Chapter 57: The Reunion of the Porter and the Saintess (2)

After the banquet ended and Brikal returned to the capital, Laferon, who now had his “freedom,” donned a brown beret and left the duchy estate for a stroll.

‘There’s no place like the Rosell Duchy.’

Having traveled to numerous territories, he knew well that the Rosell Duchy stood unrivaled.

The lively faces of its residents, the streets always filled with laughter, children running through the maze-like marketplace, the bustling trade caravans, and the small performances held in the central square—it was a place brimming with vitality.

Of course, like any place inhabited by people, there were occasional incidents of unrest.

However, the Rosell Duchy exuded a unique warmth and energy that made it stand apart.

Trade flourished here, bringing prosperity, and low taxes ensured the residents lived comfortably.

It felt like another kingdom within the Elond Kingdom—an oasis in the desert.

The atmosphere in the Rosell Duchy was truly different from other territories.

‘He’s remarkable, isn’t he?’

From a young age, Laferon had dreamed of building a territory like this.

A place where he could live for the happiness of his people, and the people would be proud to live there.

But unlike Duke Rosell, Laferon lacked any remarkable talents.

Because of this, his dream seemed unattainable, and he wandered from territory to territory, unable to settle.

He traveled under the pretext of exploration, observing the lives of people from all walks of life.

Sometimes, he found vicarious satisfaction, and other times, he faced harsh criticism, accumulating experiences along the way.

It was a journey born out of admiration for something he could never have.

In his travels, he closely observed the lives of residents in various territories, noticing how their quality of life depended on the lord’s competence.

None, however, compared to the Rosell Duchy.

He couldn’t help but envy it.

As someone who also hailed from humble origins, he admired Duke Rosell for creating such a magnificent territory.

Of course, it was admiration, not jealousy.

Duke Rosell was the benefactor who had saved his life.

Simply being able to stay in Rosell’s territory felt like a tremendous blessing.

While basking in the warm sunlight, Laferon strolled aimlessly, observing the people and the market.

Suddenly, he collided with someone and fell hard to the ground.

Smack!

“Ahh!”

“Ugh!”

Thud!

Laferon looked up, his face showing a hint of irritation, at the woman who had fallen on top of him.

She had turned the corner without looking ahead.

Her hood had slipped off.

Her face was filled with despair.

Her once-lustrous white hair had lost its shine.

Her pale gray eyes trembled with fear, and her chapped lips parted as she panted heavily.

She looked unmistakably like someone being chased.

Laferon doubted his eyes.

“S-Saintess…?”

It was Saintess Yuria, who should have been in the Holy Tower or by the king’s side.

Yet here she was, colliding with him, cloaked in a hooded mantle.

She looked terrified, as if fleeing from something.

Momentarily frozen in confusion, Laferon watched as Yuria hurriedly pulled her hood back on.

Finally grasping the situation, he quickly got to his feet.

“This way!”

He grabbed her wrist as she tried to run in the opposite direction and started retracing his steps at a sprint.

For someone accustomed to life outside, the crowded marketplace was the perfect place to hide.

After running for some distance, Laferon found an abandoned cart, placed Yuria in it, and covered her with a nearby burlap sheet.

“Wait here, Lady Yuria.”

“Th-thank you…”

Although he didn’t know the full details, the fact that a saintess was fleeing was no trivial matter.

While she may have committed heresy, he knew she was a powerless human who had made a desperate choice for survival. For now, he decided to help her.

He also wanted to hear her story.

Why had she done it?

What exactly had happened?

Feigning nonchalance, Laferon fiddled with the burlap covering and then began walking away.

Soon, he encountered six men who appeared to be searching for someone.

“Hey, you! Have you seen anyone running through here wearing a hood?”

“A hood? Oh, someone bumped into me earlier. Is that who you’re looking for?”

“Do you know where they went?”

“They ran off that way.”

“Got it! Thanks!”

“Not a problem.”

Deceived by Laferon’s casual response, the men ran off in the opposite direction.

After ensuring there were no more pursuers, Laferon made his way back to the cart.

‘What’s going on? The saintess is on the run? Did she escape the palace while Brikal was incapacitated?’

Laferon already knew the full story from Rosell. He was aware of her false prophecy, her depleted divine power, and the hardships Emilia had endured because of it.

However, he also understood that an ordinary person would have made the same choice.

How many people in the world, with a blade at their neck, would choose conviction and vows over survival?

While a saintess’s position demanded noble sacrifices for the kingdom’s fate, a saintess stripped of her divine power was just a human being.

Choosing life over ideals was a human choice.

Those who chose ideals over life existed only in stories.

Thus, he didn’t intend to judge her for her human choices.

He simply hoped she would one day ask Emilia for forgiveness for her mistakes.

And yet, by some unbelievable coincidence, they had met.

‘Never thought I’d see her again like this.’

He had assumed they would never cross paths again, but now, here they were in the middle of the bustling marketplace.

Surely this was the will of the divine.

It had to be the divine leading her here to repent for her wrongs.

How else could he explain the coincidence of her arriving in Rosell’s territory, out of all the vast lands, and running into him in this bustling duchy?

It wasn’t coincidence; it was providence.

With that thought, Laferon reached the cart and lifted the burlap sheet. Inside, Yuria trembled violently, her wide eyes filled with fear as she looked at him.

“…You’re safe now.”

“Th-thank you… I don’t deserve your help… I’m sorry. I’ll leave now.”

Lowering her head, Yuria quickly climbed out of the cart.

Laferon was Emilia’s companion. To receive his help was unthinkable.

Although she had been too flustered earlier to realize, now she couldn’t bear to face him.

Avoiding his gaze, she began to walk away.

“Where are you going, Saintess?”

At his question, Yuria flinched and froze.

Where was she going?

That simple question rendered her speechless.

Where could she go?

A sinner with nowhere to turn could only descend into ruin.

But she couldn’t bring herself to say that aloud.

“…I don’t know.”

“Come with me. Those men seemed to be from the caravan, but if they realize nothing was stolen, they won’t chase you further.”

“It’s fine… You don’t need to help me. I don’t deserve help.”

“…Because of the false prophecy?”

“Wh-what…?”

From behind her, Laferon uttered the words “false prophecy.” It was a secret known only to Brikal and herself, a truth that no one else should ever uncover.

Yet, Laferon had revealed it.

Yuria’s pupils dilated in shock, trembling uncontrollably. Her lips parted, but no sound came out.

Walking past her, Laferon spoke again.

“Follow me, Saintess. It seems we have much to discuss. But first, we need to get out of here.”

The saintess, who had been desperately fleeing from the caravan members, now found herself unable to run any further.

She had been caught.

Caught by Laferon, Emilia’s companion and the porter of the hero’s party.

Pulling her hood low over her face, Yuria followed behind Laferon, her steps heavy with despair.

Her gait was more pitiful than that of a condemned prisoner being led to the executioner’s block.

Drip, drip. Tap, tap.

In the sewers filled with foul stench, rats, and swarming insects, the reek of waste and runoff water was ever-present.

This was a place no one willingly visited.

Yet, some still lived here.

The sewer was home to the “Skippers,” people who had fled the surface.

They survived by catching rats for food or occasionally venturing above ground to steal. Their targets were never gold or luxury goods—they only sought food.

For Skippers, the sewers beneath the surface were their home and their life.

And there, amidst the filth, Saintess Yuria walked.

The stench was unbearable, and the incessant squeaking of rats grated on her ears. F

ear filled her heart at the unfamiliar surroundings, but she silently followed Laferon.

“From the looks of it, you’re hiding your identity and fleeing. This path will keep you out of sight. It’s unpleasant, but try to bear it.”

Yuria moved her lips as if to speak but closed them again.

She couldn’t say anything.

Was it because of the foul odor?

No, it was because she couldn’t find the words to speak to someone who already knew about her false prophecy.

Had he known about it all along? Had he fled the party just before their return, aware of her deceit?

Her mind was a tangled mess, unable to settle on a single thought—not even the thought of escape.

Laferon’s mention of the false prophecy had thrown her into chaos.

He walked through the sewers with ease.

Having lived as a Skipper in his youth, this place was like a home to him—a squalid one, but familiar nonetheless.

Even so, the stabbing stench, long forgotten, was hard to endure.

After walking for some time, Laferon stopped.

“We’re almost at the section of the sewer that runs near Duke Rosell’s estate.”

“Near… the duke’s estate?”

“You’re fleeing, aren’t you? You must know that your escape will bring great turmoil to the kingdom.”

His sharp words made Yuria flinch. Like a sinner, she bowed her head.

Laferon’s piercing blue eyes seemed to see right through her.

“Well… I…”

“Was it after the false prophecy, when King Brikal closed his cold eyes, that you took the chance to flee?”

There was a hint of reproach in Laferon’s voice.

Saintess Yuria, one of the culprits behind Emilia’s descent into torment through a false prophecy.

Though her guilt was incomparable to Brikal’s, it wasn’t negligible either.

“If you’re on your way to the Holy Church, I’ll speak with Duke Rosell to arrange for you to be escorted.”

If she was heading to the Holy Church, Laferon intended to help her. It would mean she was going to confess her sins.

But it didn’t seem like that was her intention.

Her nervous breathing and hesitant posture suggested otherwise.

Her awkward demeanor made him wonder how she had managed to deliver a false prophecy at all.

“No… that’s not it…”

She wanted to ask how he knew about the false prophecy, but she couldn’t bring herself to.

“If that’s not it… then where are you going?”

“I… don’t know…”

With every question, Yuria seemed to shrink further.

She was terrified, as if standing before a judge wielding a hammer of justice.

She felt as though she should confess and fall to her knees, but instead, she stood there trembling, her face pale.

Laferon let out a low sigh.

“…It seems I may have been too harsh. Let me ask you differently.”

Yuria glanced around fearfully.

All she could see was darkness and sewage.

For a fleeting moment, she thought that the stench of the sewers was becoming bearable and that the filthy scenery might even be tolerable.

Laferon followed her gaze around the sewer before speaking again.

“Did you know Emilia is at Duke Rosell’s estate?”

“What…?”

Yuria’s shock was palpable. She had been secluded in the Holy Tower, occasionally traveling to the capital, and had no idea Emilia was here.

Brikal had only told her that Emilia had been sold into slavery, not who had purchased her.

In truth, Yuria had avoided hearing about Emilia, as her situation only magnified her guilt.

“She was sold as a s*ave.”

“Oh…”

“Branded a traitor, tortured, and left in a broken state.”

Yuria’s head lowered involuntarily.

She couldn’t bear to raise her head.

How could she face the world above when the life she had ruined through a false prophecy was here?

“Duke Rosell bought her and has been doing everything in his power to help her recover. She’s slowly returning to the person she once was.”

“I see…”

A sigh escaped Yuria’s lips.

She felt relief.

Genuine relief.

The life she had destroyed was starting anew here, and that brought her immense solace.

Tears welled in her eyes, but she held them back.

She didn’t deserve to cry. Tears were unnecessary for someone like her—a coward on the run.

“…That’s… no, it’s not right for me to say I’m relieved…”

What right did she have to feel relieved?

As she fell silent, Laferon continued.

“It is fortunate. If not for Duke Rosell, she’d still be living in an even worse hell.”

Even if she had a hundred mouths, what could she say?

The moment she encountered Laferon, she realized something.

Escape and hiding could not be her destiny.

She had fled the royal palace at the exact time a caravan bound for Rosell Duchy was departing.

By chance, she hid in a cargo wagon loaded with contraband, avoiding inspection. She escaped into the vast territory and, improbably, ran into Laferon.

And in this duchy, Emilia happened to be here as well.

To dismiss all this as coincidence felt impossible—as if she had been guided along a destined path.

It felt as though the divine had led her here.

Led her to Rosell Duchy, where Emilia was.

The prayers of a powerless human, bereft of divine grace, had been answered. Instead of words, she had been guided.

She now understood: escape and hiding were not her fate.

The divine had brought her here.