Secret Love Affair between a Former Saint and a Dark Hero - Chapter 107 - Secret Love Affair between a Former Saint and a Dark Hero

After Iora slammed the door and left, the atmosphere between the two shifted — cold and unlike anything usual. Arcanda stood silently, her back turned toward the door, radiating a chilling stillness. Ovid remained there, caught in the haze of his own swirling confusion, uncertain how to react.

Then, breaking the silence, Ovid spoke first. For the first time, he was about to say something harsh to Arcanda.

“Arcanda. Hah, what you did just now was clearly wrong…”

“That’s strange, Ovid.”

He froze mid-sentence, caught off guard.

“What did you just say?”

Arcanda’s voice was unusually vacant, unlike her usual self.

“That’s really strange. This shouldn’t be happening…”

But the dry emptiness beneath those words was a far cry from Arcanda’s typically bright, sunlit tone. Hearing that hollow, sinking sound made Ovid inexplicably uneasy.

“Arcanda?”

As if she didn’t hear him, she didn’t turn around. Instead, she opened the door and stepped out through the same door Iora had left through. But unlike Iora’s bold stride, Arcanda’s footsteps were ghostly, almost fragile.

* * *

Iora paused in the corridor, letting out a frustrated sigh. She’d done well to leave the room confidently and start walking, but now…

“Where is this place? This is driving me crazy. Why do I keep ending up on the same path no matter where I go?”

The confusing layout of the palace had clearly thrown her off. With no attendant or guard to guide her, she’d simply wandered off on her own and got hopelessly lost.

Whoever designed this palace had made every corridor look almost identical. The gaudy decorations did nothing but scramble her mind. On top of that, there wasn’t a soul in sight, and she had no idea where she was headed.

If only a miracle would happen like before her regression, like suddenly running into Vigros again. But it seemed such miracles weren’t happening this time.

Iora’s legs ached, so she glanced around and dropped down into a crouch.

“I was supposed to meet Vigros.”

She muttered, resting her chin on her palm and drifting into thought.

Then she flinched, her ears twitching.

She listened again, lifting her head, her face darkening with unease. Outside the corridor, the bushes were rustling in a way that felt off and unnerving.

‘Are there…exhibitionist pxrverts here too?’

What on earth were they thinking? What kind of crazy people got off on flashing themselves in broad daylight like that?

And just then, fate cruelly forced Iora’s gaze to lock with a pxrvert lurking in those bushes. The moment their eyes met, the man stood up eagerly, as if even more thrilled by the encounter.

‘Ugh!’

Gods, she squeezed her eyes shut. Nausea twisted her stomach.

Iora didn’t have the heart or holy powers to whisper to this creep, “Go back the way you came and find the knights.” Besides, this wasn’t something a healing touch could fix. She didn’t even want to get close in the first place.

When footsteps echoed closer, Iora made her decision. She had to run.

Of course, a noble lady wasn’t supposed to be sprinting down the palace corridors. If anyone caught sight of her, rumors would spread like wildfire.

‘Or… as much as she hated the idea, maybe she’d just have to knee him in the gut and bolt.’

Her wide-open eyes grew sharp and cold, then a gentle breeze stirred from somewhere behind her. A lazy, unhurried voice called softly at her back. At the same time, her vision was suddenly swallowed by darkness, like someone had covered her eyes with their hand.

“Why do all these perverts hang around the palace? The quality really is going downhill.”

“Ahhh!”

The teasing voice tickled her ear, making her shoulders tense up — then came his chuckle. Another faint breeze stirred, and the darkness lifted as his hand withdrew.

“Why are you even looking at that mess? It’ll rot your eyes. That one reeks of blood, too.”

When she opened her tightly shut eyes, the pxrvert had vanished along with the screams and bloodstains.

“Hello, darling.”

“…Vigros.”

“I tossed him off to the knights, so they’ll deal with him. Tch, useless fools. How could those knight bastards not notice someone like that sneaking in?”

She turned her head and saw a handsome man wearing a leisurely smile. When their eyes met, he threw a joke her way.

“I thought you’d be all tears and snot, but I don’t even see a single drop of snot.”

“I didn’t cry.”

“And your entourage? You didn’t come alone. I heard the Crown Prince called you here.”

Where had he heard that? In The Saint’s Flower, he was the one who seemed to know everything. They said he kept hidden eyes and ears everywhere, gathering information wherever he went.

“They’re waiting outside. They wouldn’t let them into the palace.”

“Those idiots. So they sent you out here all alone?”

“Well, about that…”

“Ovid, you clueless fool.”

For the first time in a long while, Iora recalled the original scene from The Saint’s Flower:

「Arcanda wore a thoroughly flustered expression, but the man in love couldn’t see it.

He was wholly absorbed in offering everything to her, in his own way.

How utterly precious it was — to be looked at kindly, to have someone call his name without hesitation — made his past resolve to live wanting nothing seem almost laughable.

“I love you, Arcanda. My Saint.”

“Vigros…”

His saint was cruel. Though she smiled gently before his desperate pleas for love, she never returned the same confession. She teased, always hovering just out of reach, and was kind to everyone.

Especially when she smiled in front of that insufferable Crown Prince, his vision would flood red with jealousy. If only he could wipe out everything in the Empire, would she then be his?

He wrestled with this torment countless times a day.

“I want to lock you away.”

To keep any other human from ever seeing the radiant light of this beautiful god — to have her all to himself.

But if he did that, she would surely go mad.

She could never accept his dark, suffocating obsession.

So today, too, he held back the beast within. It was the Saint’s night — the day she was to become perfect on her birthday.

He sealed his power into his breath, determined to bestow only pure blessings.

This shimmering jewel would glow even more brilliantly at the nape of her neck.」

Iora bit her tongue. Why, of all things, did she have to witness Vigros utterly smitten with Arcanda, showering her with gifts? Was the elusive Saint’s Flower deliberately teasing her with these irritating scenes? The thought of that intangible authorial intent left her sour.

She furrowed her brows and bit her lip.

Vigros truly loved Arcanda. It was deep, desperate. Not just for the Saint’s power — his obsession rivaled even Ovid’s. And if this weren’t just a line from a novel but a scene she witnessed with her own eyes…

This would feel awful, wouldn’t it? Like losing an ally.