Chapter 210: HAHAHAHA

The room was still trembling.

Not because of the shattered window.

Not because of the residual mana.

Not even because of Aiden’s earlier burst of power.

No.

It trembled because the Saintess—this gentle, luminous creature the Church presented as heaven’s answer to humanity—was finally unraveling.

And everyone could feel it.

The women kept their distance now—not out of fear of the Saintess, but because they’d never seen Aiden hold someone like this. Not as a lover. Not as a tease.

But as if she were something fragile.

Something breakable.

Something important.

Her tears soaked into his robes.

They were hot.

Painful.

And so silent they felt louder than screams.

She wasn’t sobbing like a child.

She wasn’t wailing.

She wasn’t pleading.

She was breaking quietly.

And quiet things were the ones that shattered the hardest.

Aiden held her until the trembling lessened—until she was no longer in danger of collapsing again.

When she finally pulled away, her eyes were red, rimmed with gold that flickered faintly with the charm in her blood. The chandelier light caught in her lashes, turning her tears into shimmering droplets that rolled down her cheeks like pearls falling from a broken necklace.

She wiped them with her sleeves—gentle, controlled, graceful even in ruin.

"...Why?" she whispered.

It wasn’t the confused "why" of moments earlier.

It wasn’t the panicked "why would they do this?"

This was something deeper.

This was the voice of a woman whose entire world had collapsed into dust at her feet.

"Why would they make me Saintess if they always knew?"

Aiden didn’t sugarcoat it.

"Because you were useful."

She winced as if the word cut her.

He continued, voice low, unflinching.

"They needed someone beautiful. Someone luminous. Someone who could draw crowds without effort. Someone they could control."

Her lip quivered.

"And someone disposable."

Her breath stopped.

Frozen.

Suspended.

A moment where a heartbeat forgot how to beat.

The women behind them shifted.

Sabrina narrowed her eyes—not at the Saintess, but at the idea that someone had tried to discard her.

Catherine’s magic flared subtly, reacting to the Saintess’s emotional instability.

Even Eve stopped smirking.

Aiden lifted the Saintess’s chin. She resisted weakly—but only for a second.

Her eyes met his.

And he spoke like someone who had peeled off the last layer of lies.

"They needed you," Aiden murmured, "as long as you were useful. As long as your beauty and charm increased their influence. As long as you played their Saintess."

She swallowed.

"And when a better candidate appeared..."

"They chose her," Aiden finished. "And planned to erase you."

She flinched again—worse this time. A pulse of faint pink aura flickered around her before she forced it down with trembling control.

He felt the charm in her blood, suppressed her whole life, twitching awake like a wounded animal.

She didn’t even notice it.

But he did.

She took a shaky breath.

"...I want the truth," she whispered. "All of it. No more gentle lies. No more softened words. Tell me everything you know....and I know you do. You’re the prophet. Prophets always have answers..."

Aiden sighed internally.

She wasn’t fragile right now—she was volcanic.

And volcanoes didn’t crack.

They erupted.

"Fine," Aiden said quietly. "But once you hear this... you won’t be the Saintess anymore. Not even in your own heart."

She hesitated.

Then nodded.

"I’m already not."

The room darkened slightly, the candles dimming in response to Aiden’s mana rippling outward.

He didn’t enlarge his presence deliberately—but after the fight, after breaking the assassin’s blade with two fingers, the room still obeyed the echo of his power.

The Saintess felt it.

The hairs on her arms lifted.

Her heartbeat quickened.

Aiden lowered his voice.

"The one the world calls the First Messiah... was a con artist."

Her breath caught again—but she didn’t cry. Not this time.

She listened.

"He wasn’t chosen.

He didn’t receive revelations.

He didn’t perform miracles."

Aiden took a step closer.

"He manipulated people. Used charisma and partial truths. Claimed he spoke to gods. Claimed he had visions. Claimed he could predict fates. He built a following and used it to secure protection from kings and nobles."

The Saintess swallowed the rising nausea.

"Everything the Church praises about him," Aiden continued, "was crafted. Scripted. Polished through centuries of retellings."

Her hands curled into fists at her sides.

"The Church itself?" Aiden said. "It’s one of the oldest power systems in the world—not because of divine intervention, but because they have mastered lies."

He leaned closer.

"Just like they mastered you."

She trembled.

"I—I don’t understand..." she whispered. "If I was only half-succubus... if my charm was only half what a true succubus has... then why did I affect people so strongly? Why did crowds come to see me

Why did people cry at the sight of me? Why did every noble... every knight... every person look at me like I’m some miracle—?"

"Because," Aiden said, "you suppressed your demonic charm so deeply that it expressed itself differently...."

She blinked through tears of confusion.

"It leaked through your healing.

Through your smiles.

Through your presence."

He touched her wrist.

"You didn’t charm with desire. You charmed with purity."

Her breath stopped for the third time.

He whispered:

"It made you irresistible."

A tear fell.

"...No," she whispered, shaking her head. "No, that can’t be..."

"You were never blessed by heaven," Aiden said softly. "You were blessed by your blood."

Her shoulders collapsed inward—like a dove whose wings had finally broken after years of forced flight.

She took a step back from him, covering her mouth as if she might scream again.

But she didn’t.

She composed herself, slowly, painfully, like stitching together broken pieces without thread.

Then—

She looked at him with eyes that trembled but no longer hid behind obedience.

"So the Church... used me... because they wanted a beautiful symbol....like a Poster girl you."

"Yes."

"And I gave them everything."

"Yes."

"And they decided I was worth more dead than alive."

Aiden didn’t answer immediately.

That silence was enough.

Her breath shattered.

For a moment—a single heartbeat—the air around her distorted, like heat rising from desert sand.

Her charm.

Her heritage.

For the first time in her life... it pulsed.

Golden light flickered around her—not divine.

Pink.

Soft.

Deadly.

Instinctive.

Demonic.

She staggered back in horror.

"N-No—no, not now—"

Aiden caught her wrists.

"Calm. Breathe. You’re not losing control....and I think, now your powers, leaked because of me. "

Her pupils dilated.

"I—I don’t know how to stop it...!"

Aiden leaned in until their foreheads nearly touched.

"Then don’t stop it. Control it."

She shivered violently.

"I can’t—"

"You can," Aiden murmured. "Because this power is yours. Not the Church’s. Not heaven’s. Yours."

Her breathing quickened.

He tightened his grip on her wrists lightly—firm but gentle.

"Look at me."

She lifted her eyes.

He spoke with the same voice he’d used when crushing the assassin’s mana blade—a voice older than he pretended to be.

"Your blood does not make you cursed," Aiden whispered. "It makes you real."

Her pulse skipped.

"And if someone tries to take your life again," he said, "you will not bow. You will not plead. You will not pray."

He leaned closer, breath brushing her lips.

"You will survive."

Her charm flared again—a pulse that rippled across the room and sent tingles down every woman’s spine.

Even Catherine stiffened.

Even Sabrina inhaled sharply.

Even Eve blinked in surprise.

The Saintess jolted back, horrified.

"I—I didn’t mean—I’m sorry—I’m so sorry—"

Aiden grabbed her shoulders.

"Do not apologize for existing."

She froze.

Her lips parted.

No one—no one—had ever said that to her.

He saw the world collapse behind her eyes.

Then rebuild.

Then question itself.

She whispered, voice barely there:

"...Then what do I do now? I have nowhere to go. The Church I devoted my life to wants me dead. The people believe I’m heaven’s representative.

My entire life was for them. My prayers. My words. My power. My everything. My identity."

Her breath cracked.

"If not theirs... then who am I?"

Aiden stared at her.

A moment.

A pause.

A breath that stretched a second into eternity.

Then—

"You can be mine," he said.

The women froze.

The Saintess did too.

Aiden didn’t flinch.

"You can walk away from the Church," he said quietly. "You can stop being their puppet. You can live without chains. You can choose your own path instead of the one they forced on you."

Her heart thudded—soft but loud enough that Aiden heard it.

He continued:

"You want to rewrite the script? Fine. Then stand with me. And we’ll turn this entire story upside down."

She blinked rapidly.

"You... want me...?"

"Yes."

"Even though I’m... this?"

Aiden brushed her cheek.

"Especially because you’re this."

Her breath hitched.

"For the first time," he whispered, "someone like you deserves protecting."

The Saintess closed her eyes.

Not to hide tears.

But to breathe.

To feel.

To accept what she had never allowed herself to touch:

Freedom.

And then—

The doors slammed open.

Everyone turned.

Standing there—

White hair.

Holy aura.

Eyes bright with innocence.

The heroine.

The replacement.

Surrounded by Church knights.

Aiden’s smile dropped.

The Saintess’s heart stopped.

The heroine blinked in confusion.

"Saintess...? Why are you ....still alive? The Church told me you disappeared..."

Aiden stepped forward, aura rippling like a storm.

The knights recoiled.

The heroine trembled.

The Saintess whispered:

"...So it’s true."

Aiden’s voice was quiet.

Calm.

Lethal.

"The Church sent them."

She took a step behind Aiden without thinking.

He didn’t push her away.

He didn’t move.

He stood between her and her hunters with the certainty of a man who had already chosen a side.

The white haired knight , the saintess of tomorrow stared at the Saintess with wide, conflicted eyes.

"Saintess... they said you were... corrupted."

The Saintess trembled.

Aiden answered for her.

"She’s not corrupted."

He turned his head slightly.

"She’s waking up... becoming something new..."

The heroine stepped back.

The knights hesitated.

Aiden didn’t.

His shadow darkened the floor.

His aura thickened the air.

His voice filled the hall like judgment.

"If the Church wants her dead," he whispered, "then they’ll have to go through me."

.

.

[Dream weaving Finished]

Aiden took his hand off the saintess’s forehead. She was still in a deep sleep, flinching and calling his name.

".... another pawn ... acquired." Aiden said with a smile.