The Saint’s Manual for Redemption - Chapter 92

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Chapter 92
It began at the edges. The luminous white boundary crackled as crimson Demonic Energy gnawed at it, and soon the laws of the Demon Realm began seeping into the Holy Sanctuary.
The rift’s mouth, which had been lowered to the ground just moments before, tilted. Or rather—the world was inverting itself again.
My feet, which had been planted firmly on the ground, slid backward with a sickening slip.
The earth I had pulled down into the Sanctuary tried to rise above my head once more, and the sky threatened to descend beneath my feet.
The rift transformed from a door in the floor into a chasm in a sharply slanting cliff face. The angle widened steadily. Thirty degrees. Forty-five. Sixty.
One wrong move and both Arden and I would plummet into the crimson sky below.
“Your Highness, release me and escape first!”
Arden tried to wrench his neck free from my grip on his collar.
Madness. If I let go here, there was no hope of Arden reaching the rift’s mouth on his own strength.
Arden had no wings, and unless Caritas herself descended directly and carried him to the rift, how else could he possibly reach that distant opening above?
And I would stake Valente’s Holy Sword that Caritas—who abhors meddling in mortal affairs—would never come down.
Of course, I had no idea where that sword was now. After Valente’s death, we’d planned to display it in the Temple, but House Hawellin wouldn’t hand it over. Could it still be at Arden’s place?
I shook off the stray thought with difficulty, gritted my teeth, and gripped Arden’s collar even harder.
“Your Highness!”
The Sanctuary shuddered again. The rift tilted further.
The moment Arden’s body lurched backward, I seized his wrist and hurled him straight into the rift.
His eyes widened in shock as he hung suspended in the void, but it was already too late.
His body vanished into the black crevasse.
“Go on ahead!”
The moment I shouted, half the Sanctuary collapsed.
Demonic Energy surged from all sides. A crimson tide crashed toward me, intent on strangling my breath away.
I gripped Wilson Junior with both hands. Opening the Sanctuary to the Demon Realm had drained my Holy Power to its dregs, my limbs felt leaden, and my head spun. But I still had one move left.
I raised Wilson Junior high above my head.
Bang!
I brought it down hard upon the writhing Demonic Energy. Holy Power and Demonic Energy collided in a thunderous boom. White light tore through the crimson darkness, and the backlash hurled my body backward.
I didn’t resist that force. Instead, I surrendered to the recoil and twisted my body in midair.
The rift now tilted at nearly seventy-five degrees.
I gathered what strength remained and hurled myself toward it. For a moment, I thought my exhausted body wouldn’t make the distance.
Then something soft pressed against my back, and suddenly I was pulled upward. My body stretched and compressed as if I were liquid being sucked through a straw—a bizarre, vertiginous sensation that seized me whole. The black crevasse swallowed me.
And in the next instant—
I tumbled onto the ground beside the remains of the fountain.
The impact knocked the wind from my lungs, but my bones remained intact on both sides. My Holy Power was nearly depleted, but not fatally so.
The Greenhouse’s familiar contours came into focus. Only then did I exhale the breath I’d been holding in relief. Air unmarred by Demonic Energy felt exquisitely pleasant.
That soft touch against my back as I fell—that was surely Caritas’s hand? Her wings?
Goodness, she actually roused her heavy self and descended all the way to the Demon Realm just for me. Though I suppose I have made considerable use of her, haven’t I?
The first thing I saw was Arden, teeth gritted, lunging back into the rift. Croen and his subordinates were desperately restraining him on both sides.
“We just got you out, and now you’re trying to go back in—why?”
At the sound of my voice, Arden’s head snapped toward me. His blue eyes rippled with emotion.
“I burned through so much Holy Power this time that if I go back in now, I won’t be able to help you escape.”
“Your Highness……!”
Arden shook off Croen and Sian’s hands and strode toward me. He immediately began checking me over, probing here and there with the swift, relentless focus of someone assessing a wounded soldier in the thick of battle.
“You’re all right.”
“Are you truly unharmed?”
“Yes. My head isn’t even spinning.”
Only after confirming I was genuinely unscathed did Arden’s face finally show relief.
But amusingly, it was Croen, not Arden, who now gazed at me with solemn trust. That overwhelming Holy Sanctuary Declaration and the escape itself had clearly left a profound impression.
Good. My trust with the Duke should be high enough now. My pledge to capture Raum shouldn’t feel like an empty promise anymore.
Croen brushed the dirt and moisture from his garments, then approached me with unruffled composure. He extended his hand as if to offer an escort.
“Shall we draw up the Engagement Agreement now, Your Highness?”
Before I could even look at his hand, Arden stepped forward and placed himself between Croen and me.
“How can we trust one who drew a blade against Your Highness?”
Despite the pointed remark, Croen smiled with unsettling ease.
“We’re in the same boat now, aren’t we? There’s no need to be so cold.”
“Sharing a boat doesn’t mean handing over the helm.”
“But the helm appears to rest firmly in Your Highness’s hands. I saw it quite clearly just now.”
Invisible sparks flew between them. Exhaustion washed over me, and I waved my hand dismissively.
“Both of you, enough. The most important thing right now is that I desperately need to sleep. Let’s draw up the agreement and get some rest.”
Both men fell silent at once.
We made only the minimum necessary adjustments to the Greenhouse before heading straight to the Duke’s study.
The moment Croen stepped into his office, he had Sian guard the door, then retrieved a thick contract template, sealing wax, and a seal case from deep within a drawer.
The Duke opened an inkwell and took up a pen. The contract’s language proved far more intricate than he’d anticipated.
On the surface, it stated that we two would enter into a betrothal founded on mutual understanding and respect. But once you descended into the particulars, there was nothing romantic about it whatsoever.
First:
This betrothal serves the purpose of mutual political protection and cooperation between both parties.
Second:
Duke Kargen Kassian Laurent Seraphion Croen shall protect Saint Ciela Nomendis from unjust pressure regarding marriage from external sources.
Third:
Saint Ciela Nomendis shall cooperate in resolving issues of Demonic Contamination and the sealing of Raum within the Croen Duchy.
Fourth:
Both parties shall refrain from providing meaningful information to the other’s political enemies during the betrothal period.
Fifth:
In the event of contract dissolution, both parties shall proceed through mutually agreed procedures to ensure neither suffers political or religious harm.
I read through each clause one by one, nodding as I went.
“Not bad at all.”
It was a flawless contract—favorable to neither party, a complete agreement where neither side stood to lose anything.
I was genuinely pleased. The Duke was far too sharp a calculator to play the innocent victim. But that made him all the more useful. Alliances forged with those whose interests align endure far longer than those made with good people.
We signed our names on two copies of the contract in turn.
I signed as Ciela Nomendis. The Duke signed as Kargen Kassian Laurent Seraphion Croen.
Predictably long. I found myself wondering if he didn’t grow annoyed writing such a lengthy name on contracts every time.
The sealing wax melted, the seal was pressed. In that moment, the contract came into force.
A betrothal without love, without confession—yet an alliance far more solid than any romance.
Even after I returned to my room, the smile never left my face.
I found myself imagining the expression on the Second Prince’s face when he realized he’d walked straight into a trap while trying to manipulate me and control the Religious Order. The Main Temple’s scheme to neutralize me through betrothal had worked out beautifully—for me.
As I sprawled across the bed, Arden, who had been tidying the White Fox Fur Cloak carelessly draped over it, looked at me with a serious expression and asked a question.
“Why did you not set a time limit on the contract period, my lady?”

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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