* * *
The bell announcing the ceremony rang.
Zavad, looking thoroughly annoyed, picked up the ring and made his way to the chapel.
Ranshel let him inside, then quietly stepped back and pulled a veil over his face.
As Ranshel entered the chapel, Danie subtly approached and led him straight to the high clergy’s seating area.
The veiled senior clergy members were seated apart from the general congregation.
Ranshel slipped into a seat among them.
The engagement ceremony proceeded in a solemn atmosphere.
Not a word of idle chatter broke the silence as the Holy King delivered a blessing, praising the engagement.
Zavad and Frey, the stars of the day, stood side by side before the central altar, listening to the Holy King’s benediction.
“Please present your tokens of promise to each other.”
And as the rings were exchanged, quiet gasps broke the hush in the chapel.
The two stood facing one another in immaculate white ceremonial robes, smiling softly—like sacred statues brought to life for the occasion, noble and breathtakingly beautiful.
“It’s the engagement CG,” Ranshel thought.
He clasped his hands tightly as he looked at the dazzling scene before him.
Even when he doubted the very nature of the game, moments like this reminded him: this was a romance simulation.
Ranshel was merely an obstacle in the path of these two destined lovers.
His role was to act as the villain, ensuring the story reached its happy ending.
The thought of betraying someone he’d grown fond of always made his chest ache, but now, he felt relatively calm.
Maybe it was because he had just come back from seeing Grace.
He looked away from the couple exchanging rings and glanced sideways.
He was wondering if Baha might be among the soldiers lining the walls.
He would do everything in his power to secure their happy ending.
To make that happen, he had to prevent any other villains—besides himself—from targeting Zavad.
No matter how scared he was, he had to do it.
Zavad, radiating an aura of sanctity, was being watched with reverent admiration, as though he were a living saint.
Yet he never attended regular services.
He only stepped into the temple for obligatory rituals like this.
So the next time he’d be here would be after graduating from the seminary—when he was of age, for his coming-of-age ceremony.
That time, he’d be accompanied by his fellow graduates.
As long as Ranshel stayed close, he could make sure Zavad was never alone.
“I won’t let anyone lay a finger on him.”
Zavad was not someone Baha could be allowed to touch.
Ranshel made a firm resolution.
As the ceremony ended and the Holy King stepped away from the altar, the rest of the people began to rise, one by one.
During the service, no one had spoken a word, but now they began quietly exchanging greetings.
It seemed silence had been enforced by custom until the Holy King had formally departed.
Ranshel looked around, intending to blend into the crowd and slip out unnoticed.
But strangely, none of the clergy seated near him stood up.
Ranshel took the hint and remained seated.
It wasn’t until Zavad and Frey descended to the steps below the altar that the senior clergy rose all at once.
Ranshel rose with them, still not understanding what was happening.
Rather than heading toward the exit, the clergy turned and began walking in unison toward the two standing at the central steps.
Ranshel, keeping his steps slow, deliberately fell to the back of the group—hoping to slip away unnoticed in the movement.
But his plan was quickly foiled.
The Holy Legion, clad in armor, began to pour into the area.
At their head was Commander Baha.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Ranshel quickly moved toward the front of the group to avoid getting boxed in.
If he stayed in the back, he risked running straight into Baha, who was leading the legion.
Then, a nearby monk seemed to misinterpret Ranshel’s movement as eagerness.
Gesturing toward Frey, the monk said,
“Brother, would you do us the honor of blessing the Saintess on our behalf?”
…What?!
What does that even mean?
What am I supposed to do?!
Ranshel screamed silently beneath the veil.
Cold sweat beaded on his skin.
Instead of slipping out quietly, he was now at the center of everyone’s attention.
From afar, Danie appeared to realize what was happening and tried to come over, but the crowd made it impossible for him to reach.
Without his only hope for rescue, Ranshel could only bite his lip beneath the veil.
“Am I supposed to say a prayer? Sing something? Can someone please explain?!”
He could feel all the clergy’s eyes locked on him, even through the veil.
As time dragged on mercilessly and Ranshel writhed in silent panic, Zavad stepped forward with a smile like one painted by a master.
“The Saintess is always filled with the Holy Spirit, whereas I am lacking in many ways. May I, instead, receive the blessing from the monk?”
Through the wavering veil, a hand extended toward him.
Those straight fingers were all too familiar.
As if bewitched, Ranshel laid his hand atop it.
Zavad’s hand, hardened from wielding a sword, was firm and steady—nothing like the soft hands he once had as a child.
Ranshel let Zavad guide him forward until they stood close.
The anxiety he had felt earlier began to melt away, simply from being by Zavad’s side.
“Did he recognize me?”
Right now, Ranshel’s face was completely hidden by the veil, and, following Danie’s advice, he wore plain white robes that made him indistinguishable from any other monk.
From the outside, there was no way to tell him apart.
Maybe Zavad simply assumed he was hesitant and stepped forward to prompt him to get on with the blessing.
Whatever the case, it was a relief.
The blessings monks gave weren’t anything fancy like Frey’s divine miracles.
They didn’t possess powers like the Saintess.
So all he needed to do was imitate the motions—nothing more.
Zavad, always particular and sensitive, likely knew the ceremony procedures inside and out.
He hated unpredictability.
So Ranshel waited, content to let Zavad take the lead.
But then, Zavad placed a hand on Ranshel’s shoulder and pulled him closer.
Slowly, he lowered his head.
Even through the veil, his brilliant red eyes gleamed as they came closer and closer.
Ranshel held his breath and instinctively braced his body, willing himself not to flinch.
Just when their noses were almost touching, Zavad tilted his head and placed a gentle kiss on Ranshel’s cheek.
The thin veil did nothing to hide the warmth and softness that brushed against his skin and then withdrew.
Ranshel’s mind went completely blank.
Even after the kiss ended, he stood still.
Zavad discreetly released his shoulder and gently nudged him back toward the group of monks.
Despite his daze, Ranshel picked up on the cue and blended naturally back into the crowd.
“May your days be ever filled with grace.”
When the priest who had spoken on behalf of Ranshel finished his words, everyone moved back to their original positions.
Ranshel, careful not to run into the Holy Legion, slipped between them and quietly slipped away down a different path.
“So, blessings involve kisses…”
But wasn’t it supposed to be him doing it, since Zavad was the one receiving the blessing?
Realizing his mistake too late, Ranshel grabbed his unveiled head.
Somehow, Zavad had recognized him, narrowed the distance, and blocked the view so others couldn’t tell whether he was the one giving or receiving the kiss.
They were wearing similar clothes and his face was covered—how did he even know?
Relief washed over him for being saved, but at the same time, an odd, ticklish embarrassment sent shivers across his body.
Ranshel spun in place, rubbing his cheek with his palm.
The lingering sensation just wouldn’t fade.
* * *
