Satan.

The name the temple used for evil. In common speech, it was simply another word for “demon.”

Bianca paused for the span of a heartbeat when Aeras spoke the word, then let the faintest smirk curl her lips.

Possessed? By a demon, no less?

That would be me.

Or rather, more precisely, a demon sealed into a human body for reasons unknown.

And not just any demon.

Inhabiting the body of the saintess called Bianca was Lilith, the Mistress of Nightmare, Queen of All Witches, and the Fourth Lord among the Seven Rulers of Hell.

Even Lucifer, who vied against Beelzebub for the throne of Hell, dreaded Lilith’s nightmares enough to avoid them. Such was her fearsome power.

And yet this man, standing before her, dared to…

He truly has no idea what he’s dealing with.

“How charming,” Aeras murmured.

Charming? Give me a break.

But Bianca had no wish to speak further. Spending too long before His Holiness was nothing but a burden.

It was said that, being especially favored by God, he had been granted special eyes—eyes that could pierce through essence. She hadn’t yet confirmed it for herself, but even the possibility unsettled her.

“Your Holiness, if you have nothing else to say, I think I’ll take my leave.” 

She let the words fall softly, yet loud enough to be heard, and slowly raised her hand.

It trembled faintly, worn thin from overuse—the aftereffect of channeling holy power.

No matter how beloved by God someone might be, holy power did not belong to mortals. Borrowing it came at a cost.

And today, Bianca had overexerted herself, lavishing the slums with the so-called Golden Mercy.

Her memories of it were fragmented, like watching another’s life through a clouded glass. The sensations hadn’t even felt like her own. Only that loss of control had made it possible to scatter temple gold into the hands of beggars.

‘Pathetic. Pulling out a handful of coins made me so tired. How in hell did this woman ever become a saint with such meager divine strength?’

“I feel rather tired,” Bianca said lightly, masking her grim condition with a faint smile.

Her tone was playful, but her body was on the verge of collapse. Beneath the layers of her ceremonial robes, her legs were giving out. The only reason she remained standing was that the lunatic before her had startled her into a moment of clarity.

But it wouldn’t last. 

A minute at most, two if she was lucky. Nothing beyond that.

‘Say it’s over. Now. Hurry up, idiot! You’ve nothing more to add!’

One stumble, and it would look as though she was bowing before him.

Me, a Lord of Hell, bowing to His Holiness?

Never. Over my dead body.

“Saintess,” Aeras said at last.

It seemed he had more to say, but he held his tongue, his blue eyes gazing upon her pale, trembling hand.

For a fleeting instant, it almost tickled—although that should have been impossible.

“This… is something I cannot help you with.”

Bianca prepared for a drawn-out exchange, only to be surprised when he did so otherwise.

In truth, Aeras hadn’t been stalling for words—he had simply been caught off guard by how much worse her condition was than expected.

Aeras extended a hand, offering it like an escort.

“Please rest. Allow me to see you back.”

Escort me? How dare he. 

“I decline,” Bianca said coldly.

Outwardly, Bianca only appeared pale, nothing more.

“I see.” 

Unaware of the truth, Aeras mistook her refusal for pride meant to hide her fatigue.

“Please, lean on me. I’ll see you safely to your chambers.”

He looked ready to sweep her up in his arms. 

Bianca glared at him in disbelief.

“A saintess collapsing into someone’s arms after blessing the people. Quite the spectacle.”

Begone.

Bianca hid her trembling hand within her sleeve and cut him off. 

Six months in the temple had honed her act well. Sure enough, the rebuke stopped him cold.

“…Forgive me. That was thoughtless. But can you truly return alone? I worry for you.”

“That is my concern, not yours. Your Holiness, if you’d permit me, I’ll take my leave.”

Before he could say anything more, she drove her legs forward and slipped out of his office.

The moment she stepped into the hall, a knight’s troubled face brightened at the sight of her.

“Saintess! Are you all right?”

She allowed herself to be caught in his arms, nearly falling.

Her legs melted beneath her. Tremors seized her whole body.

The knight held her awkwardly upright, eyes wide with panic.

“May I have the honor of carrying you?”

“No, sir.”

Yes, please! Carry me. 

If not carried, then at least let me on your back!

Please.

“Absolutely not,” she forced out.

Had she not just refused Aeras, she’d have gladly surrendered her pride a thousand times over. But she couldn’t afford to be seen as weak—not after walking out on him.

To a demon, there was no difference between saint and knight—both were loathsome.

So, swallowing her tears, she repeated what she had told Aeras.

“I only just returned from bestowing blessings. Imagine the uproar if I were to be seen in such a state.”

“This is the temple, Saintess. Please, rest easy—”

To think she had to drag this body on foot. Utterly wretched.

Bianca masked her grimace and coaxed the knight gently.

“Support me on both sides. Pull your cloaks tight, and no one will notice.”

She gave him a soft smile. It was all it took.

A hush fell, broken by murmurs.

“She pushes herself so hard…”

“Such compassion…”

“The perfect example of selfless sacrifice…”

Snatches of praise drifted around her. Each one made her want to scream.

But Bianca kept her gaze down, hiding the scowl that threatened. Let them delude themselves—it cost her nothing.

***

“Haa…”

The moment Bianca lay on her bed, she released a long sigh. At last, the day was done.

Not a day since waking in this body had been easy. But today… was among the worst.

“Have you ever seen someone possessed by Satan?”

The memory stabbed her. That moment when she met Aeras’ gaze, his laughter radiant as a flower in bloom.

And before that, the instant he spoke the word ‘demon,’ the contempt and revulsion that had flashed in his eyes. 

It had been so fleeting for any human to notice.

But Bianca was not merely human. She was Lilith, the Mistress of Nightmare.

If she wished, she could dissect an instant into millionths of a second and examine it frame by frame.

So no, she could not possibly miss what his eyes had revealed.

He had overlooked her outrageous acts only because he saw her as the Saintess. But if, one day, he chose to use those so-called eyes of God upon her…

Disaster would strike.

Until now, she’d survived on absurd luck. But she couldn’t trust that forever.

And then there was the matter of her erosion…

“Haah…”

Lilith’s sigh hitched midway, turning almost into a laugh.

“Did I… just worry?”

Even when standing before Beelzebub, rival for the throne of Hell, she had never felt this.

But now? For a human?

“…Unbelievable.”

How far she had fallen.

Just six months ago, she had been one of the Seven Lords who ruled Hell.

Lilith, the Mistress of Nightmare, Queen of Witches, and the Fourth Lord among the Seven Rulers of Hell.

And now?

Now she was trapped in the body of a saintess.

How in all the hells had it come to this?

Whenever she closed her eyes, that day six months ago returned—clear, vivid, inescapable.

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