Chapter 1 - Chapter 1

Translator: Nox

Prologue

Shhhhh.

Irene bit her lip at the sound of rushing water coming from the bathroom.

In front of the bathroom door, a basket overflowed with blood-soaked clothes strewn about.

The sight made it clear that the person washing inside had stripped off his garments with considerable haste.

‘It’s strange.’

This wasn't like him.

He was a man who always kept everything perfectly in order.

As if every object in the world had a designated spot, he never changed a placement once it was decided, and he would quietly tidy up any mess he saw himself. Even if it was clothing ruined by blood.

‘But why…?’

It wasn't just the clothes that were scattered. Rolling on the floor next to the basket was a sword engraved with the crest of the Holy Knights.

That sword was something he cherished more than his own life.

Having made a name for himself as a Holy Knight, he always took care of that blade before himself.

True to his alias, the Sword of God, people often joked that the sword was his true form because he doted on it so much.

But now, the sword lay on the floor in a state even more disheveled than the discarded clothes.

Creeak.

The sound of water stopped as the valve was turned off.

He had finished his shower.

Irene watched the bathroom door, her body tense.

He had been a mess, covered in monster blood when he went in. She had expected him to take quite a while, but…

‘So soon?’

Any moment now, he would open the door and step out.

Irene’s heart raced at the thought of him.

And for good reason—the man inside the bathroom was her husband.

Her legal husband, with whom spending the night together posed no issue at all.

‘Even if it is only temporary.’

Irene and he were in a temporary marital relationship known as a ‘Pair.’

A Pair.

It was the term for the union between a knight who entered Dungeons to face monsters and a purifier responsible for healing that knight’s wounds and purification.

Knights frequently suffered injuries, both large and small, while fighting monsters inside a Dungeon.

Wounds were a problem, but the greater issue was the demonic energy emitted by the monsters.

Demonic energy gradually eroded a human’s mind, causing pain, auditory hallucinations, and delusions.

If it crossed a certain threshold, the person would lose control and run amok, eventually turning into a monster themselves.

For this reason, purifiers devoted all their efforts to cleansing their Pair’s demonic energy.

The problem was the method of purification.

The method itself was very simple.

Maintain as much physical contact with the partner as possible.

Simple wounds could be healed just by holding hands.

However, deeper contact was required to treat more serious injuries or to purify demonic energy.

Embracing each other, or kissing. But the most certain and fastest method of all was deep, intimate contact.

In fact, knights preferred the final method.

Doing so would leave every wound cleanly healed and the accumulated demonic energy completely vanished—not to mention it provided a temporary boost to their physical capabilities.

Therefore, many chose to share a bed before entering a Dungeon, even if they weren't yet injured or poisoned.

‘But… he hated even being touched.’

Irene recalled the first time she had touched him.

He had been so severely injured that any other Pair would have headed straight for the bedroom.

Yet he had stubbornly refused Irene’s touch, insisting he only needed a little rest.

Watching him, other Pairs had whispered amongst themselves.

「Since her ability as a purifier is so pathetic, it’ll be impossible to treat him with ordinary contact. Even if they shared a bed, could she even manage to heal a single scratch?」

「There’s no way that man, who refuses even other high-ranking purifiers, would accept purification from a woman like her.」

Amidst the ridicule she had heard so often it had become familiar, Irene had reached out and taken his hand as he gasped for breath.

Holding hands was the most basic form of purification a Pair could perform, a contact as natural as breathing.

But the moment Irene grabbed his hand, his body gave a violent flinch and went rigid.

Then, he turned his gaze away entirely and didn't look at her once until she let go.

‘He wouldn't look that disgusted even if he touched a monster.’

Swallowing her loneliness and embarrassment, Irene had pushed her power to its limit for his purification.

Perhaps her meager strength had been of some help, as his wounds healed slightly.

As soon as they did, he stood up and left immediately.

Irene had hung her head as he fled without even a polite greeting, unlike his usual self.

‘He must have really hated it.’

She had only wanted to be of some help, but instead, she had only made him uncomfortable.

More than the mockery of others, it was the sight of his retreating back that made Irene’s heart ache.

After that, Irene didn't dare think of touching him again.

Because it was clear that no matter what she did, he would find it unpleasant and repulsive.

‘It’s only natural.’

He was a Holy Knight of the Temple.

The Sword of God, forged through a life of asceticism based on devout faith and extreme training bordering on penance.

As such, like any other priest of the Temple, he avoided the opposite sex.

To him, a woman must have been nothing more than an object to be kept at a distance and guarded against.

‘And yet I grabbed his hand.’

She was already a weak purifier who was of no help at all, yet she had held his hand for a long time under the guise of treatment; she was grateful enough that he didn't show his disgust openly.

Click.

The sound of the door opening snapped Irene out of her thoughts.

When she looked up, he was already standing there, having stepped out of the bathroom.

“……!”

The moment she saw him, Irene reflexively caught her breath.

Brilliant blonde hair that looked as if it were spun from a blend of sunlight and honey. Thick, straight eyebrows as orderly as his personality. Beneath them, blue eyes that held the color of the clearest autumn sky.

And features so perfect she wondered if it was truly necessary for a person to be this handsome.

It was a face of such splendor that one could never cease to admire it.

But it wasn't just his face that was perfect.

Had he rushed out? Droplets of water he hadn't yet wiped away fell from his damp hair onto his broad shoulders, trickling down his taut chest muscles.

The droplets that flowed boldly down his powerful physique were soon blocked by an obstacle and vanished from sight.

Irene, whose gaze had followed the water droplets down, was horrified when she realized what the obstacle was.

“M-Michael-nim! Your clothes…!”

Michael was wearing nothing but a single large towel loosely draped around his lower half.

Irene’s face flushed crimson in an instant.

His body was as beautiful and perfect as his face—no, perhaps even more so.

She thought that if the God of War were to manifest in this world, he would surely possess a body like this.

The hard, well-defined muscles were neither excessive nor lacking. His lean, efficient physique was so flawless it felt almost artistic.

Perhaps he noticed her dazed stare.

He opened his lips.

“Irene.”

A pleasant, low voice—the kind that made her body tremble just by hearing it—called her name.

“Didn’t we promise not to use the suffix -nim anymore?”

“T-that’s true, but…!”

Irene couldn't finish her sentence. It was because he had taken a long stride, coming close to the bed where Irene sat.

Furthermore, as the distance closed, the silhouette of his body beneath the white towel asserted its presence with startling clarity.

‘Oh my god. Heavens. Dear God.’

Irene frantically called out to the divine.

He was the one called the Sword of God.

Surely, that alias was given to him because he possessed martial prowess stronger than anyone else.

But she found herself wondering if the nickname had actually been inspired by what lay below.

In the meantime, Michael had come even closer and stood before Irene. He then pointed with a finger to small wounds scattered across his body.

“These are the wounds I received in the Dungeon today.”

Wounds? They were barely scratches at best. For a knight, this would surely be nothing.

“Moreover, having stayed in the Dungeon for a long time today, it seems a lot of demonic energy has accumulated. So…”

His body, still radiating the heat of battle, leaned in toward Irene.

In the next moment, Irene’s world spun. By the time she regained her senses, Michael’s body was already hovering over hers.

“So, Irene. My pair. My wife.”

His knee pushed between Irene’s long, slender legs, forcing them apart.

The heat of battle remained vividly in his pressing form.

Overwhelmed by that heat, Irene couldn't say a word, helplessly led along as he pushed his way in.

A dizzying smile played across his handsome face.

He slowly lowered his body.

Thump.

Irene felt the towel he had been wearing fall onto her body.

And she felt his body—the one that had displayed such an immense silhouette—making contact with her legs.

“Tonight as well, I wish to receive your purification.”

When Irene trembled at his unmistakably meaningful actions, he whispered again with a low chuckle.

“Very slowly, for a very long time.”

Irene gasped at his words, which were thick with desire.

Something was strange.

Something was going deeply wrong.

And for good reason…

‘You… in our past life, you were the Holy Knight who hated even brushing fingers with me, weren't you?’

He definitely was.