Lilian crossed her legs, her slender legs wrapped in white stockings dangling gently in the air.
On the stone floor before her knelt an oily-faced believer.
The man’s eyes were glued to the soles of her shoes, his Adam’s apple bobbing involuntarily as he swallowed hard.
“I beg you, Lady Saintess, allow me to prostrate at your feet and feel the grace of the Goddess of Light!”
The believer's voice trembled, his hands on the ground as he desperately crawled forward.
Lilian’s expression was innocent and pure, the corners of her eyes dropping slightly to show a hint of genuine dilemma.
“Believer, I know your devotion to the Lady Goddess, but it seems your sincerity isn't quite enough.”
She opened her delicate palm, in which lay a pitiful five silver coins and a few scattered, dull copper coins.
She pointed a finger toward the donation box standing nearby, her voice sweet:
“If I make a private exception for you, I will be punished by the Goddess. My merciful believer, you wouldn't want to make things difficult for me, would you?”
Looking at the Saintess's pitiful face, the believer's mind went completely blank with a roar, plunging him into blind fanaticism.
“Lady Saintess! I'll go raise money right away! Yes, I still have a property under my name to mortgage, and I have the dowry my wife left behind! Wait for me, I'll bring it to you right away!”
The man scrambled away, pushing open the side door and bolting out, his eyes filled with madness.
The thick wooden door clicked shut, and the smile at the corners of Lilian's eyes vanished completely. Her brows arched, her gaze cold as if looking down at a pile of trash.
She weighed the few coins in her hand, glanced sideways at the ornate donation box, flipped her wrist, and stuffed all the money into the pocket of her habit without hesitation.
Lilian cursed inwardly: I scammed this with my own ability. Why the hell should I hand it over to a cheap bitch like you hogging the throne?
“Lilian, offerings meant for the Lady Goddess shouldn't just be slipped into your own pocket.”
A gentle, low male voice echoed softly from the doorway.
Lilian quickly composed her features, turning around with a harmless, innocent smile already plastered on her face.
Standing there was the resident priest, Aris. With his hands tucked into the wide sleeves of his white-and-gold robe, he narrowed his thin eyes, scrutinizing her.
“Priest, you misunderstand.”
Lilian blinked her big eyes, her tone exceptionally pure.
“I plan to go buy some bread on the Goddess's behalf in a bit and hand it out at the church entrance to help those poor believers.”
Aris stared at her for several seconds.
The girl before him was as fragile and obedient as ever, but he couldn't help feeling that the Saintess seemed indescribably odd today.
Still, the old Lilian had indeed been kind and timid, never stepping out of line.
The priest shifted his gaze and crossed himself: “I have wronged you. I ask for the Goddess's forgiveness.”
“It's fine. I'll go back to my room and get ready then.”
Lilian maintained an elegant posture as she strolled out of the chapel. The moment she stepped into her private bedroom, she reached back and locked the door tight.
The fake smile on her face collapsed instantly. She yanked off the tight hairband binding her hair and tossed it onto the bed.
Her silky, light-golden hair tumbled down. She flopped onto a wooden chair, kicked off her shoes, and propped her legs straight up on the wooden table.
She pulled out a hard black fruit resembling a betel nut from an inner pocket, stuffed it into her mouth, and chewed vigorously.
The pungent, bitter juice burst on her tongue. She exhaled a heavy breath, her brow furrowing tight.
This damn medieval western fantasy world didn't even have a single cigarette. It was driving her insane.
A month ago, she was still a mob heiress running rampant in A City, blowing off the heads of anyone who crossed her.
Yet the obedient minion who usually served her tea and water had pushed her off a rooftop behind her back.
Falling to her death was bad enough, but when she opened her eyes, she had transmigrated into this skin.
The original host was a complete pushover whose soul was literally blown apart by the Goddess of Light's blessing. She had mistakenly taken over the body, and by the time she realized what happened, that damned blessing had already fallen upon her.
Swallowing the bitter juice, she rubbed her aching brow and raised a hand to summon the system panel standard for every transmigrator:
[Name]: Lilian
[Identity]: Church Saintess
[Age]: 18
[Level/Rank]: Level 1 / Rankless
[Blessing]: Blessing of the Goddess of Light. The Goddess periodically inspects the Saintess's conduct: good deeds yield blessings; bad deeds draw lightning strikes.
[Talents]:
Favored of Heaven (S): Actively draws divine gaze when Faith Points reach the next stage; Base Luck +5.
Outsider (EX): You are a traveler from another world who loves to join the fun, obtaining random rewards upon witnessing milestone events or special locations. The blessing you receive will undergo changes.
[Faith Points]: 48/50
[Base Stats]:
HP: 20
MP: 90
Strength: 2 (Lacks the strength to truss a chicken)
Constitution: 2 (Slightly better than a wriggling maggot)
Agility: 2 (Completely unexercised, causing a large amount of fat to accumulate at the chest)
Intelligence: 9, Spirit: 9 (Genius among geniuses)
Luck: 8 (Favored daughter?)
[Skills]:
Basic Purification Spell LV2 (3/30): Purifies abnormal status conditions of a targeted objective, consuming 10 MP.
Basic Meditation MAX: Restores 10 MP per second while meditating.
[Description]: You are one of the Church's many saintesses, yet any magical beast could easily defeat the current you, and then... You possess great talent for magic, but can you live until that talent comes to fruition?
Looking at her atrocious Strength and Constitution, Lilian cursed the original host in her heart for being such a useless piece of trash.
She hooked her fingers around the rim of her stockings and peeled off the pair of white silk stockings that smelled a bit ripe, her face darkening.
Last time she hung her washed stockings in the communal drying room, they vanished the moment she turned her back. Later, she caught Priest Aris sneaking down the corridor with her own eyes, a hint of white fabric peeking from his sleeve.
That old bastard was sanctimonious on the surface, but behind closed doors, he was a dead-ass stocking-stealing pervert.
She folded the remaining pair neatly and stuffed it under her pillow.
Then she changed into standard casual monastery attire, leaving a single strand of hair on the pillow before leaving.
Counting what she just collected, her pouch held 26 silver coins and 360 copper coins—the spoils of over a month's work.
Since she blabbed about buying bread on a whim, she had to go buy it. Honesty and trustworthiness were a Saintess's primary rules; spoken words were like spilled water, impossible to take back.
1 copper coin could buy 1 piece of black bread, while 5 copper coins were needed for 1 piece of white bread.
White bread?
Don't make Sister Li laugh. Feeding those believers rye bricks at 3 for 1 copper coin was generous enough.
She pulled her hood up, her gaze falling back onto the corner of the panel.
[Faith Points: 48/50]
Two points away.
The previous saintess of Glimmer Town was said to have been turned into a pile of ashes simply because the Goddess looked down at her due to misconduct.
Meanwhile, with her black-fruit chewing and donation-pocketing over the past month, not a single page of her conduct record could withstand scrutiny.
At the very bottom of the panel, a line of small text was still lit:
[You seem to possess great talent for magic, but can you live until that talent comes to fruition?]
Lilian stared at that question mark, dismissing the panel without expression.
“Whether I live or not, we'll see.”
She yanked open the door.
“First, buy today's bread.”
Rate on N.U.
