comes to shove!”

  "Hah! You're a brave one, ain't ya? Go on and fight and die all by your lonesome then!"

  Marcus decided to focus on his breakfast instead. He wanted to free his time to read through the piles of documents he recovered and stashed into one of his bags of holding.

  He didn’t exactly have time last night to sneak and sift through the piles of evidence and documents that the count kept. He was too tired, and the bed at the hotel was so clean, soft, and fragrant that upon testing it, he dozed off in a few seconds.

  By the time he woke up, his stomach demanded input. Luckily, Stella was waiting for him outside his room, and she invited him to check out this coffeehouse.

  Yet, it seemed like she only did that so Marcus could eat decently this morning. Stella, on the other hand, now seemed somewhat moody, looking at the window on the side instead of eating her breakfast.

  Well, she did eat, but she was noticeably slow.

  “You shouldn’t let your food go cold,” Marcus chided. “Are you still bothered by what happened?”

  “I told you already. You did the right thing. Don’t worry about it.”

  Surprisingly, yes, things did work out just fine. He somewhat already anticipated it, which was partially why he green-lit an immediate incursion to the count’s estate.

  Yesterday, while conducting recon using [Mass Surveillance], he found out that the local guildmaster for the adventurer’s guild, the second-highest-ranking official in Almarche, had a personal grudge with the count.

  Apparently, she didn’t like the fact that he was collaborating and practically selling Almarche, its citizens, and most importantly, the local adventurers assigned to her branch, into the Death God Cult.

  The entire slave trade they were conducting wasn’t only immoral after all; it was illegal, and it was terrifying to the average citizens of the city. The only reason it was even remotely tolerated was that the count sold his scheme to the residents of his domain as a way to ‘save’ them from the Death God Cult.

  Well, now, after the cult’s brazen attack against Count Talsby, the local guildmaster took emergency control of Almarche.

  She already vowed to reverse the policies that came from the count’s agreement with the cult, and there wasn’t much disagreement. After all, the cult reneged on their part of the deal barbarically.

  I love false flag operations. Still though…

  If that wasn’t why Stella was miserable, then why was she so miserable today? He remembered that last night, she had already calmed down from her more paranoid thoughts.

  Unless his memory was shite.

  Does she still think that I’m a demon?

  As he waited for an answer, Stella finally let out an exhale before snapping her fingers to cast a silencing spell around them.

  Then, she removed a necklace with a ruby pendant on it.

  It was cracked.

  “My contracted familiar, a great spirit, is housed in this gem. The cultists damaged it, and now, I can't communicate with my familiar."

  "..."

  Shit, that's not good.