A Profane Revelation

Gwynevere’s fingertips brushed across her damp cheek, and as she brought them closer to her nose, the intensely sweet, cloying scent made her head spin.

The Saintess was not entirely naive to the ways of the world. She sometimes overheard the nuns’ idle chatter, which gave her a rough understanding of what the vampire girl before her was doing.

Yet, shouldn’t such acts typically be performed in private, discreetly and alone?

Why was this disheveled girl engaging in such an act within the ruins at the foot of Snowpeak Mountain? Moreover, she had not stopped even after realizing someone had arrived; instead, she had become even more enthusiastic, drenching Gwynevere completely.

The soft fox fur lining her cloak’s collar was utterly soaked. Gwynevere had no choice but to untie the fastenings and cast the cloak to the ground.

The interior of the ruins was not as cold as the outside. Stepping through the grand entrance felt like entering another world entirely.

Gwynevere had originally intended to enter the ruins to search for the Pope. She had never anticipated that mere steps past the entrance, along the corridor wall, she would encounter a vampire girl engaged in self-pleasure.

‘A true vampire?’

‘That doesn’t seem quite right…’

Though the girl’s skin was as fair and translucent as polished jade, it lacked the sickly pallor typical of a pure-blood vampire. A faint blush of color lent her soft features a more vibrant quality.

Her rose-red eyes were moist and glistening, and her dark red hair flowed as smoothly as silk. Her limbs were long and gracefully proportioned.

Still lost in the afterglow of her recent climax, a hazy mist obscured her slightly aggrieved gaze. Her soaked dress clung tightly to her chest and abdomen, becoming semi-transparent, and subtly rising and falling with her soft gasps.

‘So, she’s a half-blood vampire,’ Gwynevere mused. ‘That explains it.’

Yet, this creature was perhaps the most beautiful Gwynevere had ever witnessed. She was an exquisite work of art, sculpted by a deity with a particular fondness for maidens.

So adorable, and yet engaged in such a profane act.

Gwynevere found herself inexplicably irritated.

This emotion was peculiar. She had never experienced it, never felt it, never even understood it before.

The Iceheart Saintess was supposed to have lost the ability to perceive emotions.

‘It was all because of that night.’

From that moment, Gwynevere had become an enemy of the vampires.

She didn’t truly feel anger or hatred; it was more akin to a cold sense of duty. Gwynevere simply refused to let the suffering she endured that night befall anyone else.

Yet, seeing this half-blood vampire girl perform such an act right before her, the pure Saintess couldn’t help but subtly rub her thighs together.

The strange magic that had erupted from the ruins had incapacitated everyone in the camp. This half-blood vampire girl might very well know something about it.

‘She needs to be apprehended and thoroughly interrogated,’ Gwynevere thought. ‘By me, personally.’

As these thoughts raced through her mind, Gwynevere raised the runic steel staff she held, its surface covered in a thin layer of frost. She aimed the translucent sea crystal embedded in its tip directly at the half-blood vampire girl.

But just as she prepared to solemnly declare war on the half-blood vampire girl, a dazzling, colorful light suddenly burst forth from beneath the girl’s skirt. It shone like a star suspended in the deep black night sky, illuminating the dark interior of the ruins as brightly as day.

“Eh!? It’s, it’s glowing again!?”

This seemed to be beyond the half-blood vampire girl’s expectations as well, her voice, melodious as a skylark, exclaiming a question filled with astonishment.

It was only then that Gwynevere noticed the girl was actually wearing a small, pearl-like ornament there.

‘That place… it can actually…’

Gwynevere’s mind instantly went blank. It was as if a door to a new world had opened, forcibly flooding her with a torrent of new knowledge she found impossible to accept.

The pure Saintess swallowed hard, then slowly lowered her gaze to her own…

“Lewd! Shameless!”

The words burst out almost involuntarily; Gwynevere didn’t even know why she was shouting in such a sharp voice, unable to comprehend her current emotions. “You lecherous half-blood vampire! How dare you appear on imperial territory! Do you have anything to say in your defense?”

Runes were faintly shimmering on the surface of the sea crystal at the staff’s tip. A frost-attribute destruction magic was actively being prepared and conjured.

“Le-Lewd!? Le-Lecherous!? I… I’m not…”

Daphne was utterly aggrieved, being insulted in such a manner by the Saintess she had personally watched grow up.

Gwynevere’s usually serene and cold face was now flushed with embarrassment. In twelve years, this was the first time Daphne had ever seen such an expression from her.

The title “Iceheart Saintess” was by no means a complimentary one.

Gwynevere had, on numerous occasions, brutally slaughtered disguised vampires in plain sight of imperial citizens. Even when hot, crimson liquid splattered onto her face, she remained utterly unmoved, while countless ice blades shredded the almost unrecognizable flesh again and again.

Efficiently executing vampires whose disguises were exposed, killing them once, then tearing their bodies to shreds. The Saintess performed these tasks with an utterly expressionless face, like an emotionless puppet.

The common folk had spread this title out of fear.

They said this current Saintess had no heart, or perhaps, that her heart was encased in a thick layer of ice.

“If you’re not, then make it stop glowing immediately!”

Gwynevere’s tone grew even more agitated upon hearing Daphne’s vehement denial, and she waved the staff in her hand, from which icy runes now drifted.

“I want to, but…”

Daphne had no idea why the object had suddenly begun to glow. In her panic, she accidentally touched its uppermost edge again, causing it to violently twitch and vibrate.

“Eee-hee!♡—!”

Suddenly, her vision was consumed by a blinding white light.

After a brief moment of disorientation, Daphne’s thoughts and consciousness swiftly returned. The light in her vision faded, and the jewel extinguished.

But before she could even feel relieved, she looked up to see Gwynevere’s face, now flushed with even greater indignation and shame.

The platinum strands of hair near the Saintess’s cheeks were completely soaked, clinging messily to her skin. Having shed her cloak, her thin, pure white Saintess’s gown was drenched, its fabric clearly outlining the rounded contours of her chest and the mermaid lines along her lower abdomen.

‘I’m doomed.’

Daphne was now so mortified she simply wanted to dig a hole and bury her head in it.

Gwynevere, of course, could not comprehend Daphne’s conflicted state of mind at that moment. She had merely intended to enter the ruins to find her godfather, Bertram, never expecting to be drenched by an unknown half-blood vampire girl.

And twice, at that!

“Vampires are unforgivable.”

The Saintess truly couldn’t discern her own complex emotions at that moment; she could only act according to her long-held principles, raising the staff in her hand. “And a lecherous half-blood vampire is utterly beyond redemption!”