A Saintess’s Day

Kristine, utterly defenseless against her juniors’ coquettish pleas,could only laugh and nod.

“Alright, alright—one bowl for each of my little babies!”

“Yay!”

Word spread fast.

Soon, more girls flocked to the kitchen,mimicking the first group,clinging to Kristine’s arms,batting eyelashes, pouting, giggling.

What began as a single small pot quickly escalated into a giant cauldron.

And the girls didn’t just stand by—some fetched water,others chopped ingredients,more lined up bowls—turning the morning into a joyful chaos.

Thus began the Saintess’s day—warm, noisy, and sweet.

Morning.

On her way to the library,every student she passed greeted her:

“Sister Kristine!”

“Saintess!”

“Big Sis!”

Her popularity was legendary—beauty, grace, and the Holy Maiden of the Church of Creation?

A celebrity among mortals.

It was a rest day—the library hushed, nearly empty.

Kristine chose a sunlit window seat,arms laden with thick tomes on calligraphy.

Dozens of “gentlemen” had offered to carry her books—she’d smiled and refused them all.

She never wanted to burden others—only lift them up.

Sunlight dappled her silver hair as she read,feather quill scratching softly,scribbling notes:

“Heaven’s Oracle Art is a high-tier divination technique.
Only Dragon-tier or above may wield it.
Severe backlash: rank regression… or madness.
Use with extreme caution!”

She’d scoured every text,yet no loophole existed for learning it ahead of rank.

Noon.

In the orphanage courtyard,children swarmed her like sparrows,chattering, laughing, tugging her sleeves.

“Alright, alright!” a woman called, struggling to herd them.

“Eat your lily congee first—then pester Saintess Kristine!”

Finally free, Kristine set up her impromptu magic lesson.

“Magic is wondrous!” she declared,infusing a twig with mana,drawing a glowing pentagram on the dirt.

“This is a ‘Guardian Star’—it blesses good children!”

The symbol pulsed warm light,making the kids giggle and reach out in awe.

“I wanna learn! Me! Me!”

Hands shot up like sprouting seedlings.

“Then we start with drawing!”

She patiently guided little Aik,a boy born with only three fingers,who trembled, unable to hold the twig.

Tears welled in his eyes—until Kristine took his hand in hers,guiding every stroke.

“Don’t cry, Aik. Sister’s here.”

For two years, she’d taught here—knew every name, every wound, every dream.

Most orphans were abandoned for deformities—and only she treated them as whole.

“Saintess, flower for you!”

A cleft-lipped girl with pigtails beamed,thrusting forward a mud-smeared daisy—clearly hunted for hours.

Kristine knelt, eyes soft,tucked the bloom into her hair.

Against her snow-pale locks,the tiny yellow flower glowed.

“Wow! Sister’s so pretty! I’ll pick more!”

“Me too!”

Chaos erupted—every wildflower in the yard was stripped bare,woven into garlands,crowned upon Kristine’s head by the smallest child.

Afternoon.

In the slums,

Kristine bought every fresh-baked loaf from the bakery.

“It’s the Saintess! She brought bread again!”

Gaunt elders and hollow-eyed children rushed forward,trembling with gratitude—a full meal was rare luxury here.

“Calm now—everyone gets a share.”

She passed out loaves with quiet efficiency.

Then—a pregnant woman’s roof leaked.

Kristine cast Levitate,floated up,and hammered new shingles into place.

“Saintess! You’re too kind—you shouldn’t dirty your hands for the likes of me!”

Kristine wiped sweat from her brow, smiling:

“Serving the Divine begins with fixing a roof.”

Evening.

A panicked acolyte sprinted to her:

“Saintess! Drunkards harassing the nuns at the church!”

Kristine’s eyes hardened.

At the chapel, she found three leering men cornering a young girl.

“Fireball!”

Gentle Saintess? Gone.

Holy Avenger? Present.

Three blazing orbs—set their hair ablaze.

Screaming, they rolled in the dirt,patting out flames.

“Fetch the Knight Patrol,” she ordered coldly,

then handed her handkerchief to the trembling girl.

“You’re safe now.”

The girl blushed, tears drying—

They say Saintess is kind… but never soft.

To evil? She is lightning.

Late Night.

In her dorm room,a single lamp glowed.

Kristine, in a thin nightgown,leaned over a map,her collar slightly loose,porcelain skin glowing in the lamplight.

“Icebloom Lotus grows on Jade Dragon Mountain…

northwest of the Empire.”

Per Black’s intel, she’d pinpointed the location.

“It’s so far…

The Church’s expedition won’t return for a year.”

She prayed silently:

God, protect them on their journey.

Then—

a chill.

Like darkness itself had stared at her.

She whirled around—only empty shadows.

Just my nerves…

But then—

“K…r…i…s…t…i…n…

…y…o…u… …a…r…e…

…a… w…o…u…n…d…e…d… h…e…a…l…e…r…”

The words slithered into her mind,voiceless, ancient, hungry.

“WHO ARE YOU?!”

She shouted into the void—only silence answered.

For days, this dread had clung to her.

“Just… exhaustion…”

She wiped cold sweat,forcing calm.

It’s nothing. Just fatigue.

But deep down—something in the dark was watching.

And it knew her name.