Secret Love Affair between a Former Saint and a Dark Hero - Chapter 112 - I'll Become so Rich that I'll Buy Everything

Not by her superiors, but by her fellow maids. Something Iora didn’t know: jealousy ran deep among the servant girls, too.

“Well… at least it’s done. Sniffle.”

Snot trailed from her nose. Ugh. So unladylike.

She wiped it off with her sleeve, a little too forcefully.

Once word got out that Iora was especially fond of her, the bullying only got worse. The ringleaders were the older maids — mean sisters who still clung to the idea that Iora was some wicked villainess.

Shana shook off the pout threatening to form on her face and gave a loud, exaggerated hmph-hmph through her nose.

“That’s right. I just have to get stronger.”

Shana had an incredibly optimistic personality. Which is why she could tell the mad people in this mansion were starting to change little by little. Rather than dwell on the negative, she believed that eventually, surely, everyone would come to see the goodness in Iora.

Still, it would’ve been nice if there were a way to make those good rumors spread even faster.

Iora was truly a wonderful person, but she couldn’t have cared less about her reputation. To her, being slandered, misunderstood, and accused of things she didn’t do was just normal.

‘It’s very stoic of her and all, but it’s also so sad. Lady Iora deserves nothing but love!’

Especially! That ridiculously stiff-necked knight, Guillen, who was still acting like a block of stone!

Suddenly, Shana clapped her hands together and lit up. There was one foolproof way to spread a rumor. And fortunately, or maybe unfortunately, she just so happened to be excellent at it.

“Yes! This’ll do nicely.”

She pulled a little notebook from her pocket and began scribbling something down.

At the top of the page, it read in bold, careful handwriting: <The Young Lady Observation Log>.

It was the beginning of what was to become a great bestselling book about the truth of the saint.

* * *

Vigros was watching the bright-eyed girl with a smile on her face, and his subordinate, who was currently unleashing a storm of scolding in her direction.

Until now, he’d never imagined this mansion, thick with the stench of blood and occupied by him and his equally unsociable underlings, could ever house anyone else.

And yet, here was this girl, laughing. A clear, ringing kind of laughter that felt out of place here. Unsettling, even.

This was the thirty-second time a shadowy figure had passed by, glanced up in surprise, then scurried away in terror when Vigros glared at them.

‘Tsk.’

And now, that mad dog Lake had caught the scent of money and was interrogating the girl with what could only be described as passionate aggression. Typical. The man spent most of his days pretending to be all solemn and composed, only to turn rabid the moment coin was mentioned.

Iora, for her part, seemed utterly entertained by it all, stifling a laugh as she bantered with Lake.

Vigros watched the scene fondly. Or more precisely — he watched the side of the girl’s face, deep in thought.

‘What could she possibly be worrying about, when I’m right here?’

Despite all the rumors calling her a villainess, she didn’t even know how to use people. That clumsy honesty — why was it so damn adorable?

Vigros’s lips curled into a smirk.

“Don’t worry. I’ll consult for you. This thing’s going to blow up!”

“Really? But I don’t have any starting capital…”

“Don’t even dream of selling that thing for seed money. The secret is the whole point — selling it would ruin everything. Now, lucky for you, we’ve got an excellent piggy bank sitting right over there. Feel free to drain him dry. Once our lord decides he likes someone, he becomes disgustingly generous. And he’s got more money than morals.”

“Oh, um…”

“And first thing’s first — let’s get a patent. If cheap knockoffs start flooding the market, we’re going to have a mess on our hands. Now then, as for standard profit margins…”

Reclining lazily, Vigros let his gaze rest on the silver-haired girl’s profile.

A mystery of a girl called a saint even before her official coming-of-age at eighteen. The unmistakable scent of a true saint clung to her, and Vigros had witnessed her powers with his own eyes. Sweet to the point of madness whenever he breathed her in. His hope. His dream made manifest. The miracle he’d been chasing.

And…

“…A dark hero, huh?”

His eyes darkened, like he’d just remembered something. He opened and closed his hand in the air, laughing quietly.

A dark hero. She always used that strange term to refer to him. What on earth did she mean by it? His saint was a creature who revealed a new secret with every layer unwrapped, enough to drive a man insane.

‘Makes me want to strip her bare.’

His heart thudded, spurred by an indecent urge.

* * *

“You’re reducing your lessons? Why? You’ve only just started showing results… Are my classes boring you?”

“Of course not.”

Her teacher looked genuinely hurt. But Iora had her reasons, and this time, she couldn’t back down.

Just as she hoped, rumors had begun to spread across the Empire.

The saint candidate, Iora, now had a lover. They seemed awfully close, people whispered. Then who was this supposed lover? And what would become of her former fiancé, the Crown Prince? Was he truly going to marry Arcanda and live happily ever after?

Iora, the very subject of all that chaos, was shaking her head at the man, unable to fully hide her regret.

“I really don’t want to become a saint, sir.”

“…But you studied. You worked so hard.”

“Yes. I did. It wasn’t entirely by choice, but I still learned a lot. It helped me. But to go where I want to from now on, I need to cut back on lessons.”

“The Ribandt family won’t be too happy about this.”

“No, I imagine they won’t. But it’s something I have to deal with.”

“So you’re giving up the lessons entirely?”

“Not at all. I still enjoy your classes.”

He wasn’t a bad person, not at his core. She had cried more than once over his harsh criticisms but then again, he’d always been the one to acknowledge his own faults the quickest, and he made an effort to change.

In The Saint’s Flower, the characters’ emotions always felt slightly restrained — so much so that it was hard to tell whether they truly hated someone, or if they were showing a subtle form of affection.

Right now, he was looking at Iora with a surprisingly gentle expression. And it made her wonder—

Did the version of him before my regression ever think of me as his student?