Chapter 390: She isn’t Saintess
"Princess Astrid, would you mind stepping aside for a moment?"
Standing upright, palms pressed against the white skirt fabric, Monica tilted her neck upward, exposing a large portion of smooth, snow-white skin. Her plump, round shoulders, no longer covered by clothing, standing bare in the air.
Even as she spoke, Monica didn’t pause her actions. Under Astrid’s gaze, she continued changing clothes. Her long lashes shadowed her amber-gold eyes, and her lips parted slightly with each movement, adding an indescribable allure to her already exquisite features.
"Step aside?" Astrid watched Monica’s hands moving across her body, her tone calm.
"Is it possible, Miss Monica..."
"...that this is the Third Princess’s private dressing room? Part of my personal territory."
Although the two had reached a basic understanding in broad terms, Astrid had no intention of fully trusting Monica.
Cooperation required tangible, visible benefits as its foundation. Until actual actions were taken, verbal promises meant little. Thus, she needed to keep a close eye on the other woman, ensuring her future ally wouldn’t pull any underhanded tricks right before her eyes.
"Mm, you’re absolutely right, Princess Astrid."
"I didn’t think it through properly."
Since they were both women, there wasn’t much embarrassment between them. With that thought, Monica casually slipped off her ceremonial dress. More of that faint, sweet fragrance, like peaches mingled with jasmine, drifted into the air, making one’s skin tingle.
As Monica shed her constraints, revealing a figure as seductive as a succubus, and exuding a mature, almost dewy charm around her, Astrid’s crimson eyes remained tranquil, without the slightest ripple.
It wasn’t that her body didn’t react at all, rather, Astrid could control it. Just like when she’d helped Charlotte bathe and change, she’d certainly felt her limbs grow warm and her heartbeat quicken in that intimate, deep atmosphere. Yet in the end, rationality had smoothed those intense physiological reactions, merging them quietly into the still night.
"Oh, Miss Monica."
The soft skin of the woman’s white, supple thighs indented slightly beneath the stocking tops, forming a healthy, graceful curve. Seeing Monica place her hand on the white garter strap, about to unhook the clasp, Astrid spoke slowly.
"Earlier, you said so much about the Holy Light Church. It seems the current one is no longer the same as the church you once held in your heart?"
During their first meeting, Monica had vaguely hinted that the present Holy Light Church had become narrow-minded and fanatical. This change, from top to bottom, had begun affecting every single follower.
Hearing Astrid bring this up, Monica paused her movements. The white ribbon previously nested between her big breasts naturally slipped down due to her bending posture, covering her flat abdomen curves.
"Everyone has a different understanding of the Church. Even I, the Holy Saintess, am no exception."
After a pause, Monica lifted her face. Her amber-gold eyes met Astrid’s as she spoke softly.
"So I don’t believe my views are necessarily correct. Perhaps these immature thoughts will change over time as well."
A careful preface, but it perfectly hinted that Monica’s next words might be even bolder.
After all, the groundwork was laid. If she continued with mere pleasantries now, it would be too inappropriate.
"Please, Miss Monica. I’m all ears."
Astrid leaned back against the mirror, her red eyes calmly scanning Monica’s entire form.
This intelligence was exactly what she most desired to learn, why the Holy Light Church had become so aggressive, so eager to spread its so-called doctrine.
What had happened within the Holy Light Church? Was everything connected to the shadows? That prophetic dream, Lyra and Monica’s conversation in the church, was far from enough to resolve Astrid’s doubts.
"Princess Astrid, you should know the Holy Light Church’s exalted status within the Kingdom of Velys. To put it without exaggeration, the King and the Pope are like the two sides of a single coin, one representing the secular and material, the other the transcendent and spiritual. Together, they rule this vast human kingdom."
Monica continued, her gaze locked with Astrid’s.
"Before I became the Holy Saintess, followers of the Light God in the Kingdom of Velys accounted for sixty percent of the total population, an astonishing number. In recent years, however, that figure has reached nearly one hundred percent."
"But I don’t believe this is the peak of the Holy Light Church’s power. On the contrary, at this moment, it is more fragile than it has ever been in the past."
Faith in the Light God was no longer a relatively free choice, but something forced by society. Today’s Kingdom of Velys has become so narrow-minded that it could no longer tolerate any other ideology. Even the absence of faith itself was considered a sin.
"Why do you say that, Miss Monica?" Astrid asked.
Monica unfastened the garter clips, bent down, and sat on the seat. Her legs, sheathed in sheer white silk, bent forward as she gently removed the garter stockings dampened by spilled wine.
"In today’s Kingdom of Velys, those who do not believe in the Light God cannot enjoy any civil rights, receive no legal protection, and are rejected by the Holy Light Church."
"To put it without exaggeration, such people simply cannot survive within the Empire."
This was the point Monica found hardest to accept. In her eyes, such conduct completely contradicts the inclusive, compassionate Creator God described in the Holy Scriptures.
The Lord does not care whether He is believed in, nor does He become angry or sorrowful because of it. He is a transcendent, independent being, the creator of all things.
"I can roughly understand what you mean, Miss Monica." Astrid crossed her legs, her pink lips parting slightly.
"Believers are no longer gathering beneath the sacred statues out of faith in the existence of the deity or belief in the teachings of the Holy Scriptures. What they seek is no longer spiritual solace, but material satisfaction and enjoyment."
"After all, if they don’t even believe in the Light God, how can they receive the blessings bestowed by the divine?"
Listening to Astrid’s final remark, laced with irony, Monica showed no offense. It was the truth, and it was the biggest problem she herself acknowledged within the current Holy Light Church.
Disbelief in the divine leads to persecution, even arrest under the label of ’heretic.’ How could such oppressive methods cultivate truly devout believers?
Perhaps, they had already strayed from the right path.
Watching Monica remove both white thigh-high stockings, revealing long, slender legs as delicate and smooth as jade, Astrid remains silent, quietly waiting.
Seeing Astrid still staring, Monica composed herself and gave a seductive smile. Light brown strands of hair fell with a smile, covering the area just above her breasts. She spread her hands open beside her legs, indicating she carried no recording crystals for images or sound.
"Princess Astrid, where are the spare evening gowns?"
Hearing Monica’s question, Astrid casually opened a nearby wardrobe.
"Miss Monica, take a look among these and see if anything suits you."
Previously, when Charlotte came to the palace for banquets, she occasionally changed clothes at Astrid’s chambers. Astrid had thus asked the head maid to prepare several extra evening gowns in Charlotte’s size, just in case.
Monica nodded, carefully selecting. Soon, she picked a pure white, backless gown with a slit at a moderate height above the knee.
Even among the mature-styled evening gowns, this was an exceptionally sensual design.
Why does this Holy Saintess seem more and more like a succubus?
Watching Monica gently slip into the gown, Astrid handed her a pair of pure white thigh-high stockings. Unlike the ones Monica had worn earlier, these were darker, nearly opaque, with bright golden trim along the top, almost deliberately emphasizing the slight indentation of the wearer’s leg flesh.
"Thank you, Princess Astrid."
Monica placed the stockings over her toes, slowly pulling them up as she adjusted them, speaking softly.
"Princess Astrid, you’ve already asked your questions. Shouldn’t it be my turn now?"
Astrid changed at the wall clock, less than ten minutes remained until their time was up.
"What would you like to ask, Miss Monica?"
"..."
"Baroness Lyra is your friend, isn’t she?"
"Yes."
At least for now, that’s how it stands.
Monica nodded thoughtfully upon hearing this, then continued.
"Then, may I ask, Princess Astrid, could you reveal anything about the final sword strike Baroness Lyra unleashed?"
On the battlefield, Lyra had temporarily broken through to the level of a novice magic master, no longer using verbal incantations to cast spells. This made her final magical attack lack particularly distinct identification.
"Why are you so curious about that?" Astrid asked.
The match was over, the results decided. Dwelling on a single technique seemed pointless.
Compared to the magic Lyra used, the Light Sword she held should be of greater interest to Monica.
Could she have noticed something missed?
Monica shook her head gently, replying in a low voice.
"I just felt that strike didn’t seem like something an early tier Magnus level mage could produce."
At the moment the sword was drawn, Monica had even doubted whether the brightness of the sun could rival the sharp gleam at Lyra’s blade tip.
After a few seconds, Astrid, having weighed the pros and cons, spoke gently.
"A middle tier Magnus-level light-element spell, [The Holy Judgment Sword of Moserria]."
And in the very next second, she exactly caught the subtle furrow of Monica’s delicate brows, and the fingers gripping the stocking top, pulling the white silk slightly sheer.
"A Middle tier Magnus level spell?" Monica whispered, repeating the words.
Seeing this, Astrid immediately asked, "Is that strange?"
It seemed Monica knew some information she didn’t, and it was related to this spell, which resonated with the Light Sword.
After hesitating for half a minute, Monica parted her lips.
"I’m just... surprised by Baroness Lyra’s strength."
"To be able to release a spell beyond her tier right after breaking through to early tier Magnus, what an extraordinary affinity with light elements."
Was that truly the only reason for her visible emotions?
Astrid keenly sensed Monica was hiding something, merely unable to reveal it due to certain reasons.
"Lyra truly is a once-in-ten-thousand genius."
Agreeing with Monica, Astrid added, as if casually mentioning.
"By the way, the naming of this spell has always puzzled me."
"Moserria... is that someone’s name?"
Hearing the term again, Monica pursed her lips, smoothed the wrinkles at her ankles, and quickly stood up.
"It’s not impossible, Princess Astrid."
Astrid gave the woman a lingering look, then responded softly.
"So you somewhat agree with my thoughts."
Having said that, she didn’t linger further on the topic. Astrid took a nearby shawl and handed it to Monica.
"Time’s almost up. Let’s end tonight’s conversation here."
Monica’s reaction had already told her enough. Pressing further would likely yield no more accurate answers.
It seemed Moserria was most likely connected to the Holy Light Church, and this relationship involved many secrets, so much so that even the Holy Saintess Monica couldn’t easily reveal them.
Taking the shawl Astrid offered, Monica gently draped it over herself. Her smooth, snow-white back and round, delicate shoulders were now veiled by black fabric, partially concealed and thus even more alluring.
"This was a very pleasant conversation, Princess Astrid."
Monica bent down to put on her stiletto heels. The openwork design on the sides of the shoes perfectly reveals her snow-white silk-clad feet, delicate and smooth like ice cream.
Although she had often been at a disadvantage during the conversation, she had at least clarified Astrid’s stance and achieved her preset goals.
Perhaps this foreign princess truly possessed the ability to liberate both nations from the quagmire of war.
.................
Twenty minutes earlier, at the evening banquet hall. Lyra, holding a wine glass, politely addressed the woman before her, dressed in an elegant, simple gown, bare legs without stockings, wearing sky-blue high-heeled sandals, so different in aura from her appearance on the battlefield.
"Good evening, Miss Iris."
Iris nodded, her gaze resting on Lyra’s slightly flushed cheeks from a few glasses of wine, and replied gently.
"Good evening, Miss Lyra."
"You seem like a completely different person tonight."
To Iris, the contrast between Lyra’s battlefield and off-field demeanor was far greater than the change in her attire.
It was as if a sharp, resolute knight had suddenly transformed into a gentle, innocent maiden.
If Princess Astrid wasn’t absent at this moment, Iris would have witnessed an even more unimaginable version of Lyra.
"Ah... really?"
Hearing Iris’s words, Lyra touched her ear, her two legs, sheathed in fine white silk, slightly pressing together.
"Maybe it’s because of this dress."
It was her first time wearing such an expensive gown. Standing in the hall, she felt like a village girl stepping into the city.